The Word Collector
By Sonja Wimmer
Translated by Jon Brokenbrow
Cuento de Luz
$14.95
ISBN: 978-8415241348
Ages 4-8
On shelves now
What is the ultimate goal of the picture book import? When someone takes the time to bring over and translate a work for children, they’re expecting that book to be able to say something universal. They want the book to be enjoyable to child readers regardless of nationality, which, when you sit down and think about it, is a pretty lofty goal. Yet this year I’ve been seeing some absolutely amazing translations in America for kids. From the Colombian Jimmy the Greatest to the Norwegian John Jensen Feels Different to the French My Dad Is Big and Strong, But . . . this has been an amazing year for international children’s literature. Now Spain enters the ring with La Coleccionista de Palabras or The Word Collector. A heady infusion of striking images and playful content, author/illustrator Sonja Wimmer brings us a fantastical tale that has something to say to us today, yesterday, and tomorrow as well.
What do you collect? Coins? Stamps? Stickers? Have you ever considered collecting words? Luna, the heroine of this little tale, does exactly that and the job fills her days. Whether they’re magic words or delicious words or humble words, pretty much if they are words she is interested. The trouble only comes the day that Luna reels in her nets to find just a paltry smattering of words, hardly enough to satisfy. It seems the people of the word just aren’t using the beautiful words out there anymore. So what’s a girl to do when the world grows forgetful? She packs her suitcase with every word in her arsenal and sets off to right a great wrong, that’s what.
This is not a book for lazy people. It demands that you work at it. You can’t just sit back and have the text come to you as you flip through the pages. Some spreads seem fairly straightforward with the words traveling in a single straight line. Other times I felt like I was reading Bob Raczka’s Lemonade again, picking out the words and sentences where I could find them. Your first indication that this isn’t the usual fare comes on the fourth or fifth pages of the story. After reading that there was a girl named Luna who lived in the sky we encounter this luminous (most of the pages are luminous, by the way) image of a red haired child Madonna of sorts staring into a glass container of softly glowing letters like a kid with a firefly jar. When I first encountered
John Jensen Feels Different
By Henrik Hovland
Illustrated by Torill Kove
Translated by Don Bartlett
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers
$16.00
ISBN: 978-0-8028-5399-8
For ages 4-8
On shelves now
There is a lot to be said for a picture book book that is so unapologetically Norwegian that it ends up making you completely (not to mention unexpectedly) love it, regionalism and all. If you’ve ever encountered a large quantity of picture books from countries other than your own then you’ll know that tone is everything. Books in America tend to a have a distinctive flavor while books from other nations have another. Sometimes (often?) the two flavors don’t mix but once in a great while you end up with something like John Jensen Feels Different and everything’s okay again. A recent import, the book tackles the familiar theme of it’s-okay-to-be-different and gives it a bit of a twist. Understated and sly it’s a unique kind of book about a unique kind of guy. Funny and unfamiliar all at once, this is one case where the packaging matches the product.
John Jensen. He feels different. He feels it at home, on the bus, and at work. As we watch this perfectly amiable alligator (crocodile?) navigates through the realistic world of humans, holding down a good job as a tax consultant, we see him struggle with the idea. After much thought John decides that it’s his tail that makes him so very different from other people. Yet an attempt to tape it to his body only turns to pain when he sprains it after an accident. At the hospital he makes the acquaintance of Dr. Field (a nice elephant) who gives John the inspiring words he needs to stop being silly about his tail/who he is and to get on with his life.
I love the deadpan humor of it all. In fact the visual gags are such a perfect complement to the text that I was surprised to find that the author and illustrator weren’t one and the same. They must have consulted with one another heavily when creating the book. For example, I loved how artist Torill Kove portrayed John as a slightly sheepish reptilian office mate. There’s a great moment when he looks at a picture of fellow alligators, all of whom are his identical match, and he thinks, “Maybe I was adopted” followed by the book’s comment that “He doesn’t seem to look like anyone else in his family.” There were other little sly moments as well. I love that Dr. Field wears red sneakers. And I thought the endpapers were particularly keen. At the front of the book is the beginning of John tying his customary red bow tie and at the back is the rest of the process. It’s practically step by step.
Then there’s the story itself. This is one of those books where the child readers squeal in frustration at the hero’s seeming stupidity. As John tries to figure out why exactly he’s different you can practically channel the voices of five-year-olds across the globe that scream, “He’s an alligator!!!” Of course, by not mentioning that John is an alligator (or is he a crocodile?) the book becomes an easy metaphor. By the way, the translation of the book is by one Don Bartlett. Let
This is not a book for lazy people. It demands that you work at it. You can’t just sit back and have the text come to you as you flip through the pages. Some spreads seem fairly straightforward with the words traveling in a single straight line. Other times I felt like I was reading Bob Raczka’s Lemonade again, picking out the words and sentences where I could find them. Your first indication that this isn’t the usual fare comes on the fourth or fifth pages of the story. After reading that there was a girl named Luna who lived in the sky we encounter this luminous (most of the pages are luminous, by the way) image of a red haired child Madonna of sorts staring into a glass container of softly glowing letters like a kid with a firefly jar. When I first encountered
