Sunday, January 20, 2008

Chinese New Year

If you were to take Christmas (gift exchanges), Easter (new life and spring), July 4th (parades and fireworks), the tradition of Spring Cleaning (throw out the old, clean up and get ready for the new) and Memorial Day (remembrance of those that have gone before) and were to wrap it all into a single package, you begin to get an idea of the importance of a traditional Chinese New Year celebration.

It is in the language, the traditions, and the folktales of other countries that we discover a window into other views of the world. And the pathway into understanding these things is through the paving stones of questions. The most basic questions open up all sorts of unexpected doors. When is the Chinese New Year? Well it isn't a fixed date. Instead of using a solar calendar, the Chinese New Year is calculated based on the lunar calendar and therefore can occur anywhere between January 20th and February 19th. The new year begins on the first night of the new moon after the sun enters Aquarius.

What on earth is a lunar calendar? Well there are two calendar traditions. Solar calendars were usually used by agricultural societies because the central activity of their lives, growing food, was completely tied to the sun and the seasons. Maritime peoples, however, primarily those whose livelihoods depended on farming the sea, tended to develop calendars based on the moon because the moon drives the tides which govern all the considerations related to fishing. The problem with the lunar calendar is that there are thirteen months of 28 days in the year and therefore it is a day (and a quarter) short of a solar year. This shortfall is what causes the lunar calendar to drift out of alignment with the solar calendar and the seasons.

Who on earth would use a lunar calendar? Well most everyone else outside the West. The lunar calendar is the basis for the Chinese, Hebrew, Hindu and Islamic calendars among others. Even in the West there is a heritage of lunar calendars which shows up in unexpected places. Britain remained on a lunar calendar until the 1500s or so. The Christian calendar is a mish-mash of the solar year and the lunar year. Christmas is a fixed date in a fixed season. Easter Sunday is like the Chinese New Year in that is a lunar calculation and varies between March 22 and April 25th. The technical calculation is that the date for Easter Sunday is the Sunday after the first full moon on or after the day of the vernal equinox. It is actually even a little bit more complicated than that but let's let it be. Suffice to say that something as apparently straightforward as measuring the year is done radically differently among different people.

What about this business of marching around in parades? In January? Well, the bulk of China is located much closer to the equator than is Europe and, therefore, the climate is much more temperate, the seasons less sharply contrasted with one another, and the weather consistently warmer than almost anywhere in Europe or North America. The rains vary much more significantly across the year than do the temperatures.

Calendars and holidays are just one window into the fascinating history of this amazing culture. China, so long isolated and hidden behind the iron curtain, has begun to engage with the world in the past thirty years. If this engagement is sustained into the next thirty years, our children will want, and possibly need, to be much more informed about her traditions, culture and stories.

The West's engagement with China is in a transitional phase similar to the situation of Japan in the early 1980's. There is much angst and consternation concerning the apparent inexorable rise of a foreign nation, China in particular. As is always our tendency (use of natural resources, weather trends, population trends) we tend to ignore all the history that tells us that no trends continue unchanged for long and we project existing trends far into the future and work ourselves into a frenzy of concern and fear about perceived future threats.

After Japan's enormous rebuilding and creation of a powerful new economy (second only to the US) after WWII, we became enormously concerned for a half a decade or so about what it all meant when the Japanese appeared to be in the US buying up all our cultural icons such as Rockefeller Center, various movie studios, etc. and when a square foot of space in downtown Tokyo was worth more than an entire upscale house in the US. And then the bubble burst, the Japanese economy went on to life support for a long time, and our frantic concerns about Japan evaporated without comment.

And so it is now with China. People are fairly concerned about what the increasing involvement of China will mean for their jobs, for their children's future etc. We shouldn't lose sight of the fact that, from a humanitarian perspective, the development and engagement of China with the world economy, as disruptive as it might be to individuals and to particular industries, is a blessing. With the sustained development and increasing engagement of China (and India) with the rest of the world over the past quarter century we have seen the single largest global economic transformation ever with a huge drop in global poverty from close to 50% of the world population to around 18% based on the most recent numbers I have seen. We would, in other circumstances regard any governmental project that achieved so much in such comparatively little time as an enormous success.

But we have been here before. You read accounts of world travelers from the 1910's and the 1920's and you get a strong sense of déjà vu. China, its merchants, industrialists and economy, its artists and intellectuals were very much part of the global economy back then. The fledgling American multinational, Coca-Cola opened its first bottling plant in China in the 1920's. But then civil war followed by invasion by Japan, then communist rule slammed the door closed on China for the better part of the century. The future is not a straight line projection from the present. Let us hope that we achieve a better outcome this time around than last, but we can only dimly discern that rosier future.

As an aside, it is fascinating what happens when a country or society becomes closed off to everyone else, what material and sociological artifacts you come across. If you want to see 1950's American cars still on the road, you go to Cuba because that was what was there before their Revolution in 1959. In the 1980's, as China began to open up, I read an article with a surprising fact. They indicated that China had the largest population of Esperanto speakers in the world. Supposedly the enthusiasm and support for Esperanto as a universal language was at its highest among universities just before the doors began to shut in China in the 1920's and 1930's. Consequently there was a large population of intellectuals that carried the faith of Esperanto through the years of isolation. When finally China began to open up again, imagine everyone's surprise. The Chinese Esperanto speakers discovered that instead of becoming a universal language, Esperanto was an obscure linguistic specialty. For the Esperanto faithful in the global community, there was the surprise discovery of a reservoir of Esperanto speakers in China. By the way, as yet a further digression, did you know that the international financier, George Soros, is one of the few native speakers of Esperanto, his father having been an Esperanto speaker and enthusiast and having raised his sons speaking Esperanto?

In 2008, Chinese New Year launches on February 7th. It might serve as a good opportunity to introduce your children to China, Chinese traditions, history, etc. If we are lucky, China will continue a peaceful path towards further development and prosperity and will be a significant part of their future rather than some walled off or isolated country and the more they know about China's history and traditions, the better.

Below are some books that cover Chinese New Year as a particular event.

Let us know in the comments section whether there are additional books that you think do a good job of introducing children to China.

Picture Books








The Dragon New Year by David Bouchard and illustrated by Zhong-Yang Huang Suggested








Sam and the Lucky Money by Karen Chinn and illustrated by Cornelius Van Wright and Ying-Hwa Hu Suggested








The Runaway Rice Cake by Ying Chang Compestine and illustrated by Tungwai Chau Suggested








Happy, Happy Chinese New Year! by Demi Suggested








Chinese New Year by Alice K. Flanagan and illustrated by Svetlana Zhurkina and Linda D. Labbo Recommended








D Is For Dragon Dance by Ying Chang Compestine and illustrated by Yongsheng Xuan Suggested








Celebrating Chinese New Year by Diane Hoyt-Goldsmith and illustrated by Lawrence Migdale Recommended








Chinatown by William Low Suggested








Chinese New Year's Dragon by Rachel Sing and illustrated by Chao Wei Liu Suggested








Moonbeams, Dumplings & Dragon Boats by Nina Simonds and Leslie Swartz and illustrated by Meilo So Suggested








Lion Dancer by Kate Waters and Madeline Slovenz-Low and illustrated by Martha Cooper Recommended








This Next New Year by Janet S. Wong and illustrated by Yangsook Choi Suggested


Independent Readers








The Chinese New Year Mystery by Carolyn Keene and illustrated by Jan Naimo Jones Suggested








When the Circus Came to Town by Laurence Yep and illustrated by Suling Wang Recommended



Alvin Tresselt

Born September 30, 1916 in Passaic, New Jersey
Died July 24, 2000 in Burlington, Vermont


Alvin Tresselt's life and work was a living embodiment of the land of second chances. Born in 1916 in Passaic, New Jersey, he became a leader in a particular style of children's writing as well as sustaining a career as an editor and publisher.

