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Author Ting-Xing Ye’s mother used to say, “It’s typical! Three Monks, no water!”  whenever she or her brothers and sisters tried to get out of doing something.  Three Monks, No Water (Annick Press, 1997)is the story behind that enigmatic expression – and since reading it, I can see it becoming a useful phrase in our home!

A young Buddhist monk lived alone at the top of a mountain.  Every day he had to fetch water from the foot of the mountain, using a yoke and two buckets.  That provided him with enough water for his personal needs and to water his small vegetable garden.  One day, he was joined by an older monk.  Their attempts to bring water up the mountain together, stringing a single bucket on a pole carried between them, were not very successful; and each felt it was the other’s task to fetch more water, so neither went.  The vegetables in the garden began to die.  Then a third monk arrived, and the situation worsened.  As each monk refused to give way, or compromise his stance in any way, the outlook became bleaker, and certainly none of them was composed enough to meditate or pray.  Then one day, disaster struck… Would they be able to let go of their antagonism and work together to put things right?

Three Monks, No Water is just the kind of fable that will appeal to young children with a strong sense of right and wrong.  The narrative certainly makes no excuses for the monks’ unreasonable behaviour, but leaves plenty of scope for young listeners to react.  Illustrator Harvey Chan’s background of acrylic on gessoed board gives the illustrations an interesting texture for the colored pencil drawings in soft, muted colors; and I love the monks’ facial expressions.  And on every page, like a heavy watermark, a line of calligraphy conveys the expression of the title.  Plus there’s a specially designed seal inside the front and back cover, with a short explanatory note, and together these add a nice extra touch.

This is a great story for conveying the importance of dialogue and reciprocity, giving as well as expecting and taking – and it can be applied to a directly parallel scenario of three individuals, or on a global level, or anywhere in between…

The image of little Azad and his camel curled up together fast asleep on the title page of Azad’s Camel by Erika Pal (Frances Lincoln 2009 (UK)/2010 (US)) certainly lends itself to a bedtime story.  The rather jaunty narrative, coupled with the visual impact of cartoon-like characters set against the ochres and browns of the desert landscape, carries young listeners through the story to its happy ending, rather like a fairy tale in which the wicked stepmother is outwitted and the characters we’ve been rooting for all live happily ever after. Except here, Azad is sold by his uncle to a rich sheikh who spots Azad’s handstands on a goalpost and decides he will make a good camel rider. Waking up after his first night in the desert, Azad asks for something to eat, only to be yelled at: “Here, you have to earn your breakfast!”  He is immediately put onto a camel and indeed, his balancing powers come in most useful. But Azad doesn’t like riding camels at full speed, even if he does win lots of races. And one night his camel tells him that he doesn’t like racing either… So the next day, they run in their race, they win it, and then they simply carry on going, on and on until no one chases them any more. They wake up after a cold night in the desert (and there’s some sweet help at hand here) and find themselves surrounded by Bedouin, who give Azad and his camel a loving welcome – they have “found a home at last”.

I don’t usually like to give away the whole story when I’m talking about books but it’s important here to understand that this special story will endear itself to young readers/listeners, despite some harsh realities that provide it with its backbone. As is fitting for the story’s targeted audience (4-8), the emphasis is on one little boy’s quest to find a happy home, and his achievement of that goal thanks to the assistance of a talking camel. However, the illustrations especially root the story in its contemporary setting – an airplane flies overhead, the young riders wear modern riding helmets, and the urban environment is clogged with traffic and highrise buildings. These provide the opening for later discussion with older children of the information given in the afterword: a succinct, hard-hitting outline of the exploitation of children in camel racing in the Gulf States of the Middle East, as well as some hopeful news of how attitudes are changing.

This may be a story in which winning is certainly not everything, but Erika Pal’s perfectly tuned story about Azad and his camel is itself a winner, whatever time of day you choose to read it.

I received a scrumptious parcel through the post this week – some gifts and goodies from Corinne and Aline’s time at the Asian Festival of Children’s Content (AFCC) in Singapore. I’m going to unpack them slowly and with relish here on the blog so that you can enjoy them too.

First up is picture book The Book that was Handed Down, which won the inaugural Hedwig Ama Children’s Book Award, announced at the AFCC. Written by Yixian Quek, illustrated by Grace Duan Ying and designed by Goh Caili, it was published in Singapore by Straits Times Press in 2008. We can certainly be grateful to the Award for raising the profile of this extraordinary book.

