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…and to all the illustrators who have won prizes in the prestigious international BIB award in this special, 50th-anniversary year.

I have been enthusing recently about Laura Carlin’s book The Promise, written by … Continue reading ... →

by Annemarie Van Haeringen (available 10/1/15, NorthSouth Books)

Here’s a fun book: a stylish story both in look and in theme.

That cover, the signature shape of Chanel No. 5, juxtaposed not-so-glamourously with a girl scrubbing floors in a raggish kind of dress. The title, a crash course in fashion.

Coco Chanel.

This book was originally published in the Netherlands, and coincided with a museum exhibition of some original Chanel designs. Yet even apart from that collaborative effort, this book is a beautiful glimpse at the life of a girl who saw things a little bit differently.

First up: endpapers. From beginning to ending, from scraps to something refined.

Coco, fragile as an eggshell, a mistake, a nothing, an orphan.

But the nuns saw her talent for sewing, and Coco was happy.

When she grew up, she surrounded herself with fancy ladies in crazy hats. How can you think with a dead pigeon on your head?

Coco was a problem solver, and when she saw these fancy ladies riding sidesaddle in complicated skirts, Coco figured out how to sew trousers.

But when you sew trousers and are invited to the races, you need a fancy hat. One without a dead pigeon on your head.

So Coco created a hat shop. She created comfortable, easy clothing for women.

And the women tossed out their corsets.

With her little black dress, Coco figured out how to celebrate what a woman looks like, when it’s the woman you look at and not her clothes.

Her angel-like sewing skills, her observation and celebration of women, and her style: iconic.

Though if you want biographical information on Coco Chanel, you might want to supplement this book–it’s quite literally a lovely place to start, but there is no author’s note or bibliography of sources available for the reader aside from a small paragraph on the back cover.

But for everything this book is, it’s a luxurious simplicity.

I received a review copy from NorthSouth Books, but all opinions are my own.

So I’m back online! And I’ve so much to tell you about…

So yes, I was offline because I was away visiting family in the Netherlands. This is where we were for most of the time:

This is the haul of books I brought back:

My favourite book of all those I brought back is Overzee (literally “Oversea”) by Annemarie van Haeringen, Tonke Dragt, and Sjoerd Kuyper. It’s a collection of three very short, modern myths, each linked by the sea. The first is about a pelican who rescues a boy lost in a storm, the second is about Noah’s ark, unicorns and narwhals, and the third is about the source of the sea – where indeed does it begin? Each story is magical and word perfect. You won’t be able to finish this book without your heart contracting a little at its verbal and visual beauty. I do hope that one day it will be translated into English. The stories are timeless.

On holiday M fell deeply in love with the Belgian comic series Suske and Wiske (variously translated in to English as Bob and Bobette, Wanda and Willy and, most recently Spike and Suzy). This strip was created by Willy Vandersteen and first published in 1945 (there are now over 300 books!). It features two children who get up to all sorts of adventures, some fantasy, some historical, some science fiction, and has a look not dissimilar to the most famous comic from Belgium – Tintin.

Whilst away I read a brilliant Dutch children’s book Crusade in Jea

Illustrations by Annemarie van Haeringen

By Anatoly Liberman

I have once written about ragamuffin and its kin, including Italian ragazzo “boy,” which I think is a member of that extended family. Dealing with rag-devils had inured me to the dangers of demonology. (Pay attention to the alliteration. I am so used to writing notes on literary texts that I could not pass by my own sentence without a comment.) Those who know who Puck is remember him from Shakespeare. He is a mischievous sprite in Elizabethan comedy, and the modern adjective puckish also refers to mischief. Folklorists have studied this character extensively; among others, there is a book titled The Anatomy of Puck. Now that Puck has been dismembered, a historical linguist can fearlessly approach his body and draw a few tentative conclusions. (more…)

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