Growing up in New Jersey at a time when the basis of the state motto, "The Garden State" was more obvious, he spent a number of summers on a farm as a child. His love of the land led to daydreaming about becoming a farmer with a herd of cattle.

However, graduating high-school in 1934 in the midst of the Great Depression, opportunities were constrained. He headed across the river to New York, working a variety of jobs up to the beginning of World War II. He was rejected for military service for health reasons and,, instead spent the war years working in defense plants.

It was really only in 1946, twelve years after finishing school, that his career began to take a discernable direction. The first event of the year was his landing a job at one of the old New York department store icons, B. Altman & Co., working on interior displays.

Also in 1946, Tresselt wrote his first children's book, Rain Drop Splash, illustrated by Leonard Weisgard. Tresselt was familiar with the work of Margaret Wise Brown and Leonard Weisgard and the whole Bank Street College movement. There was a new effort from these folks to create children's stories that were not the traditional morality tale but rather stories that seized on and amplified some aspect of a child's world and related it in a fashion comprehensible to a young child.

This style of writing, frequently referred to as "mood" writing, exults in the rhythm and cadences of language. The stories are often not even stories as traditionally understood. Sometimes there is no protagonist as the focus of the story. Frequently there is little narrative structure or even directionality to the story. They often are more characterized by a cycle of sound and rhythm than by having a beginning, middle and end. In most instances, it is expository writing without a narrative structure.

If this sounds like academic gibberish, it often is in the hands of lesser talents. However, with a Margaret Wise Brown or an Alvin Tresselt, it can produce something more akin to an extended westernized haiku; a little mysterious and out of the ordinary but soothing and relaxing. These are often wonderfully calming stories, excellent for bedtime or calming an overly excited child.

The forward to Tresselt's Caldecott Medal winner, White Snow, Bright Snow, gives you a sense of the melody of his writing. The prologue is in verse form but the main text is in prose though it nudges into poetry territory every now and then.

Softly, gently in the secret night,
Down from the North came the quiet white.
Drifting, sifting, silent flight,
Softly, gently in the secret night.

White snow, bright snow, smooth and deep.
Light snow, night snow, quiet as sleep.
Down, down, without a sound;
Down, down to the frozen ground.

Covering roads and hiding fences,
Sifting in cracks and filling up trenches.
Millions of snowflakes, tiny and light,
Softly, gently, in the secret night.

You can get a sense of his prose style from this excerpt from How Far is Far?

"How far is far?" asked the little boy.

"As far as the end of your nose," said his mother, and she kissed the end of his nose.

"As far as you can walk until you get tired. As far away as the other side of the world. Even as far away as the first star that shines when the sky grows dark."

"That's a lot to think about," said the little boy, and he went out to dig a hole.

In the case of Tresselt, this sense of mood is supplemented with a dose of information - it isn't all fluff. While Tresselt was inspired by the work of Brown and Weisgard, he drew upon his own experiences and enthusiasms to inform his stories. In the case of Rain Drop Splash and for many of the books that were to follow, this meant writing stories related to nature, the cycle of life and ecology. In his first book, Tresselt follows a single rain drop from a mud puddle through the water cycle, ultimately to the ocean.

As an aside, it is interesting to note just how many ecology/conservation stories were being produced in these years, not as a movement, and not even as message books. In fact, that is part of what makes them so wonderful. You are not clunkingly hit over the head with a "Nature is Good" message, but rather, you enjoy a story in which that is the inescapable conclusion without it ever being presented as such. Just in this period, way before Rachel Carson's Silent Spring for adults, you have Janice May Udry with A Tree is Nice, Bill Peet with Farewell to Shady Glade, Virginia Lee Burton with The Little House and I am sure there are others. I wonder how many conservationists of the sixties were inspired by exposure to these tales.

Following the popular and critical reception of Rain Drop Splash, Tresselt worked with Roger Duvoisin to produce White Snow, Bright Snow in 1947 winning that year's Caldecott Medal for the illustrations. This was the beginning of a long and fruitful collaboration with Duvoisin. Of the fifty-three books Tresselt wrote over his lifetime, Duvoisin illustrated eighteen of them.

With his critical and popular reputation founded on these two books, Tresselt continued writing primarily nature based "mood" books over the next fifteen years including Sun Up, Follow the Wind, Autumn Harvest and Wake Up, Farm!

As trend-setting as his books were, they became widely, and often less adeptly, emulated. One consequence was that by the sixties, some began to comment on a surfeit of these type of books and to criticize his continuing focus on nature and "mood" books. In 1964, Tresselt began a second chapter of his writing with a long series of retellings of folktales, primarily stories from Japan. However the first in this sequence, and ever since one of the most popular, was the retelling of an old Ukrainian folktale, The Mitten recounting the adventures and misadventures of an increasing crowd of forest animals seeking refuge from the winter cold in the ever expanding mitten dropped by one small boy. This folktale has proven to be enduringly popular in the US with numerous subsequent author/illustrators trying their hand at the retelling; most recently Jan Brett's beautifully illustrated version.

All during the period that he was writing children's stories, Tresselt also held a regular job, first at B. Altman, ultimately moving into their in-house advertising, and then leaving B. Altman and moving into publishing. In 1952 he became the managing editor of the Parent's Institute's children's magazine, Humpty Dumpty. In 1965 he became the editor and then executive editor of Parent's Magazine Press. After leaving the Press in 1974 he became dean of faculty at the Institute of Children's Literature in Redding Ridge, Connecticut and was involved in an officer capacity in a variety of children's literature organizations.

In 1978, Tresselt and Duvoisin teamed up for a final book, What Did You Leave Behind? a story for children emphasizing the importance of observation. While this was Tresselt's final original book, in the eighties and nineties, he revisited nine of his earlier books, revising the text in some cases and in others also releasing them with new illustrations.

After a long and accomplished life, a series of professional roles, a fruitful and abundant career as a children's author with two distinct bodies of work, Tresselt, man of second chances, passed away July 24, 2000.

Picture Books








Hide and Seek Fog by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin Recommended








The Mitten by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Yaroslava Mills Suggested








The Gift of the Tree by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Henri Sorensen Recommendation








White Snow, Bright Snow by Alvin R. Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin Recommended



