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by Craig Moodie, author of Into the Trap

Writing Into the Trap allowed me to transform many of the coasts and islands and bodies of water I’ve known into the fictional setting of Fog Island.

Since I was a kid, islands in particular have captivated me. All of the islands I’ve set foot on or seen from the deck of a boat have kept me under their spell. I wish I could tell you about all of them, from Vieques to Cuttyhunk, Bermuda to Barra.

But one that I thought about a lot when I was writing the book was called Dobbins Island. My family was lucky enough to own a 35-foot yawl that we sailed out of Annapolis, Maryland. Sometimes when we cruised we would head into the Magothy River and anchor near Dobbins Island.

It was an uninhabited islet covered with woods and thickets atop steep clay bluffs. Its spindly tangled trees looked like the masts of pirate ships. One time when we rowed ashore for a quick walk along the beach, one of my sisters said it looked like a good stand-in for the setting of Lord of the Flies. It was eerie, quiet and watchful and secretive, and that made me want to explore it all the more. But we had to head back to the boat.

I got another chance one muggy evening when we’d anchored off the island again. After dinner I climbed into the dinghy to head to the island alone. Crossing the smooth water, I spooked myself when I looked over the side to see the dark forms of seaweed just below the surface. I crunched ashore on the orange-ish sand and walked past a steep clay bank pocked with the burrows of swallows. The birds swooped and veered past me. I followed the beach and found a path leading up the bluff into the woods.

The woods was dim and shadowy and hissed with the sound of crickets. The leaves laced together overhead to blot out the light. I hadn’t expected to find such a well-worn path, and I followed it at a trot to reach the far headland. At the edge I pushed through the undergrowth to look out through the foliage over the anchorage, where our boat lay among a few other boats on the serene water. Behind me a blue jay called.

Why I had a feeling I was being watched, I wasn’t sure.

I spun around.

Only the woods lay before me. A blue jay called again. The light was thinning.

I went back down the path to see what was on the other side of the island. The path began to climb toward the other end, tree branches forming a leafy tunnel overhead.

Then I heard a thumping ahead of me.

I stopped to listen, my breathing heaving in my ears.

How close had that sound been?

I moved ahead, slower now.

The sound came again—a thumping of hooves.

I heard rustling in the underbrush.

The path took a sharp turn as it climbed. I came around a bend.

I stopped, my heart jolting, before a pair of large eyes staring at me from the middle of the path. They were the wide-spaced eyes of a goat—a wild goat. The forms of two other goats were behind it. They, too, stared at me.

What was I doing on their island? they seemed to be saying.

I should have known, I realized. Why else would a desert island have such a well-worn network of paths?

The dusk settled deeper as the goats melted into the thicket and vanished into the shadows. How the goats had gotten there I wasn’t sure. Maybe they swam here from the mainland. Maybe their ancestors had survived a shipwr

Below, you can listen to Professor Peter Atkins of Lincoln College, Oxford, talk about On Being: A Scientist's Exploration of the Great Questions of Existence. This podcast is recorded by the Oxfordshire Branch of the British Science Association, whose regular SciBars podcasts can be found here.

On the Texas Trail of Cabeza De Vaca Peter Lourie

There's a subset of children's nonfiction where a large part of the book is less about the result of research and more about the process of the research. Scientists in the Field does this and it's part of what made Ain't Nothing but a Man: My Quest to Find the Real John Henry so awesome.

On the Texas Trail is about Lourie's attempts to retrace the journey of Cabeza de Vaca, a conquistador who was shipwrecked near Galveston, walked across Mexico to the Pacific and then back inland before hitting Mexico City, where he was able to get a ride back home to Spain. Throughout his travels, de Vaca was dependent on the Native Americans he met along the way. He learned many of their langauges and grew to respect them as people equal to Europeans.

There are competing theories on the route de Vaca took. Lourie very briefly discusses this, and very briefly discusses which path he thinks is the right one, and why. And then he very briefly discusses how he visits some points on that path to try to match them up with de Vaca's writings of his journies.

Overall, it was just too short to adequetely cover de Vaca, the scholarly controversy of the path of his journey, and Lourie's travels. I wanted and neede dmore. However, I really appreciate Lourie's honesty in his failures. He spends a large amount of time searching for a canyon of pine trees-- this canyon being on the key pieces of evidence. And he comes and sees and leaves. Only he didn't actually see what he thought he saw:

I was like the conquistadors blinded by their desire to find gold. I had seen what I wanted to see. In my desire for historical discovery, I had made pine trees out of cedars.

