Books Can Be Valentines

I love reading Kate DiCamillo's posts on facebook. Each one is like her books: relatively short, nostalgic, with words that pack a punch.

Yesterday it was about the card her mom gave her every year on Valentine's Day. She never missed one, even as she neared the end of her life. Now that she's gone, Kate thinks about those cards, none of which she kept.

But then she said this: 

But I do have the books (Ribsy, The Cricket in Times Square, Lincoln, The Borrowers, All of a Kind Family, Paddington, The Twenty-One Balloons) she gave to me.
Those books were valentines, too, I suppose.
They are still valentines.

It made me so happy to read this because of what I have hidden away in my nightstand drawer, just waiting for tomorrow morning:

For Aaron: Danny the Champion of the World by Roald Dahl
For Maxwell: Mercy Watson Goes for a Ride by Kate DiCamillo
For Bradley: Pete the Cat: I Love My White Shoes by Eric Litwin
For Clark: Animal Spots and Stripes by Britta Teckentrup

Books are not the only way I say I love you to my kids. But they are definitely one of the ways.

When I give a book, I'm saying:

Here's a gift of literacy, friendship, and stories that never die.

Whether they end up keeping the book or not (and to be honest, I'm kind of hoping they'll let it stay here when they leave), they'll take that love of reading with them.

It's one of the best and longest lasting gifts I can think of to give them.

P.S. Are you giving books for Valentine's Day?

P.P.S. Yes, I love it that one of the books I'm giving tomorrow happens to be by Kate herself. Our Mercy Watson collection is almost complete!

El Deafo by Cece Bell

For several months leading up to ALA Midwinter, I'd been hearing about El Deafo. It seemed like there were many people rooting for it to win the Newbery. Even though one of my goals in 2014 was to read four Newbery contenders, this book didn't make the cut for me because, quite frankly, I didn't think it would win.

And then, last Monday, it did--an honor, at least, and when only two books are awarded Newbery honors, that seems like a (excuse the pun) high honor indeed.

I immediately reserved it at the library and read it in a day.

It was good. Very, very good. I enjoyed it immensely. But . . .

. . . I don't think it should have won an honor.

Difficult for me to say, but there it is.

I honestly haven't read very many reviews of it because I like to form my own opinion independent of anyone else's. But from the little bits I've seen, I think I'm definitely in the minority. And that's a scary place (for me) to be. But I pride myself on being honest on this blog, so I'm going to share my thoughts, and then you can share yours, and then we can all rejoice that reading is so personal and wonderful and that there's something for everyone.

El Deafo is the graphic novel memoir of Cece Bell. When she is four years old, she contracts meningitis and loses her hearing because of it. Through hearing aids and lip reading, Cece learns to navigate the hearing world, but she is very self-conscious about what makes her different from her peers.

The book chronicles her life from age four through fifth grade. Over the years, she has a variety of friends: Laura (who likes to be in charge and bossy), Ginny (who insists on using a loud, slow voice when talking to Cece), Martha (who is overcome with guilt following a minor accident), and Mike (the boy next door and Cece's first crush).

In many ways, the story could be about any fourth or fifth grader. There are the friendship dramas, the lazy summers, the sleepovers, and the school triumphs and failures. But Cece's hearing loss gives the story added depth and dimension. By the end of the memoir, she has really grown into a confident young woman--one who owns every part of herself, including the hearing loss she detested for so long.

My opinions of this book can really be broken into three categories: what I liked, what I didn't like, and why I don't think it should have won a Newbery Honor.

First, what I liked:

Really, there's a lot to like about this book. I loved the way Cece's secret identity (El Deafo) was worked into almost every situation. When confronted with a seemingly insurmountable problem, she would retreat into her mind and think about what El Deafo would do to come out conqueror. Her superhero-self is aptly named because she almost always uses some part of her disability to rectify the situation. Very clever and it gave a great unity to the book.

I also loved the way Cece's four main friendships provided a solid framework for the story. They showcased both her insecurities and her strengths, and I could see her changing and growing with each one.

And finally, I loved the format. A graphic novel was the perfect way to tell this story, and I was so impressed with Cece Bell's style. There were so many little details provided by the pictures and the size and shape of the words. One of my favorite sequences is at the beginning when Cece has many appointments with various doctors. Every time her mom comes to get her, she's in her red and white polka-dot swimming suit. You can tell she just loves that thing based on how often it appears in the first few pages. She also captured each age really well: you can see how she is growing up by the way she looks, but also in the way she talks and acts.