Bibliography

Rain Drop Splash by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Leonard Weisgard 1946
White Snow, Bright Snow by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1947
Johnny Maple-Leaf by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1948
The Wind and Peter by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Gary MacKenzie 1948
Bonnie Bess, the Weathervane Horse by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Marylin Hafner 1949
Sun Up by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1949
The Little Lost Squirrel by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Leonard Weisgard 1950
Follow the Wind by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1950
Hi, Mister Robin! by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1950
Autumn Harvest by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1951
The Rabbit Story by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Leonard Weisgard 1952
Follow the Road by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1953
A Day with Daddy by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Helen Heller 1953
I Saw the Sea Come In by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1954
Wake up, Farm! by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1955
Wake up, City! by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1957
The Frog in the Well by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1958
The Smallest Elephant in the World by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Milton Glaser 1959
Timothy Robbins Climbs the Mountain by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1960
(With Wilbur Wheaton) An Elephant Is Not a Cat by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Tom Vroman 1962
Under the Trees and through the Grass by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1962
How Far Is Far? by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Ward Brackett 1964
The Mitten: An Old Ukrainian Folktale by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Yaroslava Mills 1964
A Thousand Lights and Fireflies by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by John Moodie 1965
Hide and Seek Fog by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1965
The World in the Candy Egg by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1967
The Old Man and the Tiger by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Albert Aquino 1967
The Tears of the Dragon by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Chihiro Iwasaki 1967
The Fox Who Traveled by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Nancy Sears 1968
(With Nancy Cleaver) The Legend of the Willow Plate by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Joseph Low 1968
The Crane Maiden by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Chihiro Iwasaki 1968
Helpful Mr. Bear by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Kozo Kakimoto 1968
Ma Lien and the Magic Brush by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Kei Wakana 1968
It's Time Now! by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1969
The Witch's Magic Cloth by Alvin Tresselt 1969
How Rabbit Tricked His Friends by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Yasuo Segawa 1969
The Rolling Rice Ball by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Saburo Watanabe 1969
The Fisherman under the Sea by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Chihiro Iwasaki 1969
The Beaver Pond by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1970
Eleven Hungry Cats by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Noboru Baba 1970
A Sparrow's Magic by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Fuyuji Yamanaka 1970
Gengoroh and the Thunder God by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Yasuo Segawa 1970
The Land of Lost Buttons by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Kayako Nishimaki 1970
The Hare and the Bear and Other Stories by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Yoshiharu Suzuki 1971
Ogre and His Bride by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Shosuke Fukuda 1971
Lum Fu and the Golden Mountain by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Daihacki Ohta 1971
The Little Mouse Who Tarried by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Kozo Kakimoto 1971
Wonder-Fish from the Sea by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Irmgard Lucht 1971
Stories from the Bible by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Lynd Ward 1971
The Dead Tree by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Charles Robinson 1972
The Little Green Man by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Maurice Kenelski 1972
The Nutcracker by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Seiichi Horiuchi 1974
What Did You Leave Behind? by Alvin Tresselt and illustrated by Roger Duvoisin 1978



Monday, January 14, 2008

Those Icelanders

The other day I was poking around a used books store and came across an intriguing little book narrating the history of Icelandic immigration to Canada from the 1880's to the 1910's. Who knew. I love the complex weave of humanity's stories with all its hidden strands.

Part of what makes this such an interesting story is simply the numbers. The population of Iceland in this period was about 70,000. 15-20,000 departed for Canada.

Even I couldn't warrant purchasing the book; limitations of space have forced me to ever higher standards of self-restraint. Even writing that sentence, I can feel Sally raising a skeptical eyebrow. But be it noted that there is no book on Icelandic immigration in the house.

Instead here are a couple of sites sketching out this intriguing story.

The Icelandic Immigration

Samkoma - History, Western Icelandic A veritable buffet of links to all things related to Icelandic immigration.

And here is the general Samkoma site, "The Meeting Place" for Icelandic & Western-Icelandic connections.

Early Icelandic Settlement in Canada

Icelandic Immigration to Alberta

New Iceland - A Forgotten Nordic Colony In Canada - This site, strange maps, by the way, is a great place to spend time for anyone with an interest in history and geography.


Well, enough about Icelandic immigration. I sure do enjoy coming across new information about something of which I was never even aware. You don't know what you don't know.


Sunday, January 13, 2008

In Praise of Bad Books

I did not intend to start out the year with this particular essay but there is a wonderful discussion going on in one of the children's literature listservs to which I belong that touches on a set of issues which often arise in children's literature and which will be relevant to a number of essays and book lists we will be creating this year. Perhaps best to grab the bull by the horns early and set the issue to the side.

Unfortunately, the issue is neither easily stated nor easily addressed.

Part of the challenge is lack of specificity. The general charge is that authors and illustrators should be more sensitive and respectful of all cultures, particularly those that are in some context deemed minority cultures. The charge is usually in the context of race or ethnicity, though occasionally extending to culture and religion. However, the nature of the charge often shifts in debate as does the claimed damage done. Even more ambiguous are the appropriate actions proposed to be taken which range from a general admonition to be nice, all the way to strong statements to the effect that outsiders have no rights to tell stories and with almost every imaginable permutation in between

Fundamentally the discussion comes down to this - what rights do self-identified groups of people have to control access to and dissemination of "their" stories. The discussion though, is often broadened into who is allowed to discuss other people's stories. A common complaint is when a non-member of a group presents a tale as if it were part of another's folklore when in fact it is not. To give a specific example - Is there anything wrong with a non-Native American writing a story in the form of a Native American folktale which is not in fact a traditional folktale at all.

I think most people would agree that in this scenario at least, a deceit has been committed by the author on his audience. But what is the obligation of the author to his audience? If he simply indicates that the tale was inspired by Native American myths, which it very well might have been, does that rectify the impression that it is in fact a Native American story? When does a retelling become a completely new story? And what is the damage, if any, to an undefined Native American community?

You can start playing with the variables in this scenario to see how tangled it quickly becomes. What happens if a member of the community (rather than a non-Native American) writes a story in a folktale format which is "inspired" by the traditional tales?

Being a keen First Amendment fan my instinct is, outside the legal context of copyright ownership, to say that anything goes, short of direct and targeted calls for violent action. I viscerally reject the position that any group "controls" a story and yet there are elements of their position with which I empathize. The discussion has been going on in the listserv for two or three weeks now and I at first pretty much ignored it as I get fairly riled by self-appointed commissars of taste and values.

However, the issue is not just about the First Amendment, and when you reflect on it there are many valid concerns. I cannot ignore the fact that I sympathize with some of the issues raised, but I need to reconcile that sympathy with that visceral commitment to free speech. Many of the discussions go around and around with people speaking at cross purposes to one another and not ever really communicating. This essay is an attempt to answer two questions; "Can stories be owned and controlled by a people?" and "What obligation does the author of a story have to anybody?", and to answer them in a way that breaks the wall of confusion down into manageable pieces.

I will frame this around a central metaphor, illuminated by four analogies and underpinned by a long list of axioms.

The metaphor is that of a bridge. Whenever self-identified groups of people interact, there will be a greater or lesser exchange of a variety of things - genes, language, religion, trade goods, services, customs, stories, etc. The nature of that exchange may differ dramatically depending upon the intentions of the parties, the cohesiveness of those groups, the relative power of the groups one to the other and the duration of interaction.

The exchange, to the extent that it happens, happens on a metaphorical bridge. It might be a wide bridge or narrow one; much may go on there or little, people might pass freely back and forth or simply meet to exchange at the bridge, exchanges might occur individually or between groups, individuals on the bridge might be appointed ambassadors of their people, simple traders, charlatans or self-designated representatives, interaction may be frequent and voluminous or infrequent and niggardly. And of course some of the transaction on the bridge is of a non-voluntary sort. The Mongol hordes had a pretty straight-forward approach to exchanges - You give, we take, (and maybe you live.)

If there is a bridge, there is always a context that also needs to be taken into account. Is this a bridge between two large singular entities (think the US and China), is it one large to one small (think the US and Liberia), is it one large to many small (the US and the many distinctive Native American groups), is it many small to many small (the Balkans)?

Each of these scenarios carries different implications. After following the discussions for a while and noting the points made by the protectionists, one of the conclusions I have reached is that often the resentment and anger on the part of the advocates of the small group is really not an anger at some specific action or book (what someone said that was accurate or not, how they are represented, etc.) but rather at the fact of being the small group and the change arising from interaction with a large neighbor.

The analogies I will use are four-fold; with food, with language, with movie adaptations and with the market-place. I will call them into play as I go along.

Ownership of stories is an emotive issue analogous to the issue of language death. There are literally thousands of distinct languages around the world with a large number in imminent danger of extinction. Each such death of a language usually also represents the death of a distinctive culture, history and body of stories. While we may all be the poorer with each extinction of a language, who is responsible for maintaining a language? It can only, in the end, be the collective decision of some functioning minimum number of people that they are willing to invest the time and resources on their part to sustain a language. This is not an inconsequential investment. It has to be made at the individual level because the benefits are diffuse, philosophical and scarcely quantifiable which makes it a hard sell to people outside the community. While simply documenting existing languages is a huge effort, it is interesting to note that there have been a number of linguistic rescue operations in the past fifty years which have revivified a number of languages: Hebrew, Gaelic, Welsh, etc.

