book scout

YES.

from www.thepicturebook.co

And that, my friends, is an epic list of signatures. 


To quote Laurel Snyder, can I get an AMEN?!

 

Hilarity.

Have a Sexy Little Halloween, by illustrator Jillian Tamaki. Get updates on her (truly gorgeous) illustrations and subscribe to her blog feed here. 

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While I am partial to Sexy Virginia Woolf, Sexy First Edition of 'Old Man and the Sea' is probably worth a fortune. And yet! Sexy Inflammatory Email is SO 2011.

I, myself, will be going as Katniss (but not 'Sexy' Katniss) this year, along with every other 13 year old girl in America. Years ago, I made a promise to the kids at the bookstore that I would always dress up as a literary character or an author, and so far I've made good on that promise, even if it meant itchy wigs or uncomfortable footwear.

Who am I kidding? I am a total sucker for this holiday and all the nerdy choices it offers. Do you run with a Halloween loving crowd? If so, who are you (or your kids) going to be this year? I need future costume ideas, people! I can only go as (not sexy) Alice in Wonderland and (only inadvertantly sexy) Margot Tenenbaum so many times!

 

Ag.

A very nasty cold knocked me clean on my butt this week, and although I managed to hang on and not call in sick to work, I'm positive that there was at least one day (or maybe three) where I wore my clothes inside out on accident and/or forgot to brush my teeth. It was gross. But there was news. Ooooh boy was there news.

Citing a communication error, the National Book Award Committee nominated six books for the young people's literature award last week, rather than the usual five. When the list of nominees was passed along via telephone, they misheard Shine, by Lauren Myracle for Chime, by Franny Billingsly. A week passed, and rather than letting the book stand or dealing with the error on their own by removing the title (which would have sucked, but at least been proactive), they asked Myracle to withdraw her nomination. Asked her. A week later. For reals. My brain exploded. There was brain everywhere. We had to call in a cleaning crew to clean up all the brain.
 
So let me get this straight.

1.) Telephone?! They communicated the nominees to the PR agencies and national press via TELEPHONE? Call me a child of the modern age, but what is this, 1956?

2.) Okay, fine. Shine and Chime sound a little bit alike. But the last time I checked, Myracle and Billingsly sound NOTHING ALIKE AT ALL. You can read Libba Bray's awesome take on that point here. 

3.) Not only does this suck for Myracle, but for every single one of the other nominees.

4. Because, you guys? I LOVED Chime. I plan on reading Shine immediately too, but Chime was easily one of my favorite Y.A. reads of the year. Billingsly hasn't had nearly the same level of commercial success as Myracle. The whole situation fills me with rage on so many different levels.

4. The NBA had a reputation for choosing wild-cards, slightly unusual titles, unknowns, and for featuring female writers and authors of color. I did not expect this kind of ass-hatery from them. YASLA is currently holding a poll on the controversy, and 96% of responders think the NBA is at fault. Ag. (via Bookshelves of Doom.)


What do you think? Have you read any of the nominees? Should they have let the book stand, or should they have removed it immediately? How do you think this changes the reputation of the award as perceived by the public? Also, do you have any Nyquil you could send my way? 

 

Call of the Wild

 

the animal cast of  I Want My Hat Back, written and illustrated by Jon Klassen


So there's this particular thing that happens in children's books.
Like... all of them.
Okay, most of them.
Or at least the ones involving anthropomorphized animals.

We'll just refer to it as the 'inter-species friendship' phenomenon. This is par for the course in books for the very young. You've got your Frog and Toad, your Amos and Boris, your City Dog, Country Frog, your Sick Day for Amos McGee, and so on. Most pairings are harmless, if unlikely. Since we are discussing animals that talk and do human-type stuff, interaction between a mouse and a whale isn't going to seem that weird. 

But there are also a lot of picture books that depict relationships between animals who, in the natural world, would not be friends. If you catch my drift. In Bear Snores On and Little Owl Lost you've got bears and owls eating cookies with mice and squirrels, instead of, you know, each other. Stuart Little lives with a nasty cat. These sorts of books can be about overcoming differences, helping others, or even imagined fear, but they're funny too. Animals that use big words and wear clothes and sleep in beds are hilarious. If they weren't, Animals Talking in All Caps would not exist. And that is not a world I want to live in.