Now for what I didn't like:

The potty language. I don't feel like I need to go into this since I've talked about it many times before, including in this review and this review. But even if it's an accurate portrayal of 8-12 year-olds, it's an immediate turn-off for me and probably always will be.

There were also some little details that just didn't match up or resolve, and they just left me feeling a little unsettled. For example, when Mike's family moves into the neighborhood, there's a picture featuring a little portrait of each family member. In that, Mike's mom is clearly named "Kathy." But later on when Cece and her mother go over to Mike's house, they call her "Nancy." She also looks completely different. I can pretend that she just dyed her hair and got a haircut, but the name change? Maybe I just missed something from the pages in between.

Also, there's another moment where Cece catches her mom and Ginny's mom drinking and smoking in the kitchen. Cece thinks something like, "Mom? Smoking?" and the whole sequence has a very bizarre and uncomfortable feeling to it. As far as I could tell, it was an isolated incident, but I kept wondering if there was something hidden there or if I was just reading too much into it.

But aside from those little annoyances, the main thing I didn't like was the ending. Early in the story, the reader finds out that with her phonic ear, Cece can hear tiny little sounds at far range as long as they are coming through the microphone that is connected to her hearing aids. This means that when her teacher leaves the classroom, she can hear all of her conversations and activities through the entire school. This ability is, in part, how Cece's secret identity is born, and she keeps it hidden until the very end of the book. Then, she tells Mike and a handful of neighborhood kids, and he decides they can use it during school: when their teacher leaves during "quiet math time," they can goof off, and Cece can keep track of where she is and alert all of her classmates to it so they can all be quietly in their seats by the time she returns. They try their plan, and it works out beautifully. Cece is a hero! The end.

Okay, it's not as abrupt as all that. But that really is the climax of the story and really the turning point of Cece's opinion of herself, and I was really disappointed about it. Successfully deceiving a teacher hardly seems to be something worth getting excited about. If anything, it should have come earlier in the story so that more growth could have happened afterwards not connected with that moment.

And finally, apart from what I liked and didn't like, I don't think it should have received a Newbery Honor for the simple reason that it is not "distinguished" without the pictures.

The Newbery criteria states: "The committee is to make its decision primarily on the text. Other components of a book, such as illustrations, overall design of the book, etc., may be considered when they make the book less effective." Well, the illustrations definitely don't make it less effective (I think everyone can agree on that), so therefore, they shouldn't have been considered.

And if they're not considered, then I just can't see a case being made for it as distinguished literature (but obviously, a case was made--a conversation I would have loved to be a witness to).

Here are the things I thought about while reading it (as it pertains to this point):

• Can the text stand on its own?
• Yes. You can understand the story without the pictures.
• But does the story carry the same weight with just the text?
• No. The text provides the bare bones framework, and the illustrations add depth and color.
• Is the text distinguished on its own?
• No. It has its poignant moments, no question, but I honestly can't imagine it getting a second glance if it was published as a text-only memoir.

And this is where I just start getting riled up. Even if you can look at just the text and make sense of it and enjoy it and be moved by it, that was never Cece Bell's intention. She chose the graphic novel medium because she wanted to be able to tell her story through words and pictures. Taking away the pictures is literally taking away half of the story. Personally, if I were the author and had taken the time to tell my story in this way, I wouldn't want it to be torn in two like that.

Whether it is distinguished or not (and honestly, even if we could consider the story in its complete form, the aforementioned problem with the climax would make me question this award), it does not follow the Newbery criteria. The problem doesn't necessarily lie in the book itself, but in the award.

Now that I've said all that, do I really think I've said anything new? Do I really have the audacity to think that I thought of something the committee didn't think of (oh, pictures add depth and meaning? Why didn't we think of that?!)? No, of course not. I have the highest respect for them and this search for the most distinguished contribution to children's literature. I admire their creativity with interpreting this award in a new way, but I think it is my right as a reader not to agree with it.

Now go read the book. And then come back here and tell me your opinion.

A Book and Craft for Valentine's Day

Yesterday I put an envelope in the mail. It was addressed to my family in Colorado, and it contained three paper chains--one from Aaron, one from Maxwell, one from Bradley. They were inspired by the picture book, The Giant Hug, and as such, we like to call them Hug Chains.

To find out more about this book and craft (including what we wrote on the Hug Chain), check out my post on What Do We Do All Day.

Read the full post here.

What did your kids send their loved ones for`Valentine's Day?