The analogy with food is extensive. Some would argue that, like food to the body, stories are critical for cultural survival. Like food, there are some stories which have their adherents and fans but have little healthy substance - the twinkies of the story world. Like food, a well read mind is fed by a variety of stories in some sort of balance, not the gorging on a single type of story. And like food, there is no accounting for taste in stories. Everyone has their preferences based on their unique experiences and context (all food is sumptuous to the starving man).

Movie adaptations are analogous to books in this context as well from the perspective of how to judge them. A movie adaptation is a translation from one medium to another, the respective media requiring different capabilities on the part of the audience, imposing a different experience and eliciting a different response. Movies are effectively a downhill skiing medium; everything rushes at you, you respond instinctively and without conscious consideration and the outcome is an emotional thrill on one extreme or another ("Wow, I made it", or, "Ouch, I think I broke my leg!") Books on the other hand are a cross-country skiing experience; it requires focus and endurance, there is the opportunity to stop and examine things or even take a digression, and the final response to the experience tends to be a longer lasting charge whether positive (physical exhilaration) or negative ("Oh, my aching muscles").

When a favorite book has been translated from its native medium to that of a movie you will encounter long impassioned discussions. These often do not have an outcome but are enjoyed as a process. What scenes were left out? What was added? How closely did the screen character match your imagination of the character? Was the director effective in catching the spirit of the book? and on and on. Since everyone created their own unique experience when they read the book in the first-place, their critique of the adaptation of the movie will be similarly unique - you have ended up with everyone praising or criticizing an experience that none of them share. This is similar to the process that goes on with adaptations of a story from one culture to another.

Is there a difference between what goes on in the storytelling interaction between large/cohesive groups and smaller less cohesive groups and that which occurs between two large cohesive groups? I don't think so. Each tells stories of the other. Members from one group attempt to interpret their people to the other group. No one agrees on how to define the quality of the storytelling. Some people tell stories for personal gain. Others do it for a variety of other, perhaps more altruistic reasons (often by intention but not necessarily by outcome).

The dynamic is not particularly different as to what happens on the bridge. That does not really change depending on relative sizes, strength, etc. It is not the action that differs. It is the feeling and response. If I am a member of the larger, stronger more cohesive group and I visit another large, strong cohesive group and study their stories and come back and tell those stories to my own community, does anyone from the other group care? Usually not. In fact, most often, it is not even noticed. And when it is noticed, and if there is controversy, it is usually on many other grounds rather than the right to tell the story.

For example, when Munro Leaf and Robert Lawson produced their wonderful The Story of Ferdinand in 1936, no one complained that they had no right to tell a story since they weren't Spanish or that they were factually mis-representing the cultural integrity of Spain. The controversy was whether they were making a political point. Interestingly, both the Right (Franco's Nationalists) and the Left (the Republicans) saw the story as an attack upon themselves.

Similarly, no one (credibly) attacks The Story About Ping's cultural sensitivity even though it is written by a Westerner. Many would hold that it is a useful story for introducing China (or a particular element of China at a particular time in history) to children. The Five Chinese Brothers, however, is more often critiqued. Sometimes the issue is whether it really is based on a Chinese folktale or whether Bishop just made it up. Sometimes the issue is about cultural stereotypes, but I don't believe anyone has questioned whether it should have been written at all or whether Bishop had a right to tell the tale as she did.

So why is it different when the interaction is between large and small? The interaction is not different at all but the potential consequences of that interaction could very well be. See Axiom 9.

Following are a series of axioms or maxims through which I am attempting to break out the various ideas inherent in this topic and frame them in a way that allows one to navigate through the debate to an end conclusion.

Axiom 1 - There is no singular entity such as a "people". There are of course governments representing nations to which people belong. Different governments may be representative of a more or less homogenous people. Below the governmental level though, people organize their lives along many vectors including religion, education, income, ethnicity, employment, cultural background, political beliefs, etc. Only as a citizen of a nation or some other polity do all those vectors come together. Very typically a single individual might self-identify with any one or more of these vectors. It is the fragmentation of identification which obviates the idea of "people".

Any individual at any point in time may self-identify more with one vector than with another and we often do not realize what our own priority of identification is. This shifting sense of what constitutes self is captured well in James Baldwin's essay The Discovery of What it Means To Be an American. On the one hand he states "I left America because I doubted my ability to survive the fury of the color problem here." To his surprise he later found:
In my necessity to find the terms on which my experience could be related to that of others, Negroes and whites, writers and non-writers, I proved, to my astonishment, to be as American as any Texas G.I. And I found my experience was shared by every American writer I knew in Paris. Like me, they had been divorced from their origins and it turned out to make very little difference that the origins of white Americans were European and mine were African - they were no more at home in Europe than I was.

Context becomes critical for our own self-identification - Baldwin was both an excluded and dissociated Negro in America and yet still an American in Europe. Which took precedence? It depends on the circumstances and the context.

Axiom 2 - There is no legal position to this discussion of who owns a story. By which I mean that most countries grant copyright to individuals or companies. I am unaware of any country that grants ownership of an idea or story to a group by right of precedent or original habitation. In these discussions the term "cultural copyright" sometimes comes up and is thrown around. There is no cultural copyright. Cultural copyright is a made up term representing a wish on the part of some people for a power which does not exist. Until such time as a government that actually represents its citizens creates such a thing, this idea is a red herring.

Axiom 3 - Good intentions are sometimes our worst enemies. The desire to prevent hurt feelings and misrepresentation is not inherently a bad desire. It is the translation of that desire into some sort of action that becomes the problem.

There are plenty of governments and countries which have elected to restrict the free flow of ideas (by restricting the articulation of those ideas). In fact, it usually can be assumed that the self-serving nature of most governmental interests are predisposed to protect their privileges by restricting the information available to its governed population and the capacity of that population to discuss, evaluate and synthesize information (free speech). That is not intended to be an accusation or pejorative statement but rather simply a matter of observation and logic.

Germany and Austria, for example, have made it illegal to deny the Holocaust. That is a comprehensible law given their particular history. Understanding the reasons why they have chosen to impose that law on themselves does not necessarily make it right though.

Every inch of ground given up on the freedom of speech seems to immediately translate into miles of encroachment on liberty as evidenced by the travesty going on north of our borders where, despite freedom of speech being in their constitution as well as in the UN's Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Article 19, to which they are a signatory (and which reads "Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers"), Canada has implemented a series of unaccountable Human Rights Commissions entitled to levy fines and restorative actions on anyone deemed to have said something insulting to specified protected groups.

To be fair to governments, it is not only governments that elect to restrict free speech. It is also uniformly customary for societies to create their own, non-legislative restrictions on speech, usually under the auspices of politeness and reducing conflict. In traditional Southern society, one does not discuss among strangers and acquaintances; religion, sex, money, politics, or anything else that might make a guest uncomfortable. Whether these are appropriate, useful, or desirable restrictions (and the goal of making people feel welcome and reducing conflict is a good one), is a value judgment many people might dispute and which any one person might agree or disagree with depending on the time and the circumstances.

Axiom 4 - All people, most of the time, desire predictability and the absence of change. Change represents a risk and a threat. When two cultures intersect, one is likely to be more affected than the other depending on circumstances of history, social cohesiveness, intention, power, etc. It is inherent, then, that one group will bear a greater burden of change or effort to resist change and, will therefore, be more vocal about the nature of the interaction.