On the surface it’s the simple story of a little girl Ping, our narrator, who is pretty disgusted about how she always has to have hand-me-downs… The book is no different: it used to belong to her brother, and certainly carries the imprint of its previous owner. But, of course, this is a book we’re talking about here – not clothes that are grown out of and forgotten. When Ming sees his sister with the book, he remembers how much he loved it and starts reading it aloud. Ping is then captivated in her turn, and together they share the adventures held between the book’s covers.

Complimenting the text perfectly are the illustrations, which cleverly blend the actual “Book that was Handed Down” with a depiction of the narrative. Ping is so serious and earnest and cross at the beginning, you can’t help feeling for her – but, as is so often the case, once she gets beyond superficial appearances, she finds her life is enriched both by the actual story contained within the book, and by the opportunity it affords for her to connect with her brother. The uncluttered effect of the strongly delineated illustrations also belies the number of details that will delight children as they make unspoken connections while listening to the story.

The simplicity of The Book that was Handed Down makes it immediately appealing; its complexity means that it will endure. Now I wonder whom I can hand it down to? I’ll just have to muss it up a bit first…

There is something special about grandparents sharing stories with their grandchildren, especially when those stories come from their own lives (though young children can be disconcerting in their definition of the olden days and their grandparents place in them…). Over the next few weeks, I will be highlighting books that draw young children into that special bond through stories narrated by grandmothers from around the world.

Whereas many anthologies of traditional stories can be dipped into and individual stories extracted at random, I recommend several bedtimes in a row be spent immersed in Frances Carpenter’s Tales of a Korean Grandmother and Tales of a Chinese Grandmother (both published by Tuttle). Although subtitled as 30 and 32 Traditional Tales respectively, they are much more than that. The stories emerge from the daily lives of the Ling family in China and the Kim family in Korea as the two grandmothers tell their grandchildren stories arising out of events and traditions or objects around them. Black and white vignettes and full-page illustrations are scattered through the books, with Malthe Hasselriis as the named illustrator of Tales of a Chinese Grandmother.

In Korea, we join the Kim family and become friends especially with Ok Cha and her brother Yung Tu; in China we meet Ah Shung and his sister Yu Lang, and the rest of the Ling household. Both grandmothers are deeply loved and respected, and have a wealth of stories to tell and retell – and the time to tell them. Young readers/listeners will be just as interested in the children’s antics as in the stories themselves.

The books were first published some 70 years ago and have lost none of their appeal in the intervening years – indeed, much of their attraction to today’s audience, whether younger children sharing the stories as a readaloud or older children reading the book alone, must be the blend of historical detail combined with the magic and fantasy contained within the stories themselves. Through the device of telling stories within a narrative, today’s readers/listeners are more readily drawn into their cultural contexts and the warmth of the bond between the grandmother and her grandchildren is the thread which brings all these stories together.

Master story-teller Laurence Yep took his inspiration for his magical version of the Beauty and the Beast fairy-tale from a traditional Chinese tale with a Southern Chinese setting. His The Dragon Prince (HarperCollins, 1997) has some satisfying twists and turns in the narrative and an impressive dragon in the role parallel to the Beast: visually too, thanks to Kam Mak’s powerful illustrations. We just love the noble, enormous, golden dragon, and completely empathised with Beauty/Seven’s inherent trust in the beauty she finds in him, that goes deeper than the fear – even when the Dragon insists, “But you really should be afraid” – yes, Little Brother especially loved that line!

Seven is set apart from her older sisters from the start: while they work in the fields, she does beautiful embroidery, which is then sold at the market, thereby providing the family with the sustenance the rocky ground cannot. The symbolism of this carries the narrative through to its conclusion (it’s a fairy tale so it’s irrelevant to question the point of the other sister’s activities, farming land on which nothing will grow). Three is jealous of Seven – and never more so than when, instead of suffering a terrible fate after agreeing to marry a firece dragon in return for her father’s life, Seven arrives on a visit to her family on a ‘chair of gold and coral’ and with all her maids behind her, descending from the sky in a ‘glittering procession’.

Three therefore tricks Seven and takes her place, preparing the Dragon Prince for a change in his wife’s appearance by saying she’s been ill – which makes for an interesting take on Beauty and the Beast: the Prince “didn’t care. In that short time, Seven had come to mean everything to him, not for her beauty but for her kindness.”