KidPages: Hoot Owl, Master of Disguise by Sean Taylor, illus. Jean Jullien

A couple of weeks ago, two of my nephews came over to play. My kids were in heaven, and I hardly saw any of them during the five hours they were here. But during one of the rare lulls in their play, I asked if they wanted to hear Hoot Owl, Master of Disguise. They did. And then once it was over, they immediately wanted to hear it again. I obliged, and they would have been happy to hear it a third time if I hadn't had to rush off to an appointment. It was definitely a fast-favorite, and I think you'll soon see why.

When the story begins, it is the middle of the night, and Hoot Owl is ready for his lunch. He's not too worried about finding it. After all, he's Hoot Owl, Master of Disguise. But after several failed attempts (where he disguises himself as a carrot, sheep, and then a bird bath), he's beginning to lose steam. Luckily, he has one final plan, and it is sure to succeed!

Because it takes place at night, an inky black backdrop is used throughout. The illustrations are big and bold and outlined in thick, chunky lines, which makes them pop out of the dark pages. They're the type of pictures kids take an instant liking to and will want to try and draw for themselves.

Hoot Owl has a lot of personality. For one thing, he's pretty full of himself but in an amusing, rather than obnoxious, sort of way. He has this habit of comparing himself to other objects, and it's just hilarious (he's like "a wolf in the air" and his eyes "glitter like sardines").  He might be a little overly confident in his skills, but you love him for it.

The story is told through a lot of repetition, and my kids (as well as my nephews) immediately latched onto this. By the end, they were all wanting to chime in and say the lines with Hoot Owl. For this reason, this really makes a great read-aloud (whether at home or in the car or at the library).

The ending though is what really makes this book fantastic. I don't want to give it away, but let's just say that after trying to catch a rabbit, a sheep, and a pigeon, Hoot Owl finally turns to something so tried and true that probably almost every parent has given into its simplicity and availability in a busy, starving moment. Don't worry, even Hoot Owl, Master of Disguise, knows that sometimes it's the only thing that will satisfy.

Many thanks to Candlewick Press for a hardback copy of this book. All thoughts and opinions are my own, and I was compensated in no other way for this review. I know five little boys who will gladly listen to it over and over again.

Ramona the Brave by Beverly Cleary

Ramona is like comfort food to us. Sometimes, we like to be adventurous and try new characters and plots and settings, but every few books, we come right back to her. We know we’ll love whatever she does, and so we can immediately settle into her without any false hopes or pretenses.

This installment leads off with some drama in the park, followed by Mrs. Quimby’s announcement that she is starting a job, which will make it possible for them to build a much-needed addition onto their house. Ramona begins first grade and discovers Mrs. Griggs is nothing like her beloved Miss Binney from kindergarten, and Ramona’s creativity and spunk are under-appreciated (at least in Ramona’s eyes). She can hardly bear the unfairness of it all (and gets into her share of trouble because of it), but in the end things work out, and her indomitable spirit continues to shine.

I was a little caught off guard by the aforementioned drama in the park. Some boys call Beezus a name (her name rhymes too perfectly with “Jesus” and really nothing else), and I didn’t feel comfortable saying it. So I changed it, but then of course, what Ramona and Beezus and Mrs. Quimby were saying in relation to it just didn’t make sense.

(I felt a little too much like Alice Ozma’s father in The Reading Promise when he’s reading Dicey’s Song and begins editing out big chunks with noticeable consequences.)

So we had to pause for a minute so I could explain what the mean boys were really calling Beezus and why I was not okay with saying it. The episode does involve Ramona staunchly reprimanding the boys and defending Beezus, and that is a super sweet thing to witness (even though Beezus is very unappreciative). But I know Max is going to want to listen to the audio of this book now, and I just don’t know how I feel about him listening to that chapter over and over.

One of the things I really appreciated in this particular story was the character of Mrs. Griggs. Ramona doesn’t really like her, and I can’t say that we really liked her either. And yet, there was nothing to really dislike about her. In Beezus’, own words: “She wasn’t my favorite teacher . . . There wasn’t anything really wrong with her, I guess. She just wasn’t very exciting is all. She wasn’t mean or anything like that. We just seemed to go along doing our work, and that was it.”

I think it would have been so easy for Beverly Cleary to make her into a mean teacher, one that punished Ramona unfairly and that the reader could truly hate. But Mrs. Griggs was not that. She and Ramona just didn’t see eye to eye. She couldn’t appreciate Ramona’s feisty personality, and Ramona couldn’t appreciate her stable (but boring) methods. They just didn’t connect. In the world of school, having a teacher that you don’t click with is much more common and realistic than having a teacher who is truly despicable and cruel. And so I really appreciated Mrs. Griggs’ character because she was such a believable teacher.