Axiom 5 - Often-times our desire to protect the status-quo of the past and present blinds us to the beneficial future. Progress is a function which is only poorly defined and even less well understood. There have been many societies in which material progress took a back seat to cultural progress or intellectual progress. Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations, The Lever of Riches, etc. are wonderful books exploring how we might define and measure progress and the mechanisms by which it occurs, but we are still merely scratching the surface.

Since all progress involves the changing of material circumstances or cultural norms, someone will always be inconvenienced by change, not to say disappointed or even disadvantaged. King John, I am sure, was not well-pleased to accept restrictions on his powers from the barons at Runnymede, but it would be usually accepted by most that this was one step in a long path of beneficial progress.

Axiom 6 - No one wants to expend the effort or suffer the consequences of change, but everyone wants to enjoy the benefits that that change might bring.

Axiom 7 - For any smaller culture interacting with a large one, they are typically more affected by the exchange, and being more affected, will likely have more people more vocally resisting that change.

Axiom 8 - The smaller the community, the more likely there are to be multiple and irreconcilable views about the propriety of sharing stories and other items which shape a culture's identity and the more likely that each position will be held with great intensity. There are no wars as brutal as civil wars and this is the fate of many encounters between large and/or powerful cultures with small and/or weak cultures. Some people wish to assimilate, some wish to strike a position where they can wrest the best of both worlds, and some wish to isolate themselves, to burn the bridge. Without internal cohesion or agreement, individuals end up presenting themselves to the dominant culture as the voice of the people, as representative, as the conscience, etc. The members of the dominant culture are left trying to determine just who speaks for whom. Regardless of the passion and fine intentions of those individuals, they can only speak for themselves.

Axiom 9 - Purity (racial, religious, ethnic, etc.) cannot be the basis for making decisions. In its extreme, a position is often taken that only approved members from within a minority culture are allowed to tell the stories of the group. This position is undermined by Axiom 1. Who is ethnically pure enough to serve as a teller of stories? Even if they are ethnically pure, are they culturally pure? I find this line of questions to be abhorrent, divisive and self-destructive.

As an extreme example, in Australia, there is a whole continuum of ethnic and cultural purity which includes Aborigines who elect to live in reserves held solely for them (to which other citizens are prohibited from entry withour permission), effectively leading lives relatively close to those of their ancestors. There are those that live a half-way life, usually in the cities, between the traditional norms and those of the majority culture. Finally there are those that have chosen to integrate completely into the majority culture; often proud of their heritage but determined to be successful in a new environment. All might be ethnically of one people, but usually each has rather different views as to whether and how to present their heritage. Which person can speak for the whole?

Axiom 10 - While the dynamics between large and small cultures may not differ at all from those between two large cultures, I think it is fair to say that there is an element of the bull in the china shop. The small culture may introduce ideas into the larger culture but as a function of size, cohesiveness, and strength those ideas may take longer to assimilate into the larger culture and may be modified in a way that makes the assimilation easier.

This series of events would be in contradistinction to the experience of the smaller, weaker, less cohesive culture where they may be exposed to a greater range of unfamiliar knowledge and where the impact and change, though unintentional, can be far more consequential.

Many years ago I read an interesting account of this process occurring entirely unintentionally. I do not recollect the anthropology text I was reading, but the circumstances were something along the following lines.

Sometime around the late 1800's a group of anthropologists and linguists, interested in trying to parse out the migratory patterns of the settlement of the Pacific by the Micronesians and Melanesians, mounted an expedition to study the languages of the region (and how they were related) as well as the myths and folklore. The anthropologists were convinced that migration had occurred from northwest to southeast. They had some evidence from some of the main island chains of folktales that related tales of people coming from the west.

As they explored the further reaches of the Pacific and among minor and more isolated island chains, they asked not only about local folktales but specifically about any tales speaking of people coming from the West. They were disappointed to find a complete absence of such tales but dutifully returned to their universities and wrote up all the tales and languages they had collected.

A couple or three decades on, a later anthropologist decided to spend time doing field studies on one of the remote island chains that had been earlier visited by the other group. Residing on the island, he also collected information about their language and folktales. Among these stories were ones concerning ancestors coming from the west. Being familiar with the earlier reports he was puzzled about the discrepancy. What he discovered was that the direct questions from the earlier expedition and the sample stories they had related, had osmotically been absorbed and local folktales had morphed to incorporate the assumption of the outsiders that ancestors had come from the west.

Axiom 11 - Time is limited and you can't know everything. This is obvious but undermines an often central position of those who want to protect stories from the depredations of unqualified interlopers. The position taken is that only those very sympathetic to and well versed in a particular culture should be permitted to tell stories of that culture. What they are doing though, is imposing a further burden on parents, teachers and librarians to invest time and effort to investigate the "validity" of such folktales.

If I am a parent committed to exposing my child to folktales from a dozen or so cultures, I already have my work cut out for me in finding good, representative folktales from each culture. If I am then asked to explore the minutiae of who is authentic, the barrier to cultural entry can become inordinate. I only have so much time. Navigating the ethnic validity swamp is akin to that scene in Monty Python's Life of Brian where Brian is trying to figure out whether he has joined Judean People's Front, the People's Front of Judea, the Judean Popular People's Front, or the People's Front.

Surely it is better for a child to be exposed to a folktale outside of their ken (even if its rendering falls short of ideal), than for them not to be exposed at all.

Axiom 12 - Stories handed down are as subject to being hijacked generationally as they are to being hijacked culturally. A story that my grandparents told among themselves and handed down to my parents and then to me, may - by the time it reaches me - be completely different.

In fact, the appropriation and misappropriation of stories goes back at least to Homer and Herodotus. If there was ever a real Homer, the story which he told around some distant campfire will probably have taken many twists and turns through the mouths of subsequent story-tellers, each placing their mark. Once written down, we, as a collective global community, have been treated to telling and retellings innumerable. Which of these stories are true? None and all of them. Who owns them, no-one and all of us.

Were some better than others? Certainly there are those that have preferences. But all have probably served a purpose and been remembered fondly by someone. With each retelling though, the story will have drifted further from that which someone earlier was most attached to and will be roundly condemned as inferior.

Axiom 13 - Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, But Words Will Never Hurt Me - This childhood adage seems to have departed from its moorings among some adult critics. It is not a irreconcilable position to believe both that stories are very consequential and need to be judged appropriately and harshly and at the same time believe that words are simply words - it is the discussion and coaching from parent to child that surrounds those words that matter most.

Axiom 14 - Feelings are an inadequate basis for making decisions. Just because one or more people feel insulted by a particular portrayal is no basis for not writing or for believing the book is poorly written or that there is any intentional or unintentional malice. Everyone can feel insulted some of the time. A few people feel insulted all of the time. Regardless of individual sensitivities, and the desire for everyone to be happy and un-insulted, the cure of trying to restrict story-telling, well-motivated (and impractical) though it might be, is worse than the perceived injury.

Axiom 15 - Occam's Razor (often paraphrased as, all other things being equal, the simplest solution is the best) has a social corollary. The Social Occam's Razor would be: All other things being equal, always assume a hurtful statement is made in ignorance rather than malice. The cure for ignorance is more exposure, not less.

Axiom 16 - Some people are more interested in condemning than in creating. And as every revolution ends up devouring its own, often times those that work the hardest to adhere to some putative standards of sensitivity are those most condemned. This dynamic is particularly destructive; those that are in a position to create new works effectively allow themselves to be held hostage by self-appointed standards police.

I would advocate that those who are already capable and predisposed to create new works do so. Yes, mistakes will be made but better to try and tell the tales well and make a mistake than to not to try at all. Those who object are then free to create alternates themselves that meet the standards they have set. Whether the resulting work is appealing to others is then subject to determination.