Roundup is over at Playing by the Book.


Book Provided by... the publisher for 2009 Cybils consideration

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What with the turning of the calendar to July and the activity books I’ve been researching, Summer is definitely in the air. And nothing sings summertime more than a trip to the seaside!

Today’s books is perfect for anyone, adult or child, dreaming of a day on the beach. Traction Man and the Beach Odyssey, the latest book (published today!) from Mini Grey, follows the adventures of superhero Traction Man and his fearless, loyal sidekick, Scrubbing Brush.

Traction Man, the favourite toy of a young boy, is taken on holiday to the seaside where a series of perilous adventures befall him; he is swept out to sea, then washed up in a dank cave, found by another child on the beach, and nearly lost in a tremendous earthquake when the sandcastle he is inhabiting is enthusiastically attacked by a dog.

This story will thrill any child who brings their toys to life and creates adventures, journeys and real-life personas for them. Like the two earlier Traction Man stories (Traction Man is Here and Traction Man Meets Turbodog), this too is pacey, creating just the right amount of manageable anxiety that dissolves in wonderful relief with the resolution of the story. It’s packed with humour and provides parents with plenty of perfect opportunities for silly voices and even singing theme music from thrillers should they really get into the swing of it (I like to read it to my kids with a Sean Connery-esque accent!)

Image reproduced with permission. Inside spread of Traction Man and the Beach Odyssey. Click for large scale image.

Appropriately enough, some of the illustrations recall Marvel comics. They’re eyecatching and reward repeated readings for all the added details tucked away in them. If you’re looking for a superhero story that’s got all the action, excitement and adventure you could possibly want, but without any violence or malevolence, the Traction Man stories are for you. Particularly loved by the boys I’ve been reading to in the year 1 classes at M’s school, the girls too have been asking each week for another Traction Man story.

Those who already love Traction Man will not be disappointed with this new story (let’s hope there are more in the future!), whilst those who are new to the delights of this superhero and his sidekick will be able to adore this book in its own right, before (I’m confident) wanting to track down the two earlier stories.

Now, where we live is just about the furthest you can get from the seaside in

Even if your don't know Stephen Biesty by name, I am sure you are familiar with the illustration style he made popular back in the 1990s - cross sections. For his Masters degree, Biesty specialized in historical and architectural cutaways, which I didn't even know was possible! But, his studies paid off and his work exhibits an amazing scope and attention to detail that is mesmerizing for

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Peter Atkins is the author of almost 60 books, including Galileo’s Finger: The Ten Great Ideas of Science, Four Laws that Drive the Universe, and the world-renowned textbook Physical Chemistry. His latest book is On Being, which is a scientist’s exploration of the great questions of existence. In the below video, Atkins is in conversation about the book with Meet the Author’s David Freeman.

Click here to view the embedded video.

Watch more videos on the OUPAcademic YouTube channel.

Last month I read an author interview at one of my favourite book blogs, Saffron Tree. It was with an author/illustrator I had not previously heard of, James Rumford, but I was so excited by the sound of his work that I immediately tracked down what books of his I could. The first one to arrive through our library system was Traveling Man: The Journey of Ibn Battuta 1325-1354 and in a rather fortuitous way, this awe-inspiring book was just perfect to accompany our postcard swap activities.

At first glance, James Rumford’s inspiration for Traveling Man might not seem an obvious one for a picture book – this book is essentially a biography of Ibn Battuta, a deeply religious Muslim who lived in the 14th century. However, if you were to pass over this book in the library or book shop both your children and you would miss out on an exquisitely beautiful and dream-inspiring story that I think deserves to be read by anyone, young or old, who is interested in exploration, travelling and different cultures around the world.

Photo: Bachmont

Ibn Battuta spent almost 30 years travelling from his birthplace in Morocco to China and back, exploring parts of Russia, Persia and eastern Africa along the way. James Rumford tells of his adventures and journeys using rich, vivid and evocative language. For example, of Ibn Battuta’s childhood he writes:

On maps, he would trace his finger along scarlet roads to reach the vermilion stars that marked the great cities of the world. on hot afternoons, in an imaginary boat, he would cross cool, peacock-colored seas to the eastern edge of the earth and sail fearlessly into the Ocean of Ignorance.

Additionally, Battuta’s tale is peppered with pithy epithets about travelling, such as “Traveling – it leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.”