Our favorite moment was when Ramona says a “bad” word. I could tell Aaron and Max were a little tense, waiting for it to come and wondering what it would be. When Ramona finally let it out and it was, “Guts! Guts! Guts,” oh, how they laughed (right along with Ramona’s parents and Beezus). 

Once again, Beverly Cleary tackled real childhood dilemmas (who among us hasn’t wanted our own room only to discover that it’s pretty lonely (and a little scary) to be by ourselves?) but did it in a completely original way. Nothing is predictable with Ramona, and although things always work out, they never do in the way you expect them to. We sure love that “spunky gal.”

What are YOUR comfort books?

Too Many Opinions on the 2015 Geisel, Caldecott, and Newbery Awards

I spent two hours on Monday morning watching the announcements of the ALA Youth Media Awards (plus the PreGame and PostGame shows with Betsy Bird and Lori Prince). It was so much fun. For once, I was glad Aaron did not have to be to school until 9:00.

The awards surprised and delighted and irritated me. I haven't read enough to be an authority on any of the awards, but I have still have opinions about the Geisel, Caldecott, and Newbery, so I'll share my thoughts on those.

First, the Theodore Seuss Geisel award.

You are (Not) Small won the medal and Waiting is Not Easy and Mr. Putter and Tabby Turn the Page won honors. We've read (and loved) all three of them.

You are (Not) Small is clever and funny, and I love it when a picture book gets the easy reader award. Let this be a lesson (once again) that the easy reader section of the library is not always the best place to find easy readers.

I bought Waiting is Not Easy after getting fed up with waiting for my turn at the library (the irony did not escape me . . . ), and I'm glad we own it.

Since we are loyal Elephant & Piggie and Mr. Putter & Tabby fans, I was thrilled to see both of these books honored but also a little disappointed too. Year after year we see Mo Willems take away Geisel awards, and Cynthia Rylant is also a household name in the easy reader department (although I believe this is only her second Geisel). They deserve all the praise and attention they get, but there's a part of me that wonders, Where's the competition?

The beginning reader stage is such a critical point in a reader's development. We need strong books that will be both engaging and simple. I would love to see some other authors step it up for future years.

Next up, the Randolph Caldecott award.

The Adventures of Beekle: The Unimaginary Friend won the medal, and six books (six! SIX!) came away with honors: Nana in the City, The Noisy Paint Box, Sam & Dave Dig a Hole, Viva Frida, The Right Word, and This One Summer.

Out of all these, we'd read a whopping two (The Adventures of Beekle and The Noisy Paint Box). I'm feeling extremely annoyed and frustrated with our library right now. I wouldn't have expected to have read This One Summer (it's a teen graphic novel), but yes, the others I would have hoped I could have read earlier in the year. I'd definitely heard about all the others (except for Nana in the City, which our library doesn't even have in their system), but my turn just hasn't come up for them (I have literally been waiting for Sam & Dave for over three months (since October 25th), and I'm still #15 on the list). I know I shouldn't be annoyed since the library is free and all, but seriously? I really would have loved to have read these books before they won.

Out of the 2014 picture books that I did get to read, Beekle was not my favorite, but I have no real complaints about it. It was cute, and I'm looking forward to reading it again.

And as far as a teen graphic novel winning a Caldecott Honor? I have no doubt the illustrations probably are splendid, but I am still not okay with that.

Finally, the John Newbery award:

The Crossover won the medal and Brown Girl Dreaming and El Deafo won honors.

I'm a little scared to talk about this one since my irritation has only been mounting in the days since the awards were announced.

But before I get to that, let me say that I am ecstatic about Jacqueline Woodson's Honor for Brown Girl Dreaming (it also won the Coretta Scott King award, a Sibert Honor and, earlier, the National Book Award). It was one of my very favorite reads from last year, and I even bought my own copy soon after finishing it (and when it comes to buying books, I am rather stingy, so that's saying something). It was a gorgeous memoir, and I highly, highly recommend it.

In fact, my irritation actually has almost nothing to do with the winners themselves. Even though I haven't read The Crossover or El Deafo, I've heard high praise for both of them, and I'm anxious and excited to read them just as soon as I can. (I do have my doubts about a graphic novel (El Deafo) being able to stand on its own without the pictures, but I'll reserve any opinions on that until after I've read it.)

No, my irritation stems from two other areas.

First, that only two books received honors. For the record, I thought the Caldecott's six honors was a little over the top, but only two honors? With so many amazing books published last year, it just seemed rather skimpy. And, you may have noticed, the awards went to one graphic novel and two verse novels with nary a traditional novel in sight.

Which brings me to my second point of irritation:

Since Monday, I've read various opinions about the awards, and people have been throwing around words like, "game changing!" "groundbreaking!" "diverse!" They've been saying things like, "Wow, that committee really made a statement."