There are very few picture books about animals that manage to be both anthropomorphized and realistic at the same time. Fox in the Dark comes close, offering kids a glimpse of actual peril... but the fox turns out to be a baby--nothing to be scared of after all. Even the classic, Big Hungry Bear, ends safely: the mouse gobbles up his red, ripe strawberry before the hungry bear arrives on the scene. Emily Gravett's books are as realistic as they are gorgeous, but tend to focus on one species at a time.

Before last week, if you had asked me to name a single talking-animal book that obeyed the laws of nature, I would have been stumped. Enter I Want My Hat Back, written and illustrated by Jon Klassen. A bear has lost his hat, and wanders about the forest asking various animals if they have seen it. (They haven't.) He is despondent until it occurs to him that he HAS seen his hat... on some body's head. Later, we see Bear, happily reunited with his hat, sitting on a mess of broken branches. A squirrel approaches Bear, looking for his friend, Rabbit. It is at this point that the reader gets a mighty kick in the pants, because we suddenly realize what happened to the hat-thief Rabbit. REALISM.

You will feel guilty for laughing. Because this book is as funny as it is disturbing. Show it to an adult or an older child (maybe 1st or 2nd grade) and there will be giggling. But show this book to a group of toddlers or preschoolers? There will be confusion or even tears. And it's a pity, because I Want My Hat Back just begs to be read aloud. The rhythm is perfect and the dialogue is a storyteller's dream. The illustrations are simultaneously crisp but muted, full of unusual, exaggerated shapes. People have called the animals, 'expressive,' but look closely and you'll realize that they each have only one facial expression. Not unlike traditional marionettes, Klassen manages to take Bear from sadness, to frustration, elation, to sheepishness, all with a single expression. Posture and color supply the context. It's genius.

It's true that children, especially little ones, have a tendency toward the macabre. But they're morbid in a totally un-selfconcious way, approaching pretty much everything with equal curiosity and enthusiasm. I think that the idea of dark comedy is something that is learned, rather than innate. The humor requires a kind of social context, a knowledge of what is and isn't off-limits in conversation. Children who still need guidance in brushing their own teeth? Not gonna understand the social context. So who is this book for, exactly? I suspect it would be the perfect book for parents looking for something a little off the beaten path. Illustration lovers. Edward Gorey fans. There are plenty of older kids out there who like a dose of truth in their fiction. Or maybe it's just for people who like to see animals in hats. Yeah. It's totally that.

So what do you guys think? You are the real experts here. Would you read this for story-time? Do you like the idea of a little more realism in your talking-animal stories? Do you (or your kids) already have a favorite inter-species friendship book? (I am partial to Amos and Boris myself.) I just might have to compile a list.

Super Brontë Sisters

by Tom Gauld for the Guardian (Saturday Review letters page)


I'm not sure if there's even a question of who would win this. I love Charlotte, but you just know Anne would DOMINATE every level. (Also: imagine the levels!) 

So yeah. I would totally play this.

A Conversation With Maurice Sendak.

If there's anything I'm proud of in my work--it's not that I draw better; there's so many better graphic artists than me--or that I write better, no. It's--and I'm not saying I know the truth, because what the hell is that? But what I got from Ruth and Dave, a kind of fierce honesty, to not let the kid down, to not let the kid get punished, to not suffer the child to be dealt with in a boring, simpering, crushing-of-the-spirit kind of way.

                                            .    .    .    .    .        

An excerpt from Tuesday night's conversation with Maurice Sendak, on NPR. It was just as illuminating, unexpected, genuine, and slightly sinister, as a conversation with Sendak should be. In other words, you might just want to drop everything and listen to it here. 

 

Seattle. Oh, Seattle.

You were rainy and lovely and much bigger than Portland, and you had a whole bunch of kind and friendly KidLit bloggers, a hella-sweet library, and Tenzing Momo, and the ocean. It was hard to say goodbye. I forgot how freeing it is to take solo road trips. Which means I am getting old. To be alone and listen to music at full volume (Neko Case and Liz Phair, respectively), and just hang out with your own thoughts...and also, can I just give a shout-out to my car for making it there and back without breaking down once? (Those of you who are familiar with the death trap that is my vehicle are shocked, I'm sure.) The house was still standing when I got back yesterday, and there was much dancing and celebration in the kitchen. Each of the three animals left me their own special pukes this morning, so. you know. A proper homecoming.