Axiom 17 - If true, not beautiful. If beautiful, not true. So someone once said about translated poetry. And really it could be said for any translation.

Axiom 18 - Every experience of a book is necessarily unique. The response to any story is a function of three inputs; those of the author and illustrator as the creators of the story, the context in which the story is being read, and the entire weltanschauung of the person reading the story.

We can critique the author and illustrator on a whole laundry list of criteria ranging from technical versatility, to plot structure, to character development etc. However, and fortunately for the employment of editors and publishers, there is no formula to predict which books will be well received by whom because context and weltanschauung are unpredictable variables.

Axiom 19 - No one agrees on what constitutes a great book, a good book or even a bad book. There are books critically assessed as poorly written and/or illustrated that sell in the millions and there are beautifully illustrated and well written books that do not sell enough to even recoup the costs of printing. There are books that have many factual errors, misrepresent groups, mischaracterize history, use archaic and potentially demeaning language and/or ethnic terms, and yet have held the attention, wonder and love of book readers over many generations. Where would we be without Doctor Dolittle, Little Black Sambo, Uncle Remus, TinTin, etc. And I would be willing to wager that those that love these books, grow up better informed despite the factual errors, more open despite the stereotyping, more constructively critical despite the historical characterizations, and less disposed to linguistic insults than the general population.

Virtually every book has a friend and who is to know where that friendship will lead. One of the books criticized from a Native American perspective was How the Moon Regained Her Shape. The criticism is that it seems to present itself as a Native American legend when in fact it is made up from whole-cloth. In our TTMD review, I also criticized the text of the book but more from a gender stereotype perspective. Despite being written by a professor of women's studies, the book reinforces a stereotype of females being pathetically dependent upon nice words from others to bolster their own self-esteem. So the text is open to pretty stark criticism.

The illustrations, however, are very distinctive, unusual and attention grabbing. Is it possible that some young child might be so fascinated by the illustrations that it sparks her interest sufficiently to want another book involving Native Americans? I think there is every chance of that happening. So on the one hand I consider this a bad book (the message of the text). I would not give it to my children to read on their own. But I would consider reading it to them as the basis to discuss unintentional stereotypes. On the other hand, I consider this a reasonable book for discussing its illustrations and the techniques used by the artist.

So, is it a "good" book? I would answer, No!
Is it possibly a useful book? Yes!
Would I recommend it to a general audience? No, not really.
Could it lead a child on to other books about Native Americans? Certainly!

Axiom 20 - Restricting people to write about that which they know would mean that much of our literary heritage would never have been created. It is the process of imagining, thinking and experiencing beyond the boundaries of own direct experience that adds to our cultural treasure and ultimately expands our fellow-feeling with those whom we might not at first see any connection.

Axiom 21 - Just as in a commercial marketplace, so it is in the marketplace of ideas; no-one gets everything they want but everyone gets more than they had. Any restriction on the free flow of knowledge and ideas (other than the proverbial "Fire" in a crowded theater examples), represents a diminution of intellectual health and benefit.

Axiom 22 - The act of designating or qualifying who might write what about whom is effectively a restraint in trade of ideas.

Axiom 23 - Any restraint in trade impoverishes all parties.

Axiom 24 - For all the charges of malicious bigotry or prejudice, (as justification for restricting the free flow of ideas), there is little evidence of that actually being a problem. It can be theoretically, but in practice, in most OECD countries you would be hard pressed to find, other than grubby self-published or photo-copied screeds and wretched anonymous comments in blogs, any sort of materials, particularly those targeted towards children, which demonstrate much in the way of directed maliciousness.

Rather, more commonly, the issue is an accusation of unintended bigotry and prejudice that might potentially, in the future, possibly have some detrimental effect on the thought processes of children.

Axiom 25 - Any relating of a story from one context to another (from one culture to another, from one language to another, from one social group to another) is both an act of linguistic translation and an act of cultural translation.

When we lived in Australia and traveled in the Outback we often visited Aboriginal communities. We purchased many children's books of Aboriginal folktales, most written in conjunction with someone from the Aboriginal community or illustrated by the same. The first step of translation had already occurred, i.e. all the stories were in English and not the native language (of which there are some hundreds). What was particularly notable was the impact of cultural adaptation. In some stories, the translation was almost literal which would not normally be much of an issue except that the various Aboriginal belief systems are so dramatically different than those of northwestern Europe that the embedded assumptions and background knowledge almost made the stories incomprehensible. In other instances, the authors had made some clear effort to either explain the hidden assumptions or to retell it in a fashion that that knowledge was not required. So the more comprehensible stories tended to be those least adherent to the original; those hewing the closest to the original had the least impact on us as outsiders because they were the most incomprehensible.

Which approach was the more true? You might as well debate how many angels can dance on the head of a pin. For our children, at that time, at their ages, with their upbringing and life experiences, the modified stories were what they responded to and remembered best. Change any one of the variables though and the answer might have been different.

Axiom 26 - The act of linguistic translation is, in itself, rife with land mines and the potential for offense. Language is such an integral part of cultural self-identity that it can hardly avoid being a source of potential sensitivity.

In fact, you don't even need to go to the extent of translation. Accent on its own can be a barrier. Our first few months in Sydney, Australia were a source of immense frustration to Sally, this being her first assignment abroad. Sydney is your quintessential emigrant city - it seems every next person is from somewhere else. Sally was trying to acclimate her ear to the Australian accent and yet every second person with whom she spoke in those first few months seemed to have an accent designed to confuse her. Was that an Australian accent? No, they're from New Zealand. How about that one? No, South African. And that one? Birmingham. Etc.

Being from the South, Sally was perfectly aware of her own accent which to her ear is pretty clearly and unmistakably Southern. Imagine her surprise when new Australian acquaintances would ask, Are you Canadian? Now what was happening was that the Australians were recognizing a North American accent but were not familiar with the cadences of a Southern accent and their best guess was Canadian. Sally's surprise that they did not recognize a Southern accent was compounded by her amazement that anybody, anybody could confuse a Southern accent with a Canadian accent. Could she have been insulted? Well, we do have some red-blooded Southern friends that I suspect might take offense at being confused with a Canadian. But not Sally. No malice was intended and, in fact, the mere inquiry was evidence of those small micro-steps toward relationship building which should always be viewed in the most positive light possible.

Axiom 27 - A story told poorly is better than a story untold. As an enthusiastic amateur historian, I can guarantee that I never regret having a fragmentary record of things past or even having badly opinionated or factually wrong stories from the past. My only regret is that we have too little. I can make allowances for errors and opinions and hedge my conclusions appropriately; I can do nothing when I have no information at all.

Take the contrast between the Egyptians and the Carthaginians. We have lots of material for the Egyptian period, much of which they produced themselves, some of which was produced by others. The Greek historian Herodotus traveled through Egypt collecting stories that intrigued him, some of which matched those that we have from the Egyptians, some of which took the mickey out of the Egyptians' own tales, some of which were local gossip dressed up as history, and some of which it is clear either Herodotus was not understanding what he was hearing or his local guides were pulling his gullible leg.

In contrast, we have virtually no historical record for the Carthaginians other than the little the Romans wrote of them and the material record of buildings, temples, etc. that they left behind. The footprint of their history is large and momentous and yet we have scarcely any detail by which to understand them. The absence of their own record and stories makes them not just an historical enigma, but a tragedy.


So at the end of this long discussion - and I apologize for its length - I am in the debt of those who have made the case for some special treatment of stories from other cultures particularly small communities. It has forced me to think through some of the many elements at play in this issue and to re-examine my own assumptions. In doing so, I think I have sorted out a few of my own inconsistencies, though I may not have articulated them particularly well.