Seriously?! Is that what these awards have come down to? Making a statement?

Have we now gone from honoring the "most outstanding contributions in children's literature" to "making a statement"?

Don't get me wrong--I am happy to see authors of all races, religions, and opinions being recognized. I am happy to see books featuring diverse people and situations receiving medals. I am happy to see many different genres earning notice. But . . .

But . . .

I would sincerely hope that the award isn't purposely being jammed and twisted and forced onto a certain book that it doesn't fit simply in order to make it "groundbreaking."

Like I said before, I'm not saying that the books that were chosen weren't the most distinguished. I'm just scared by the words I'm hearing. It seems like everyone is focusing more on how much the envelope can be pushed and less about the actual literary merits of a particular work. I get that a committee is made up of individuals with their own personalities and interests, so it makes sense that some books are going to be favored more one year than another. But I'm scared because, since the committee went with one winner and only two honors, even I'm inclined to think they were trying to make a statement--to make it glaringly obvious that they were trying to create a nontraditional year.

I want to wish my heartiest congratulations to all the winners. They deserve all the praise and attention they're receiving.

But I also want to go on record as saying that I still believe a traditional novel can be distinguished.

I would absolutely love to hear your thoughts about the 2015 ALA Youth Media Awards. Mike cares very little about these awards, and I'm dying to talk to someone else about them!

Five Things That Are Helping Me Endure (and Even Enjoy) Winter

Sometimes I can't believe that when I was ten years old I said that winter was my favorite season. Was it really? Or was it simply because it held Christmas and my birthday and because I found falling snow to be absolutely magical (even though in northeastern Colorado, it usually came down sideways)?

Whether it truly was or wasn't, it isn't my favorite anymore. In fact, I find myself enduring a lot more than enjoying these cold months, even during a mild winter like the one we're experiencing this year (it's because mild temperatures don't make it any lighter at 5:30pm).

But I don't want to just be enduring four months out of every year. That's a third of my life! So here are five things that are helping me get through, and yes even enjoy, these months.

1. My portable heater

I own two of them. Being able to have warm air on command does wonders for my spirits. I turn it on, tuck my feet beside it (or stick my face in front of it), and relish the comforting warmth. I know it's not the same as soaking up the heat of the sun, but I'll take it.

2. Our carport

When we bought our house, Mike was pretty disappointed that it only had a carport, not a garage (and he immediately set about making plans for how he could add one . . . eventually). But me? I love our carport. Love, love, love it. It has made my life so much easier. Our car stays dry, free of frost, and is a mere three steps from our door. It has cut down significantly on my morning prep time and stress level. Sometimes I don't even make the three kids who are not going to school put on shoes because they don't have to make a trek out to a frozen car parked on the street.

3. Boots

We have not had a lot of snow this winter (as you can see from the above picture), but I still find myself grabbing my boots as my footwear of choice. Mike got them for me last winter. I don't even know what brand they are. I just know that they are soft and warm and very comfortable. I probably won't stop wearing them until I can trade them out for flip flops.

4. Books about ice, cold, and snow

In January 2013 I read Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow. Last winter, I read The Long Winter and Breadcrumbs. This year, I read Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage. I guess it has now become something of a tradition to read about cold during the winter months, and for some reason, it makes me feel so much better. I think it's because when I read about the extreme weather that other people (fictional or not) faced, I realize that my lot is pretty darn good, and I feel so much more grateful for the little comforts (like portable heaters!).


5. A robe

(Old Navy)

Before Clark was born, I made a few changes to the hospital bag I'd packed with the other three. For example, I brought real clothes to wear during my stay instead of the lovely hospital gowns provided. I can't even tell you what a tremendous difference it made to the way I felt immediately postpartum. One of the other things I brought with me was a robe because I'd heard from several sources how nice and warm and comfortable it made them feel. And so I went out to Old Navy and bought one (I think even at full price--very unusual). But then . . . Clark was born on an unseasonably hot May day, and I didn't feel like wearing any layers, and I was feeling a little guilty about my purchase. But fast forward to October when I pulled the robe back out, wrapped myself in it, and I'm not sure if I've taken it off in the months since. I've remarked to Mike on more than one occasion how that might just be one of the best purchases I've ever made (I think he's a tad jealous he didn't give it to me himself).

Today happens to be an absolutely beautiful February day, and even if that means Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow, I hope it's still a sign that spring is just around the corner. I'm linking up at Modern Mrs. Darcy today where lots of people are sharing the things that are making them happy this winter. What things are saving YOU?