So do they live happily ever after? Well, I highly recommend you get hold of this great story and find out for yourself, and enjoy some cultural nuances along the way. For example, one bit that made me chuckle and served to show the Dragon Prince’s state of mind as he searches deperately for Seven: he buys at a market “without bargaining”!

Gathering Book also featured The Dragon Prince earlier this year, as part of a wonderful series of in-depth posts about Chinese fairy-tales – in case you missed them, here are the other links; they’re definitely worth a read: Lon Po Po: A Red-Riding Hood Story from China (which Little Brother read for our Reading the World Challenge in 2008) and Yeh-Shen: A Cinderella Story from China (which I have also featured as a Book at Bedtime in the past)…

An absolutely gorgeous book, Scaly-tailed Possum and Echidna (Magabala Books, 2010) makes for a perfect bedtime story – the story itself is short and to the point; the art-work is wonderful with vibrant colors and adorable depictions of the two eponymous animals; and the factual notes at the end are pitched just right for young listeners/readers. I learned a thing or two, too – did you know that a baby echidna is called a puggle?

The story has been handed down through generations of the “Kandiwal mob”, one of the tribes of the Wunambal people in the north-west of Western Australia, and the book’s author Cathy Goonack inherited it from her grandfather. She tells how “Long long ago in the Dreamtime”, naughty Echidna tried to steal Possum’s food: in the ensuing fight, Possum lost the fur from his tail and Echidna fell into ‘the spiky thorns of the pandanus leaf’. So the scaly-tailed possum, which is only found around Wunambal country, got its scaly tail, and the echidna was punished by Wandjina, the Great Spirit, with having to carry the heavy spikes around for ever, no longer able to climb trees but having to grub around for food.

The beautiful illustrations by Marlene, Myron and Katrina Goonack, with support and technical assistance from Janie Andrews, were painted on silk with outlines made using a gutta pen, creating an effective contrast between the colorful foliage and background and the animals. I have always had a soft spot for the improbable-looking echidna and I love the way he is drawn here both with and without his spines.

The simplicity of the story belies its depth of meaning, and with its size being just right for small people to get hold of, it’s just the kind of book that will be in demand again and again, both as a readaloud and for young children to read by themselves. Magabala Books have produced yet another little gem.

Suho’s White Horse: A Mongolian Legend is the retelling of one of the legends that explains the origins of Mongolia’s national musical instrument, the morin khuur, or horse hair fiddle, which always has a carved horse’s head at the top of its pegbox.

Suho, a young Mongolian shepherd boy, rescues and rears a white foal. A few years later he is persuaded to enter a horse-race with the governor’s daughter’s hand in marriage as the prize. With his beautiful white horse, of course Suho wins the race – but when the governor finds out that Suho is a shepherd he not only goes back on his word, but has his soldiers beat Suho up and steals the horse.

Suho manages to get home and is nursed back to health. Meanwhile, the white horse escapes. Incensed, the governor orders his men to catch the white horse – and if they can’t catch it, to kill it. The white horse does manage to return to Suho but is so badly injured that it dies. Suho is heartbroken but the horse comes to him in a dream and tells him to use different parts of his body to create a musical instrument – and so the morin khuur is born.

This retelling of Suho’s White Horse by Yuzo Otsuka, and translated by Richard McNamara and Peter Howlett (RIC Publications, 2006) is great for reading aloud, with plenty of detail. Both Older Brother and Little Brother became emotionally involved in the story very quickly, reacting to the different stages with outrage, horror and sadness. Hans Christian Andersen Award winner (1980) Suekichi Akaba‘s illustrations are beautiful, conveying the vastness of the steppe as well as the story’s emotive narrative.

And a real bonus with this edition is the accompanying CD that contains a musical retelling of the legend played on the morin khuur itself by “the horse-head fiddle’s finest player” Li Bo (scroll down this page to read an interview with him). We were all captivated by the haunting music and the boys had quite a deep discussion of which bit of music referred to which bit of the story.

I’m excited to have found this recording of Suho’s White Horse on You Tube with Lai Haslo playing the morin khuur and Zhang Lin on the Chinese dulcimer. I hope you enjoy it as much as we have – listen out for the horse galloping.

Based on a Buddhist folktale, For the Love of a Cat by Rosalind Wilson (1942–1992) and illustrated by Wen Hsu (Katha, 2010) is a thought-provoking story about acceptance and having the courage to do something you know deep down is right, even if it goes against the status quo. Don’t get me wrong, though – there’s nothing heavy-handed about the story or its retelling here: in fact, it would provide a very gentle, reassuring end to the day, as a bedtime readaloud.