My conclusion is that, like Churchill's observation on democracy (the worst form of government except for all the others), I still come down on the side of an unfettered freedom of speech. It may be damaging, there may be people whose feelings are hurt, there may be misperceptions created and factual errors made. But unfettered speech, while the worst form of communication except for all the others, is also the fastest way to rectify the problems that it does create. It is a self-healing process, and while uncontrollable and prone to error, it will, in the long run, most likely lead to an outcome most acceptable to the largest group possible.

So, moving away from some of the fields of contention, and despite TTMD being premised on identifying great books for children, I am forced to conclude that we should praise bad books. If we want more children to experience the pleasure of reading, it is not for us to tell them which books they ought to enjoy, but rather release to them the full flowering of story-telling from the good to the bad. Let us now praise bad books.

Picture Books








The Story of Ferdinand by Munro Leaf and illustrated by Robert Lawson Highly Recommended








The Story About Ping by Marjorie Flack Highly Recommended








The Five Chinese Brothers by Claire Huchet Bishop and illustrated by Kurt Wiese Highly Recommended








The Story of Little Black Sambo by Helen Bannerman Recommended








How The Moon Regained Her Shape by Janet Ruth Heller and illustrated by Ben Hodson

Independent Reader







The Story of Doctor Dolittle by Hugh Lofting and illustrated by Michael Hague Highly Recommended








Favorite Uncle Remus by Joel Chandler Harris Recommended








Adventures of Tintin by Herge Recommended

Young Adult







Collected Essays by James Baldwin Suggested








The Histories by Herodotus Suggested


Virginia Lee Burton

Born August 30, 1909 in Newton Centre, Massachusetts
Died October 15, 1968 in Massachusetts

The story of Virginia Lee Burton is in some ways a very ordinary one, but the more you contemplate it the more startling it becomes. She is remarkable both for what she did do and what she didn't do. She only wrote seven books, but six of those seven have been in print almost continuously since they were written sixty odd years ago. More than that, her writing and illustration was only a part of her career, primarily of interest to her while her two boys were young. Once they grew up, she moved on to other creative pursuits and left book writing and illustrating behind.

Virginia Lee Burton was born in Newton Centre, Massachusetts on August 30, 1909. She was born into a well established family, her father being the Dean of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. She lived in Massachusetts for the first seven years of her life before moving with her family to California. She studied art and dance at the California School of Fine Arts.

When she was 19, she and her father returned to Boston. She was scheduled to begin a tour with a ballet company when her father broke his leg and she withdrew from the tour in order to care for him during his recovery. She returned to art school where she met and then married her art teacher, George Demetrios, a classical sculptor, in 1931.

While still pursuing her studies, she obtained a position as a sketcher of dances at the Boston Transcript. She and George moved from Boston to Folly Cove, Massachusetts in 1932 after the birth of their first child, Aristides. Her second son, Michael, was born in 1935.

When you look at her seven books, the interesting thing is how recognizable they are from one to the other and, yet, how they do not run together. In one's memory there is something distinctly different in each one that sets it apart. Four of her seven books are about heavy machinery (Train, Steam Shovel, Cable Car and Snow Plow) and another one is an inanimate structure, a house. Most of her books make distinctive use of color but a couple of them are primarily in black and white. Probably the characteristic that ties them together is her use of line for motion and energy. I suppose it was that interest in dance and the years of dance sketching that gives her pictures, with their loops and swirls, such energy.

Another interesting thing about Burton that I have noticed over the years is that it is common for a friend to own one of Burton's books that their children have loved but to be unaware of the others. Presumably this is a function of the fact that the books are all so distinctive.

Burton's approach to writing her stories was to sketch out the story first. Once she felt she had the visual narrative in place she would then review that with her sons and their friends, telling the story to go with the pictures. Once she had done this a number of times, marking their responses to variations in the narration, she would then sit down and actually write the story. The writing of the story was, to her, the most difficult and unnatural part of the process, a perception on her part which most readers would not infer from reading her books, as the telling of the tale flows smoothly with natural rhythms and cadences.

The final thing that is reasonably common across all her work is her attention to detail. Her illustrations are not an attempt at realism but there are always details buried somewhere in the pictures that either add to the story or which are just plain interesting and likely to hold the attention of a little one.

Burton's first book, Choo Choo, was published in 1935 for her four year old son Aris. Choo Choo is the story of a runaway train engine rendered in charcoal sketches. It is a good story (especially to any youngsters attracted to trains, big equipment or things that go fast), though in my opinion the least artful of her seven books.

Her second book and probably her most famous and popular, was published in 1939. Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel was written for her second son, Michael. This is the book that really made her name and is most loved. A later story, The Little House, was even more positively received by the critical establishment. While very popular, it can't supplant Mike Mulligan.

Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel tells the tale of a fellow and his steam shovel who have been overtaken by technological progress. More powerful and reliable excavators are putting them out of work. In a desperate bid to stay competitive, Mike offers a town that is seeking to have the cellar dug for their new town hall, to complete the job in a single day or there will be no cost. The twist at the end is that, in his focused effort to complete the cellar before sun-down, which he does, he forgets to leave a way to get his steam shovel Mary Anne, out.

In an afterward, Burton indicated that when she sketched out the story, she got to this point and did not have a good ending in place. Showing it to one of her young neighbors, Dick Berkenbush he suggested the resolution of the entrapped Mary Anne which has ever since given the ending the twist that has entertained both parents and children. The Boston Globe had an article a couple of years ago relating Berkenbush's recollection of this event.

Part of what gives Mike Mulligan its enduring appeal is that it embodies that quintessential American dilemma, a love of the new in tension with a respect for the past and a regret to see the familiar pass away; or, in this case, pass into the cellar.

Mike Mulligan was followed a couple of years later with Calico, The Wonder Horse or the Saga of Stewy Stinker. Calico was Burton's answer to her displeasure with the artistic quality of cartoons and their narrative blandness. An adventure story for young ones, Burton recounts how Hank and his horse Calico forestall bandits from ruining a Christmas party. Done in black and white, Burton reworked the illustrations many times before she was satisfied that she had captured the spirit of a cartoon but with the detail and graphic style that would not only hold the interest of a child but be worthwhile on their own.

The Little House tells the story of a little house in the country which, with the sprawl of a nearby city, becomes encompassed by urban life till rescued and moved back out into the country by a descendant of the original builder. Again there is the theme of rescuing our idealized past from the march of progress. The artwork in The Little House is wonderful. It is a great story to build a child's awareness of time, progress, and seasons. The Little House was the winner of the 1943 Caldecott Medal.

Katy and the Big Snow and Maybelle the Cable Car brought Burton back to her core material, animated big machines that are endlessly fascinating to small boys. The detail is especially rich in Katy and the Big Snow and Maybelle the Cable Car has a neat parallel theme of popular civic action which you would be hard pressed to find in other stories for audiences of this young age.

At this point, Burton's children were in their teens and she moved on to other artistic pursuits. She published only one further book, Life Story, The Story of Life on Our Earth from its Beginning to Now in 1962. One of Burton's characteristic techniques is to ground her stories with the specific and the local. She starts Life Story in the Paleozoic period and ends the story of the evolution of life at her home and garden in Folly Cove.

Burton also illustrated six books by others. Most notable would be her illustration of Hans Christian Andersen's The Emperor's New Clothes. Perhaps most intriguing would be her illustration of Anne Malcolmson's Song of Robin Hood. Malcolmson and Grace Castagnetta set fifteen old ballads of Robin Hood to music and Burton spent three years producing meticulously detailed drawings to illustrate the ballads and music. The result is a beautiful book well suited to children with a love of language, ballads, music, or Robin Hood. It can be a great read-to for those children with a good ear and the attention span. The language in the ballads can be a little archaic but not dauntingly so. From the ballad Robin Hood and the Tanner:

"What tradesman art thou?" said jolly Robin,
"Good fellow, I prithee me show;
And also me tell in what place thou dost dwell,
For both these fain would I know."