Colleen Mondor and Jackie Parker deserve a huge thank you for organizing the entire conference on a volunteer basis, despite their busy schedules. Seriously. They are like time-management superheroes. I feel exceedingly priviledged to have been able to attend. Some very thoughtful conference re-caps can be found here, so I won't trouble you with another. I learned a lot and I'm excited about what that means for Book-Scout, but I was also able to reaffirm some convictions I've held about myself and why I do what I do in this space.

Additionally,


1. I don't have a "marketing" focused bone in my body. I am totally okay with that.

2. This lady is as brilliant, kind, astute, and funny in person as you would expect her to be, and I would not have made it through the weekend without her.

3. The Ace is beautiful and it's communal bathrooms make it an inexpensive alternative to overpriced Seattle hotels, but I have passed the age at which it is respectable to shower in flip flops. 

4. It is nice to be surrounded by people who share your particular brand of nerdery. 

5. Scott Westerfeld is an extremely intelligent dude. You want to read his books. You also want to meet him. Trust me.

6. Speaking in front of people is never as bad as you expect it to be. Especially when your audience is thoughtful and engaged and awesome. Thanks, audience!

7. Unfortunately, I am still really awkward in one-on-one social situations. REALLY awkward. I find it hilarious that when presented with a group of even just two or three people, I can be gregarious and chatty and comfortable....and yet the moment I find myself alone with a stranger, I can't remember how to answer basic questions. Like, my name. Or what day it is. Or where I'm from.

8. Always pack extra band-aids.

9. It will begin to pour when, and ONLY when, you leave your hooded-jacket back at the hotel, two miles away. This will open up a whole new world of cowlicks.

10. It is tempting to feel like you don't measure up when meeting a lot of other people who share your passion for something. But there is room enough in the world (and on the internet) for everyone do to what they love and to be great at it. Even you. There is room enough for the authors, librarians, booksellers, professional bloggers, reviewers, people like me who are all over the map, and, of course, cat photos.

I may start sharing a bit more of my non-book related life or add a feature here and there, but I really dig this space, and the people who visit here. I wouldn't change it for the world.

It's good to be back.

to the nerd-mobile!

specs.

So. Let's see. When you open a restaurant, you tend to miss a thing or a hundred. There were all sorts of book-related shenanigans this year.

There was much weeping at the end of Harry Potter.

Also, this happened. Which has me both excited and concerned. Mostly concerned.

Missouri went a little crazy with the book-banning.

I predicted the Caldecott medal LIKE A BOSS. (But failed at the Newbery. Alas.)

#YA saves became a full-blown movement, and then Sherman Alexi ripped everybody's heart out. In a good way.

I started spending some time with friends at the loveliest place on earth.

I got new glasses.

I made the decision to attend KidLitCon. Which is in two days. Did I mention that it is in two days? Also, I am nervous.

I have never been to a book-blogging conference before. Or anything resembling one. The trouble with being a children's bookseller is that you get out of the habit with interacting with adults, in adult-type social situations, that involve actual (non-imaginary) conversations, and maybe heels? Does one wear heels to these sorts of things? I don't know! I am unprepared.

Thankfully, Miss Diamond in the Window herself has invited me to speak on a panel with her on Saturday. She is only one of my favorite KitLit bloggers of all time (so you know, NO BIG WHOOP), and she has gone out of her way to make me feel welcome and excited and less terrified of the whole thing. I will still bring a paper bag to breath into, just in case. To quote my friend Melissa, "It is going to be a perfect storm of nerds." I can't wait.

Expect a full report when I return.

 

ours.
photo by the lovely annie mcgarry


Hello, friends. It's been a while.

A year, to be exact. 

And I've got some news. It's the good kind. I promise. 

Pop on over to Scout to see what I've been up to in the last 11 months. Because Book-Scout is back in business. It makes me want to do fist pumps. Or just give everyone a high-five. I really hope you'll join me.

We've got a lot of catching up to do.

 

Diligence and head colds.

A Sick Day for Amos McGee, by Philip C. and Erin E. Stead, ISBN # 9781596434028

So. You guys. Work... well, work is kind of kicking my butt right now. That probably goes without saying, since I haven't had even a moment for ye olde blog in two weeks now, but still. I am having a rough go of it and fighting off a cold that won't quit. There are times in the year when my job is pretty much all sprinkle cookies and toddler smiles (with a fair amount of manual labor and potty accidents), but there are other times when I kind of just want to bury my head in my hands and weep. I like to refer to those times as, "September 1 through December 25." Lately, I've been lingering over story-time arts and crafts just a little too long (because coloring is so darned therapeutic), and spending way too much time discussing plot elements of sci-fi novels with teenagers. I like to pretend these things stave off the rising panic of not being anywhere near prepared for the coming holiday insanity. And it is insanity. If you have not worked retail in the United States during the fall/winter holiday season then believe me, you have no idea the amount of vitriol the general public is capable of, over something as insignificant as, I don't know...waiting in line. It might be all sound and fury, signifying nothing, but it is unfortunately, inevitable.

