It’s hard to believe that there was once a time when full-color picture books were uncommon. It was usually an indication that the artist had somehow proved himself worthy (::cough:: Maurice Sendak) and was awarded with a full palette to use on his masterpieces (::cough:: ::cough:: Where the Wild Things Are). When you look back on the Caldecott Medal books prior to the mid-1970s, one thing that stands out is the near absence of full-color books. And it’s amazing to see what artists like Evaline Ness, Marcia Brown, and Lynd Ward were able to create with black and white or one, two, or three colors. These books don’t look at all flashy to our modern eyes, accustomed to full color. But the books are a testament to the artistic discipline and commitment to craft that we often see in the picture-book artists of yore.
Erin Stead would likely be right at home among these artists. Her latest picture book, Lenny & Lucy, gracefully written by Philip Stead, is a quiet, understated story about fear, specifically fear of change, as represented by the dark woods on the other side of the bridge. Peter can see them from the bedroom window of his new house, and he knows scary things are hiding behind the trees. Accompanied by his golden retriever, Harold, he creates a gigantic figure out of blankets and pillows, names it Lenny, and places it as a sentry next to the bridge. Lenny does the job but he looks lonely, so Peter creates another pillow person, Lucy. Lenny and Lucy give Peter a bit of added security, but he doesn’t start to feel truly safe and comfortable until his new next-door neighbor Millie stops by to play.
It’s interesting to note what Stead has done with color here — or perhaps to note what she hasn’t done. She hasn’t splashed it all over the page, covering every bit of white space with pigment. She has used it sparingly — a touch of blue on Peter’s hat, gold on his jacket and shoes and all over Harold (of course), green on Lenny’s blanketed torso and pink on Lucy’s. And when Millie shows up, she’s dressed in red. These small bits of color are amplified against the monochromatic gray background used to illustrate the woods and the loud floral wallpaper on the wall in Peter’s new house. Both the woods and wallpaper loom large, and are almost claustrophobic, representing Peter’s fear of the unknown. Once he meets Millie, the woods recede, and the gray pages open up to wide white spaces.
Stead’s use of gray and white with just a bit of color demonstrates that a picture book does not need to be flashy to be distinguished. Too often, it seems, we fall victim to what I call the “magpie syndrome” — always reaching for the brightest, the shiniest, the most dazzling when we look for the best in picture books. I’m glad we have artists like Erin Stead to remind us that less is often more. Her pictures leave room for interpretation and the reader’s imagination, just as Philip Stead’s text has left room for the artist to add her own touches to the story.
It’s rare for any picture book to hit all of the criteria the Caldecott committee uses to identify a “distinguished American picture book for children.”
- Excellence of execution in the artistic technique employed;
- Excellence of pictorial interpretation of story, theme, or concept;
- Appropriateness of style of illustration to the story, theme or concept;
- Delineation of plot, theme, characters, setting, mood or information through the pictures;
- Excellence of presentation in recognition of a child audience.
This one has it all.
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A Home for Bird has been on my radar for a long time. I was on a recon mission at ALA for new books and I sneaked a slow peek while the Roaring Brook folks were busy. It took me a while to read it because I kept slowing down. There is just so much to take in.