"I am a tanner," bold Arthur replied,
"In Nottingham long have I wrought.
And if thou'lt come there, I vow and I swear
"I'll tan thy hide for naught."

In 1941 Burton co-founded a design group, The Folly Cove Designers, which was essentially an art co-op where everyone participated in making singular textile designs, all submissions being reviewed by the group. As she began spending less time on children's books she focused more and more on the Folly Cove Designers and in particular, articulating a theory of illustration and design, a project which she was still working on at the time of her death from cancer in 1968.

In Burton's work we find attention to detail, locality, and story-telling style that capture small children's interest. I suppose it took a perfectionist (she was reputed to throw away many works that her editors thought were perfectly fine end products, so that she could reach a greater level of refinement) with the skills of an artist and the passion of dancer and the sense of the stage to accomplish such an enduring repertoire.

Picture Books








Choo Choo: The Story of a Little Engine Who Ran Away by Virginia Lee Burton Suggested 1935


Sad-faced Boy by Arna Bontemps and illustrated by Virginia Lee Burton 1937








Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel by Virginia Lee Burton Highly Recommended 1939


Manual of American Mountaineering by Kenneth A. Henderson and illustrated by Virginia Lee Burton 1941








Calico, the Wonder Horse by Virginia Lee Burton Suggested 1941


Fast Sooner Hound by Arna Bontemps and Jack Conroy and illustrated by Virginia Lee Burton 1942

Don Coyote by Leigh Park and illustrated by Virginia Lee Burton 1942








The Little House by Virginia Lee Burton Highly Recommended 1942








Katy and the Big Show by Virginia Lee Burton Highly Recommended 1943








Song of Robin Hood by Virginia Lee Burton Suggested 1947








The Emperor's New Clothes by Virginia Lee Burton Suggested 1949








Maybelle, the Cable Car by Virginia Lee Burton Recommended 1952








Life Story: The Story of Life on Our Earth from Its Beginning up to Now by Virginia Lee Burton Suggested 1962






Friday, January 11, 2008

Beowulf - What I didn't know

Dot Wordsworth, language columnist in the The Spectator, in her column of November 24, 2007 points out something I never knew, nor even thought about. Interesting though.

Beowulf is meant to be a courteous but fierce warrior. His name is literally ‘bee-wolf', or ‘bees' enemy'. This is merely a kenning, or poetic name, for ‘bear', since bears seek out honey, destroying bees' nests as they go.



A couple of good versions of Beowulf


Independent Reader








Beowulf the Warrior by Ian Serraillier and illustrated by Severin & Ian Serraillier Recommended



Young Adult








Beowulf by Seamus Heaney Recommended






We'll All Die Game by Johnny Ashcroft

Johnny Ashcroft was an Australian country singer especially popular in the 1950's and 60's. I especially like this ballad. The names in the fourth stanza refer to famous Australian bushrangers.

We'll All Die Game
Johnny Ashcroft

Oh bring on the troopers, the judges, the hangman
Bring ‘em, they're one and the same
The hills and the valleys will echo our laughter
‘Cause we'll all die game.

When we're dead and gone we will long be remembered
One day they'll all know the shame
Of how we were hunted and tortured and beaten
But we'll all die game.

Oh, one day we'll ride just as free as the wallaby
Over the hills and the plains
To a place where the troopers and hangmen won't catch us
‘Cause we'll all die game.

Now there's Brady, there's Caesar, there's Moondyne, and Donahue
Together we'll all gather fame
With Thunderbolt, Moonlite, Ben Hall and Ned Kelly
We'll all die game.

Oh, when it is more than a hundred years after
And only our memories remain
The hills and the valleys will echo our laughter
‘Cause we'll all die game.

So bring on your troopers, your judges, your hangmen,
Bring ‘em, they're one and the same
To hell with your troopers, yours judges, your hangmen
‘Cause we'll die game.


James Baldwin Quote

James Baldwin Collected Essays

What It Means to be An American
Page 142

"Though we do not wholly believe it yet, the interior life is a real life, and the intangible dreams of people have a tangible effect on the world."


Take the Kids, and Don't Feel Guilty

In today's New York Times, A.O. Scott has an article, Take the Kids, and Don't Feel Guilty, which you might find interesting.

His central argument is two-fold. Parents should look beyond easy rules of thumb in deciding what is beneficial for their children. Yes, we should seek age appropriate materials (movies in the case of his article and books in the case of TTMD). But we should be simultaneously seeking to expand their horizons in terms of both what they are familiar with and what they are comfortable with.

Which leads to his second point. The biggest impact is not the movie/book itself, but the conversations arising from it.

I agree with both points.

Tuesday, January 8, 2008

Cider with Rosie

Ivy_Cottage%2C_Coldharbour_Sun_and_Snow_1916_Lucien_Pissarro.jpg
Coldharbour; Sun and Snow, 1916 by Lucien Pissarro

Cider with Rosie is a classic British autobiography by Laurie Lee and not currently available in the US. I have started it a number of times over the years but never progressed very far.

A couple of weekends ago, I was poking around in the Book Nook (one of Atlanta's good used bookstores) and came across a 1984 illustrated edition put out by Crown Publishers. It is beautifully illustrated and I have been revisiting Lee's striking, almost glutinous, prose. He grew up in the Cotswolds of England in the 1920's, out in the country.

Here is his description of seasons.

The seasons of my childhood seemed (of course) so violent, so intense and true to their nature, that they have become for me ever since a reference of perfection whenever such names are mentioned. They possessed us so completely they seemed to change our nationality; and when I look back to the valley it cannot be one place I see, but village-winter or village-summer, both separate. It becomes increasingly easy in urban life to ignore their extreme humours, but in those days winter and summer dominated our every action, broke into our houses, conscripted our thoughts, ruled our games, and ordered our lives.

Winter was no more typical of our valley than summer, it was not even summer's opposite; it was merely that other place. And somehow one never remembered the journey towards it; one arrived, and winter was here. The day came suddenly when all details were different and the village had to be rediscovered. One's nose went dead so that it hurt to breathe, and there were jigsaws of frost on the window. The light filled the house with a green polar glow; while outside - in the invisible world - there was a strange silence, or a metallic creaking, a faint throbbing of twigs and wires.


Twilight of the Books

Caleb Crain, in the December 24, 2007 edition of the New Yorker, has an article, Twilight of the Books.

One part book review of Proust and the Squid by Maryanne Wolf, one part summary of recent literacy stats, and one part speculative essay, it is a bit of a dog's breakfast but interesting none-the-less.

I don't agree with his somewhat dispirited conclusions but there is at least meat in the article which is perhaps more than can be said for most articles these days.

There are many cited statistics, almost every one of which sparks further questions as well as objections or ripostes. For example

In 1982, 56.9 per cent of Americans had read a work of creative literature in the previous twelve months. The proportion fell to fifty-four per cent in 1992, and to 46.7 per cent in 2002.


One wonders if this decline is a function of lack of demand on the part of the reading public or a function of lack of supply (quality) on the part of the writing population. Also, since these figures cover a period encompassing a massive migration into the country of people from low literacy backgrounds, one would expect there to be a significant erosion of reading as reported by respondents; was this factored in?

The article is interesting and I do agree with the article's premise that reading is an integral part of our recent human history and a causative factor in the development of our advanced civillization and that there are many mysteries; historical, physio/neurological, and social, attendant to the act of reading which we do not yet fully comprehend and that the barrage of new technologies (radio, TV, internet, etc.) are likely to change reading practices in some way but in ways that are only dimly discerned at this juncture.