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I’ve been thinking a lot lately about illustrated books for children (as opposed to picture books) in all their various forms.  And since I’ve a penchant for nostalgia, I often think of my youth and the illustrated novels I read then.  The mid to late 1980s were an odd time for illustration in general.  For whatever reason, fantasy illustrators who worked primarily in the field of adult literature would occasionally show up on the covers of middle grade, or what passed for YA, titles at this time.  And once in a great while they’d even illustrate the interiors.  Hence today’s example.

I first discovered the work of artist Greg Hildebrandt through, of all things, a fully illustrated version of Gaston Leroux’s The Phantom of the Opera.  That, in turn, lead me to what I still consider one of the strangest and most interesting books I’ve seen to date.  It was a lushly illustrated version of Pinocchio, and the first time I’d seen anything that wasn’t Disney.  It was odd and original and I’ve never quite forgotten it.  Eventually I’d learn about Hildebrandt’s background in fantasy illustration as well as his work on books like Peter Pan, Alice in Wonderland, and Wizard of Oz.  But, for me, Pinocchio is still the most memorable.  Some illustrations from the book:

Annecy is taking over San Diego Comic-Con as the place for Hollywood to preview its major projects.

• Top of the morning to you, froggies!  I had one heckuva weekend, I tell you.  Actually it was just one heckuva Saturday.  First there was the opening of the new Bank Street Bookstore location here in NYC.  I was one of the local authors in attendance and, as you can see from this photograph taken that morning, I was in good company.

At one point I found myself at a signing table between Deborah Heiligman and Rebecca Stead with Susan Kuklin, Chris Raschka, and Peter Lerangis on either side.  I picked up the name tag that Jerry Pinkney had left behind so that I could at least claim a Caldecott by association.  Of course that meant I left my own nametag behind and a certain someone did find it later in the day . . .

Then that afternoon, after wolfing down an Upper West Side avocado sandwich that had aspirations for greatness (aspirations that remained unfulfilled) I was at NYPL’s central library for the panel Blurred Lines?: Accuracy and Illustration in Nonfiction.  This title of silliness I acknowledge mine.  In any case, the line-up was Sophie Blackall, Brian Floca, Mara Rockliff, and her Candlewick editor Nicole Raymond.  It was brilliant. There will perhaps be a write-up at some point that I’ll link to.  I just wanted to tip my hat to the folks involved.  We were slated to go from 2-3 and we pretty much went from 2-4.  We could have gone longer.

• I’ve often said that small publishers fill the gaps left by their larger brethren.  Folktales and fairy tales are often best served in this way.  Graphic novels are beginning to go the same route.  One type of book that the smaller publishers should really look into, though, is poetry.  We really don’t see a lot of it published in a given year, and I’d love to see more.  The new Lee Bennett Hopkins Poetry Award may help the cause.  It was recently announced and the award is looking for folks who are SCBWI members and that published their books between 2013-2015.  It makes us just one step closer to an ALA poetry award.  One step.

• How did I miss this when it was published?  It’s a New Yorker piece entitled Eloise: An Update.  It had me at “The absolute first thing I do in the morning is make coffee in the bathroom and check to see what’s on pay-per-view / Then I have to go to the health club to see if they’ve gotten any new kettlebells and then stop at the business center to Google a few foreign swear words.”  Thanks to Sharyn November for the link.

• Y’all know I worship at the alter of Frances Hardinge and believe her to be one of the greatest living British novelists working today, right?  Well, this just in from the interwebs!  Specifically, from agent Barry Goldblatt’s Facebook page:

BSFA and Carnegie Medal longlister Frances Hardinge’s debut adult novel THE KNOWLEDGE, about a London cab driver with a special license to travel between multiple alternative Londons, who, after rescuing a long-missing fellow driver, finds herself caught up in a widening conspiracy to control the pathways between worlds, to Navah Wolfe at Saga Press, in a two-book deal, for publication in Summer 2017, by Barry Goldblatt at Barry Goldblatt Literary on behalf of Nancy Miles at Miles Stott Literary Agency (NA).

Mind you, this means I’ll have to read an adult novel now.  I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.

• Speaking of England, I’m tired of them being cooler than us.  For example, did you know that they have a Federation of Children’s Book Groups?  A federation!  Why don’t we have a federation?  I’ll tell you why.  Because we haven’t earned it yet.  Grrr.

• Ooo!  A new Spanish language children’s bookstore has just opened up in Los Angeles.  And here we can’t get a single bookstore other than Barnes & Noble to open up in the Bronx in English, let alone another language.  This is so cool.  Methinks publishers looking to expand into the Latino market would do well to court the people working at this shop, if only to find new translatable material.

• Fancy fancy dancy dancy Leo Lionni shirts are now being sold by UNIQLO.  Some samples:

Smarties.