An impoverished artist who lives with his beloved cat Tara arrives at his last meal, a small fish. Realising that it is not enough for both of them, he gives it to Tara then lies down to await death. Instead, some Buddhist monks come knocking at the door and give him the best comission he’s ever had: “a beautiful painting of the Holy One with all the creatures of nature around him.” There’s just one condition – “all the creatures of nature” does not include cats, since they had heard that the Buddha did not like them. The painter begins his work in the temple, but meanwhile Tara becomes very ill and he finds himself in a terrible quandary – to follow orders or his heart…

I was so happy to find this book in the pile I brought back recently from the office in San Francisco – I’ve been a big fan of illustrator Wen Hsu’s since we featured her in our Gallery and I interviewed her a couple of years ago. Her illustrations here are just as gorgeous as you’d expect, with her signature combination of bright colors and paper cut-outs. There’s a wonderful array of faces to take in, as well as plenty of animals for small listeners to find, and Tara the cat is just beautiful. As well as the book cover above, you can get an idea of the artwork from Wen’s photo of all the originals laid out here, on Wen’s blog.

And if the story sounds familiar, it is probably because you know The Cat Who Went to Heaven by Elizabeth Coatsworth, which won the Newbery Medal in 1930. In that retelling of the story for older readers, the setting is Japan. Depending on the ages of your children, why not read them both; or read For the Love of a Cat now, with its vibrant Indian setting, and make a note to introduce them to Coatsworth’s beautifully written tale in a few years’ time?

On the Tip of a Pin was… by Geeta Dharmarajan (founder and executive director of non-profit organisation Katha) and illustrated by Ludmilla Chakrabarty (Katha, 2009)… what an intriguing, zany title, and an intriguing, zany cover. And indeed, what a book. We ABSOLUTELY LOVE it (And I wish I had scope on this blog to show that via the actual print on the page, like the book does!)!! The story is so exuberant and silly and yet conveys a depth of meaning so profound that readers of all ages will enjoy it – and it certainly becomes a heads-together, collaborative bedtime readaloud. The illustrations seem to spill out of the text in a profusion of color and the various contortions of Worm’s twisting, digging body. Yes, this story revolves around a worm. If you’d asked me before picking up On the Tip of a Pin was… whether I liked stories about worms, I would probably have said that, although not my reading of choice, I would suffer them for the sake of my two boys: but now, well, if all worm stories can be this hilarious and thought-provoking, I’m converted.

In brief, the story stars a long, troublesome, zzzooooooommmming worm, who is considered the bane of the the lives of the people, including 20 children, and the lion, pig, cow and goat who all live on the tip of a pin in the town of Pintipur – until, that is, the worm shows them how to explore the world and indeed space through the wormholes she makes. Worm doesn’t change by the end of the story, despite the children’s best efforts, but their attitudes do. Plenty of more-than-satisfying nonsensical twists lead this tail, no I mean tale, from beginning to end – and then, just when you think you’ve come to the end of the ride, you turn the page and discover there’s more to wormholes than you realised. Budding physicists may already be aware that wormholes are “actually like a ‘shortcut’ through space and time.” Wow! So then you have to read the story all over again, adding that extra layer to the narrative. Wonderful!

Some aspects of this unique book that we love:

~ The way the book opens and the pages are turned from bottom to top.
~ The writing – tiny letters for whispers, squiggle and swirls, expressive fonts etc.
~ Lots of onomatopeia
~ …and wordplay – like when the worm comes back after days away: “Zooooooomeraannng!”
~ Worm seeming to weave her way through the pages.
~ Mind-spinning, nonsensical notions like “the longest lake in the world in the middle of the town that was on the tip of a pin.”
~The visual jokes
~The contrast between full-color pages and plain white backgrounds.
~ The unspecified but definite Indian setting.

Read a full review on the main PaperTigers website as part of our current focus on India, and take a look at these posts from Saffron Tree and Bolo Kids – they loved it too.