"Isn't this supposed to be a review?" you ask, and "What on earth does this have to do with a picture book?" To answer your questions, yes, and everything. I'm getting there. I promise. Way back in early summer, I stumbled across, A Sick Day for Amos McGee, by Philip and Erin Stead, and was instantly enamored by the sweet story, and Patricia Polacco-meets-Barbara-Cooney illustrations. Sure it was essentially about some animals and a zookeeper, and I am not a fan of zoos (particularly the modern city zoo variety, which is a discussion best left for another time and a different blog), but I couldn't help myself. If a book can make me overlook the fact that I don't approve of its basic premise, then it truly is something special. As soon as I made a home for it on our staff-picks shelf at the bookstore, I discovered that it was already on backorder. Gone. Poof. Sold out. Now. If you've been following the recent, NYT picture-book kerfuffle and ensuing backlash, you will know, that simply doesn't happen. So I waited. And waited. Until last month, when a stack of newly printed Amos McGee's found their way onto our shelves, and I joined a group of pre-schoolers for a good old fashioned read-aloud.

An elderly zookeeper named Amos McGee has a routine. He wakes early, takes two scoops of sugar in his tea, waits for the number five bus, and heads off to his job at the zoo. No matter how busy he is, he always makes time for his animal friends. He sits quietly with the penguin who is very shy, lets the tortoise win relay races, and reads stories to the bespectacled owl who is afraid of the dark. It isn't until Amos catches a cold and finds himself too sick to work one morning, that the animals decide to pay him a visit. Thankfully, the elephant, rhinoceros, tortoise, penguin, owl, a mouse, and even a red balloon fit snugly on the number five bus. At face value, A Sick Day for Amos McGee is very simple. Its particular brand of darling could charm the pants off the most crumudgeonly of readers. But there is so much more at work here. I might loathe using words like "elevate" and "subtext" in book reviews, but it honestly cannot be helped in this case. Stead's breathtaking illustrations elevate the story to a level I'm not even sure I entirely understand. The subtext is a novel.

Amos does not live in some faraway land, suspended in time, a 'la Thomas the Tank Engine. One of my young readers pointed out that his small shingled cottage is nestled between two larger high-rises. It's the sort of detail most grown-ups would miss. Despite other visual references to the modern world, even his number five bus stop looks like something straight out of a Mary Poppins production. Stead manages to communicate in images rather than words, that Amos lives in a gentler world not because he is protected by some magical bubble of old-timey goodness, but because he has chosen to inhabit the world in a different way than most folks. He goes about his day, caring for the people (okay, animals) he knows, with quiet diligence. Their visit to Amos and the way they each give something back, is equally genuine. A Sick Day for Amos McGee is not just a story on how to be a friend (although it is that too); it is about work. I don't mean jobs and paychecks, but rather, the small and seemingly insignificant decisions we make on a daily basis, that impact each and every thing we touch. Good work. 

I don't know of many picture books that attempt to communicate in under thirty pages what it took one of my favorite novelists, George Eliot, nine hundred or so to convey in Middlemarch: "for the growing good of the world is partly dependent on unhistoric acts; and that things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been, is half owing to the number who lived faithfully a hidden life, and rest in unvisited tombs." I might not have mentioned that quote during story-time (talk about tombs doesn't usually go over too well) but I still marveled at the similarities. Whether you're a four year old with a cold and a fondness for penguins, or an grown woman who needs a good kick in the pants, books like this one have a strange way of meeting you where you are. A Sick Day for Amos McGee, might not have enough bells and whistles to snag a Caldecott nomination this year (especially since it looks like everyone will be competing against Mr. Wiesner again...), but it might have enough of something else entirely: the ability to change your perspective on a thing or two. And make it that much easier to go to work the next morning. 



For a sneak peak at some additional artwork and a great interview with Erin Stead, check out 7-Imp's wonderful preview, here.