• Roxanne Feldman is one of those women that has been in the business of getting books into the hands of young ‘uns for years and years and years.  Online you may recognize her by her username “fairrosa”.  Well, now she has a blog of her very own and it’s worth visiting.  Called the Fairrosa Cyber Library, it’s the place to go.  However – Be Warned.  This is not a site to merely dabble in.  If you go you must be prepared to sit down and read and read.  Her recent posts about diversity make for exciting blogging.

• Phil Nel has compiled the greatest Dr. Seuss blog post of all time.  I said it.  I stand by it.  Doubt me if you dare.

• Me Stuff: Because apparently the whole opening of this blog post didn’t count.  Now Dan Blank is one of those guys you just hope and pray you’ll meet at some point in your life.  He’s the kind of fellow who is infinitely intensely knowledgeable about how one’s career can progress over time and he’s followed my own practically since the birth of my blogging career.  If I appeared in Forbes, it was because of Dan.  Recently he interviewed me at length and the post is up.  It’s called Betsy Bird: From “Invisible” Introvert to Author, Critic, Blogger and Librarian.  I feel like that kid in Boyhood with Dan.  Really I do.

• It was Adam Gidwitz who alerted me to a theatrical production going on in town right now that holds my interest in its hot little hand.  He says the company is fantastic and that the show is entirely worth it.  Though, with a name like BAMBIF*CKER/KAFFEHAUS: A caffeinated ride through sex, death, deer, and Zionism how could it not be?

• Fact: The Cotsen Children’s Library of Princeton has been interviewing great authors and illustrators since at least 2010.

• Fact: Access to these interviews has always been available, but not through iTunes.

• Fact: Now it is.  And it’s amazing.  Atinuke.  Gary Schmidt.  Rebecca Stead.  Philip Pullman.  It’s free, it’s out there, so fill up your iPod like I am right now and go crazy!  Thanks to Dana Sheridan for the info!

The other day I linked to a piece on the term “racebent” and how it applies to characters like Hermione in Harry Potter.  It’s not really a new idea, though, is it?  Folks have always reinterpreted fictional characters in light of their own cultures.  This year the publisher Tara Books is releasing The Patua Pinocchio.  Now I’ve been a bit Pinocchio obsessed ever since my 3-year-old daughter took Kate McMullen’s version to heart (it was the first chapter book she had the patience to sit through).  With that in mind I am VERY interested in this version of the little wooden boy.  Very.

• Ever been a children’s nonfiction conference?  Want to?  The 21st Century Children’s Nonfiction Conference has moved to NYC this year and it’s going to be a lot of fun.  I’ll be speaking alongside my colleague / partner-in-crime Amie Wright, but there are a host of other speakers and it’s a delightful roster.  If ever this has ever been your passion, now’s thWe time to go.

• Diverse books for kids don’t sell?  To this, Elizabeth Bluemle, a bookseller, points out something so glaringly obvious that I’m surprised nobody else has mentioned it before.  I’m sure that someone has, but rarely so succinctly. Good title too:  An Overlooked Fallacy About Sales of Diverse Books.

• And speaking of diverse books, here’s something that was published last year but that I, in the throes of the whole giving birth thing, missed.  The We Need Diverse Books website regularly posted some of the loveliest book recommendations I’ve ever seen.  We’ve all seen lists that say things like “Like This? Then Try This!” but rarely do they ever explain why the person would like that book (I’m guilty of this in my own reviews’ readalikes and shall endeavor to be better in the future).  On their site, the WNDB folks not only offered diverse readalikes to popular titles, but gave excellent reasons as to why a fan of David Wiesner’s Tuesday might like Bill Thomson’s Chalk.  The pairing of Lucy Christopher’s Stolen with Sharon Draper’s Panic is particularly inspired.  The covers even match.

Daily Image:

I am ever alert to any appropriation of my workplace that might be taking place. Recently I learned that in the Rockettes’ upcoming holiday show there will be this set in one of the numbers.  Apparently Patience and Fortitude (the library lions) will be voiced by (the recorded voices of) Tina Fey and Amy Poehler.  I kid you not.

Years ago when I worked in the old Donnell Library I looked out the window of the Central Children’s Room to see three camels standing there chewing their cud or whatever it is that camels chew.  They were with their trainer, taking a walk before their big number in the Rockettes’ show.  The crazy thing was watching the people on the street.  The New Yorkers were walking past like the it was the most natural thing in the world.  This is because New Yorkers are crazy.  When camels strike you as everyday, something has gone wrong with your life.