Rumford’s illustrations match his text perfectly in their boldness and powerful sense of place. Each double page spread is a mixture of illuminated manuscript (with lots of Arabic script in gold), map (with sentences from the story winding their way across the page as if following a meandering road), and tableau, showing images of Battuta in far flung locations on his journey.

To my shame, I think this is the first book I’ve read to M with a Muslim protagonist – it’s great to have a fantastic story with an amazing character who just happens to be Muslim (recommendations for more books like this would be much appreciated!) I would say that kids slightly older than mine would probably get the most out of this book as the language is quite demanding for a 5 year old, but M still really enjoyed it. Her favourite aspect of the book was the text weaving its way across the page as if on its own journey.

In the spirit of travelling the globe like Ibn battuta M, J and I marked out our our wall map th

Hello all. Welcome to another post! All is well in the studio, and I'm in the middle of a little breather. Two possible projects are being sorted out, and I am taking advantage of the downtime to really attack my sketchbook. I'm really trying to feel out why and how I draw while trying to let go of any idea I have of what is "good drawing." I'm also sorry to say that I am adopting a "my eyes only" approach to the sketchbook; the idea is that I will only focus on progress and experimentation instead of making pretty pictures for other folks to see. So there may or may not be additional sketchbook updates.

Although it was poorly made, listening to a documentary about Henry Darger (In the Realms of the Unreal) brought to light how a person can make art only for oneself. Until this time, I felt all artists crave attention, and I often joke that "all artists want to be famous" as we really just want people to view our work; we need to be validated! But there is certainly something to be said for a man who spent his whole life writing and illustrating a 15,000 page manuscript that no one saw until he was close to death. It makes me wonder where the assumption that I have to show my art comes from and that keeping it to myself feels selfish. But hey, keeping it to myself should keep it honest, right? I already find myself drawing differently and drawing subjects I wouldn't otherwise. So its off to a good start.

While exploring the sketchbook, I am also trying to really explore other aspects of drawing by looking at as many drawings as I can and trying to figure out WHY it appeals to me, reading and researching how drawing works from both an artist's and a viewer's perspective, and trying to discover how one moves from drawing to another technique such as painting; they really are two different beasts. Defining such things can be very frustrating and there are always artists and images that counteract any definition one hypothesizes. however, I feel doing so and asking myself such questions will make me more honest with myself and my work.

I am also trying to "step out of the box" within my regular assignments as a loose continuation of this exploration. A good example of this approach is a recent illo for John at Bloomberg Markets. I was very happy to be contacted by John from a referral by Kam, the Bloomberg designer I worked with last summer on a great assignment concerning Asian stock market regulators. John was looking for a metaphorical image to represent the mistreatment of retirement pensions by General Motors. We discussed concepts and such, and I provided the following sketches:

John wanted to see a sketch of a "pension" license plate that was beat up and rusty. The plate is a Michigan plate to allude to GM and "motor city."

In the other sketches, I wanted to explore the pensions as dwindling. This sketch of an emptying funds gauge fit the bill, but I think it was too static.

I enjoyed this sketch that worked in both my idea as well as John's license plate request. However, it was decided that the size of the image was going to be small, and certain elements of the sketch would be hard to read. The final art:

Initially, the image was "too clean," and John asked that the license plate be dirtier. Upon revision, we were both quite happy with the finished product.

This image was a little intimidating for me as I do not usually work with textures, and I do not usually aim for a more realistic representation. However, I was adamant that those two elements were key to this image being successful so I basically jumped in feet first to scanning textures and making brushes in photoshop. I had not worked in this manner for years! Replaying the creation of this art in my head, I have to say that exciting nervousness of not knowing where the image and just trusting yourself is going is a lot of fun; I hope to push it into more work.

Thanks for reading! Look for a new post next week!
Enjoy the Day,
Chris

Edwin Danson is a Chartered Surveyor and a Fellow of the Institution of Civil Engineering Surveyors.  His new book, Weighing the World: The Quest To Measure the Earth, he chronicles the stories of the scientists and scholars who cut their way through the jungles, crossed the arctic tundra, and braved the world’s highest mountains to discover the truth about our Earth.  In the excerpt below we learn how Christopher Columbus discovered the Earth was much, much larger than previously believed.

As the sun rose at the dawn of the sixteenth century, it shone upon a world mostly uncharted, warming newly discovered lands as yet unexplored… In the Old World of the West, the paucity of geographic knowledge had not deterred men from making maps and atlases, many of which were wildly inaccurate and frequently farcical, showing beautifully engraved continents that did not exist and vague, vast landscapes populated with monsters and cannibalistic savages.