I’m writing from Palermo where I’ve been teaching a course on the legacy of Troy. Myths and fairy tales lie on all sides in this old island. It’s a landscape of stories and the past here runs a live wire into the present day. Within the same hour, I saw an amulet from Egypt from nearly 3000 years ago, and passed a young, passionate balladeer giving full voice in the street to a ballad about a young woman – la baronessa Laura di Carini – who was killed by her father in 1538. He and her husband had come upon her alone with a man whom they suspected to be her lover. As she fell under her father’s stabbing, she clung to the wall, and her hand made a bloody print that can still be seen in the castle at Carini – or so I was told. The cantastorie – the ballad singer – was giving the song his all. He was sincere and funny at the same time as he knelt and frowned, mimed and lamented.

The eye of Horus, or Wadjet, was found in a Carthaginian’s grave in the city and it is still painted on the prows of fishing boats, and worn as a charm all over the Mediterranean and the Middle East, in order to ward off dangers. This function is, I believe, one of the deepest reasons for telling stories in general, and fairy tales in particular: the fantasy of hope conjures an antidote to the pain the plots remember. The street singer was young, curly haired, and had spent some time in Liverpool, he told me later, but he was back home now, and his song was raising money for a street theatre called Ditirammu (dialect for Dithryamb), that performs on a tiny stage in the stables of an ]old palazzo in the district called the Kalsa. Using a mixture of puppetry, song, dance, and mime, the troupe give local saints’ legends, traditional tales of crusader paladins versus dastardly Moors, and pastiches of Pinocchio, Snow White, and Alice in Wonderland.

Their work captures the way fairy tales spread through different media and can be played, danced or painted and still remain recognisable: there are individual stories which keep shape-shifting across time, and there is also a fairytale quality which suffuses different forms of expression (even recent fashion designs have drawn on fairytale imagery and motifs). The Palermo theatre’s repertoire also reveals the kinship between some history and fairy tale: the hard facts enclosed and memorialised in the stories. Although the happy ending is a distinguishing feature of fairy tales, many of them remember the way things were – Bluebeard testifies to the kinds of marriages that killed Laura di Carini.

A few days after coming across the cantastorie in the street, I was taken to see the country villa on the crest of Capo d’Orlando overlooking the sea, where Casimiro Piccolo lived with his brother and sister. The Piccolo siblings were rich Sicilian landowners, peculiar survivals of a mixture of luxurious feudalism and austere monasticism. A dilettante and dabbler in the occult, Casimiro believed in fairies. He went out to see them at twilight, the hour recommended by experts such as William Blake, who reported he had seen a fairy funeral, and the Revd. Robert Kirk, who had the information on good authority from his parishioners in the Highlands, where fairy abductions, second sight, and changelings were a regular occurrence in the seventeenth century.

Casimiro’s elder brother, Lucio, a poet who had a brief flash of fame in the Fifties, was as solitary, odd-looking, and idiosyncratic as himself, and the siblings lived alone with their twenty servants, in the midst of a park with rare shrubs and cacti from all over the world, their beautiful summer villa filled with a vast library of science, art, and literature, and marvellous things. They slept in beds as narrow as a discalced Carmelite’s, and never married. They loved their dogs, and gave them names that are mostly monosyllables, often sort of orientalised in a troubling way. They range from ‘Aladdin’ to ‘Mameluk’ to ‘Book’ and the brothers built them a cemetery of their own in the garden.

Casimiro was a follower of Paracelsus, who had distinguished the elemental beings as animating matter: gnomes, undines, sylphs and salamanders. Salamanders, in the form of darting, wriggling lizards, are plentiful on the baked stones of the south, but the others are the cousins of imps and elves, sprites and sirens, and they’re not so common. The journal Psychic News, to which Casimiro subscribed, inspired him to try to take photographs of the apparitions he saw in the park of exotic plants around the house. He also ordered various publications of the Society of Psychical Research and other bodies who tried to tap immaterial presences and energies. He was hoping for images like the famous Cottingley images of fairies sunbathing or dancing which Conan Doyle so admired. But he had no success. Instead, he painted: a fairy punt poled by a hobgoblin through the lily pads, a fairy doctor with a bag full of shining golden instruments taking the pulse of a turkey, four old gnomes consulting a huge grimoire held up by imps, etiolated genies, turbaned potentates, and eastern sages. He rarely left Sicily, or indeed, his family home, and he went on painting his sightings in soft, rich watercolour from 1943 to 1970 when he died.

His work looks like Victorian or Edwardian fairy paintings. Had this reclusive Sicilian seen the crazed visions of Richard Dadd, or illustrations by Arthur Rackham or John Anster Fitzgerald? Or even Disney? Disney was looking very carefully at picture books when he formed the famous characters and stamped them with his own jokiness. Casimiro doesn’t seem to be in earnest, and the long-nosed dwarfs look a little bit like self-mockery. It is impossible to know what he meant, if he meant what he said, or what he believed. But the fact remains, for a grown man to believe in fairies strikes us now as pretty silly.

The Piccolo family’s cousin, close friend and regular visitor was Giuseppe Tomasi di Lampedusa, the author of The Leopard, and he wrote a mysterious and memorable short story about a classics professor who once spent a passionate summer with a mermaid. But tales of fairies, goblins, and gnomes seem to belong to an altogether different degree of absurdity from a classics professor meeting a siren.

And yet, the Piccolo brothers communicated with Yeats, who held all kinds of beliefs. He smelted his wonderful poems from a chaotic rubble of fairy lore, psychic theories, dream interpretation, divinatory methods, and Christian symbolism: “Out of the quarrel with others we make rhetoric; out of the quarrel with ourselves we make poetry.”

Featured image credit: Capo d’Orlando, by Chtamina. CC-BY-SA-2.5 via Wikimedia Commons

The post Once upon a time, part 1 appeared first on OUPblog.

        

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Animation historian John Canemaker talks about the process and challenges of creating the monumental new biography "The Lost Notebook: Herman Schultheis & the Secrets of Walt Disney's Movie Magic."

Before I got hired at Disney Features, I sold a few magazine articles and developed a love of writing for print, where there was nothing between writer and reader but words on a page. When I became a Disney employee, I realized I was surrounded by animation veterans with vivid memories of the rambunctious days at the old Hyperion studio, and the creative struggles that went into making "Snow White," "Pinocchio," and the other early features. Talking to older Mouse House staffers, it dawned on me they could provide great source material for articles.

Dickie Jones, the voice of Pinocchio in the 1940 Disney film, died on July 7, 2014. He was 87 years old.

Annecy, the longest-running and largest animation fesival, has announced the feature film selections for their upcoming festival in June. Nine films were chosen to compete for the Cristal award for feature film, which will be decided by a jury consisting of producer Didier Brunner (Les Armateurs), Cartoon Network exec Brian Miller and director Robert Morgan (The Cat with Hands, The Man in the Lower-Left Hand Corner of the Photograph). An additional fourteen features will screen out of competition.

Marcel Jean, the festival’s artistic director, said of this year’s feature selections:

“Many films have been created in a totally independent way, using traditional means, which illustrates the change in production habits that is opening the way for smaller companies and happening at the same moment as the production of digital 3D features is becoming more accessible. Japanese production has also particularly stood out through the number and quality of science fiction, horror or genre films.”

Feature Films—In Competition

• Arjun, The Warrior Prince
  Directed by Arnab Chaudhuri (India)

Feature Films—Out of Competition

• After School Midnighters
  Directed by Hitoshi Takekiyo (Japan)

Do you know the feeling when something wonderful is brewing? Something that will lead you to the heart of a story that you thought had promise, but the potential was yet to be discovered?

These past two months, writing has helped me grieve the recent loss of my father.  I refrained from blogging to focus on my work. I even forced myself to rise earlier than the sun each morning, so that I could write in peace. Not a small feat if you know me well. Having to get out of bed early and assure that my two daughters were awake for school was torture to me.

Now I am writing well before the sun first appears for up to four hours, undisturbed–except for our yellow tabby that slyly inches across my writing couch and thinks I don’t notice his paw reaching over to my laptop until he plops halfway across my body and the keyboard.

I scoot Joey away and write whatever comes to mind. Or welcome new voices that have popped up in the recent days, or revisit an unfinished manuscript. (In the past month, I have written two picture books without thinking about them ahead of time. In a way, they wrote themselves, one morning between my first cup of coffee and lunch.)

In this same vein, my younger middle-grade protagonist, E. B. Louise, returned to my world one morning at 5:45 am. Still curled beneath my covers, I was not ready for fall mornings, when it is too cold to get out of bed because the heat has not yet kicked in, and the thought of having to race across a wood floor in bare feet to use the bathroom made me shiver. I decided to test the strength of my bladder and stay beneath the comforter.

E. B. Louise started to yak, yak, yak at me, and then it felt like a heavy encyclopedia had been dropped on my head.

“You know,” she said, while I was rubbing the not-real swelling knot on my forehead, my covers pulled up to my chin. “You are not paying attention to me and I need to finish my story.”

Let me tell you, if my dad were still alive, I would have called him for advice–right that very moment, even though he was not a morning person. (His daily writing routine took him way into the late hours of the night.)

“I’m stuck,” I said, pulling the covers over my head.

“Get unstuck.”

“Can’t you see that I am sleeping?”

“Makes no difference to me,” said E. B. Louise.

As much as I love the darn kid, she does not give up. I think this makes me love her even more.

I slipped on a fuzzy bathrobe, poured myself a cup of coffee, and then planted my bum in my writing chair. While my computer warmed up, I watched a bird peck at the corner of my window. Peck. Peck. Peck. With the E. B. Louise document open, I stared at the words.

Nothing happened.

I glanced up at my dad’s Pinocchio collection that now sits on the top shelf of my bookcase, and this is when the kid started to yak again, though she sounded like me.

“