Serene seaways promised wide passages through what were impassable icy wastes that, the cosmographers insisted, led to the riches and spices of the Indies. No one knew from where precisely the spices came, nor did they particularly care. In fact, the strange berries and nuts were grown in the glades of remote East Indian islands and shipped by sea to the coasts of India, from where Moghul traders carried them to Arabia. Arab traders then hauled the baggage overland by camel train through burning desserts to the coasts of Levant, where Genoese, Italian, French, and English sea traders imported the expensive and shriveled goods into the greedy markets of Europe.

The rich had been satisfied to purchase their spices and exotic goods from the last man in a long chain of traders, that is, until the Ottoman Turks expanded their empire from the east in the fifteenth century, capturing a swath of land stretching from Athens to the Crimea. With Sultan Bayezid II’s horde of warriors and warlords controlling access to the Danube, Europe’s great trade river, and dominating all of eastern Europe, exacting high tolls on goods and traffic, the flow of spices from Asia dwindled. At this juncture, an ancient, much copied map of the world suddenly became very important.

The map was from Geographia of Claudius Ptolemy (fl. 150 A.D.) made at the library of Alexandria during the second century. Much “improved” by Italian cartographers, the map suggested to a young Italian navigator by the name of Christopher Columbus (1451-1506) that there might be a sea route to Cathay and its exotic spices. Columbus reasoned that, the earth being round, he could bypass the Turkish obstruction simply by sailing west until he reached the exotic east.

When Columbus first spied the New World from his flagship, Santa Maria he knew exactly where he was because he had a sea chart. He had discovered, he was certain, the eastern outliers of fabled Japan, gateway to the spice lands. Unfortunately, his chart was hopelessly wrong…But Columbus did not know this, and there is no reason why he should have. As far as he was concerned, he had been proved right and had found Japan at the very eastern limits of the spice-rich East.

Paolo Toscanelli, a Florentine cosmographer, is supposed to have provided both inspiration and the chart Columbus took with him on his very first voyage of discovery. It was based, for the most part, on Ptolemy’s ancient map of the world, embellished by the salty tales of coastal traders, fishermen, and an “unknown pilot” who had supposedly seen the fabled lands. Ptolemy’s world was the Greek world and was a perfectly round, spherical world. Toscanelli, Columbus, and the natural philosophers of the day accepted this fact almost without question.

From this certain knowledge of a round world, and equipped with the great map, Columbus calculated that his sailing distance west to Japan would be a mere 2,760 miles (4,440 km). In 1492, as his little fleet sailed further and further westward, with no sight of the promised land, Columbus grew increasingly worried, yet he kept his thoughts to himself, confident in his own abilities and having faith in his Florentine map. The crew was frightened and the men were becoming mutinous when, on 12 October (after 36 days at sea), young Juan Rodriguez Ber Mejo saw land from the prow of the Pinta.

When Columbus toted up his sailing distance, he realized that they had gone about 4,500 sea miles (8,230 km), considerably further than his original 2,760 miles; the only conclusion the navigator could infer was that the earth appeared to be a lot larger than everyone thought. A few years later, on his third voyage to the Indies (1498-1500), Columbus made an even stranger discovery.

He was observing the latitude by sighting the Pole Star with his quadrant when something very odd occurred. He was certain he knew where he was from his previous voyages, but the latitude observations appeared to be all wrong.

I found that there between these two straits [the seas between Trinidad and Venezuela], which I have said face each other in a line from north to south, it is twenty six leagues from the one to the other, and I cannot be wrong in this because the calculation was made with a quadrant. In that on the south, which I named la Boca de la Sierpe, I found that at nightfall I had the pole star at nearly five degrees elevation, and in the other on the north, which I named la Boca del Drago, it was almost at seven.

The difference of nearly 2 degrees of latitude for two locations fewer than 70 miles apart could only be explained if the earth, instead of being a perfectly round sphere, had somehow or other manifested some sort of bump near the equator: it was, according to Columbus, deformed.

We might now suggest that the strange anomaly was probably in part the result of his dubious navigational skills and in part to what we would call “atmospheric aberration.” But, in 1498, neither Columbus nor any philosopher of the day was aware that the atmosphere behaves like a giant lens, bending light rays…

Whatever the cause for Columbus’s disconcerting discovery, his thoughts that the earth could be anything other than perfectly round flew in the face of divine perfection; it flaunted the Aristotelian dogma of the church of Rome and challenged the received wisdom of a thousand years. On that starry night in the Caribbean Sea were sown the first heretical seeds of doubt.