Lately for bedtime reading, I have been reading more chapter books to my daughter.  This month we started on a book called When the Cherry Blossoms Fell by Jennifer Maruno (Napoleon and Company, 2009).  The story begins on the eve of soon-to-be nine-year-old Michiko’s birthday.  It is March 1942 in Vancouver, and Michiko awaits the arrival of her father from a business trip — he works as a candy salesman for The Imperial Confectionary Company of Canada — but instead of his return, Michiko’s mother Eiko gets an alarming phone call.  Michiko’s father has been put in jail!

With this vivid opening, the story of Michiko’s family’s trials through the events of 1942 that affected thousands of Japanese Canadians on the west coast begins.  Soon Michiko and her family will have to move, forcibly relocated to the interior of British Columbia.  Slowly it dawns on Michiko, despite her family’s best attempts to shield her, what this event signifies for her as a Canadian of Japanese descent whose country is at war with Japan.

Although my daughter is aware of her cultural background, I don’t generally foist books on her about Japanese Canadian history or culture without her first indicating interest.  This is especially true now that we are entering the realm of chapter books which require a longer commitment of time.  In the case of When the Cherry Blossoms Fell, when I presented it to her, she said rather astutely “Read what it says on the back.”  After hearing the crib on the back page, she felt it was worth the investment of our time at night together reading this book.  And so we began reading When the Cherry Blossoms Fell together.  My daughter is certainly figuring out how to ‘read’ a book in more ways than one these days!

Such a coincidence – I am currently reading Marguerite van Geldermalsen’s enthralling Married to a Bedouin (Virago, 2006), when what should I come across, with Raymond Briggs uppermost in my mind, following Corinne’s post a couple of days ago, but the heading “The Elephant and the Bad Baby”. This classic illustrated by Briggs and written by Elfrida Vipont is one of our family favourites and I loved Marguerite’s description of reading it with her daughter:

Soon after dinner I made our bed ready against the back wall of the cave and cuddled up to read with Salwa from the treasures Mum sent [from New Zealand]. I didn’t always speak to her in English, and she spoke mostly Arabic, but through the stories she learned the language.

‘And the elephant went…’ I read.
‘Rumpeta, rumpeta, rumpeta,’ she recited.
‘All down the road with the…’
‘Ice-cream man…’

The Elephant and the Bad Baby had arrived in the most recent parcel and she already had half of it off by heart. She got me to read it over and over again, but now and then I had to read The Hungry Caterpillar or Mr Magnolia to keep me sane.

What a lovely picture this conjures up (as well as bringing back memories of similar dialogues with my own two). Married to a Bedouin is the story of Marguerite’s life from when she first visited Petra in Jordon and fell in love with a Bedouin souvenir-seller – I simply couldn’t put it down.

“My grandmother saw
the emperor cry
the day he lost
his golden dragon throne.”

So begins The Lotus Seed by Sherry Garland and illustrated by Tatsuro Kiuchi, a beautifully crafted story set in Vietnam and the U.S. The lotus seed of the title belongs right at its heart, both as a souvenir and talisman, and as a link across generations.

When she saw the emperor cry, the narrator’s Bà (grandmother) picked a lotus seed to remember him by, and from then on it became her most treasured possession, carried in her pocket for luck when she got married, and later, when war in Vietnam meant she had to flee, brought with her to America to take up its customary place under the family altar. So when “Last summer/ my little brother” took the seed and planted it in the garden, Bà was understandably devastated – but then in the spring an amazing thing happens. A beautiful lotus flower grows in the mud, providing a concrete connection for the children with their heritage. Bà once again has a lotus seed, and so do her grandchildren. And following in her grandmother’s footsteps, our young narrator wraps hers in silk and hides it away – with the intention of planting it for her own children…

The narrative is simple and poetic, which emphasises the feeling of the cyclical passing of years. It also allows the horrors of the story to come through without being overly traumatic for young listeners. Tatsuri Kiuchi’s beautiful illustrations are particularly powerful here, showing grandmother as a young woman fleeing her village pulling her son behind her; and then as one of many passengers on a boat leaving Vietnam, only distinguishable because of her hand across her chest holding tightly onto the lotus seed.

The Lotus Seed is a moving story that is perfectly pitched for young children and for reading aloud, even at bedtime. There are also good, concise historical notes at the end about Vietnam; and an added bonus is the lovely, anonymous poem about the Lotus flower – in Vietnamese on the back cover, and its English translation on the dedication page. I have included The Lotus Seed in my Personal View of refugee stories for children of all ages, as part of our current issue, which focuses on Refugee Children.

And, at a bit of a tangent really: do take a look at Japanese illustrator Tatsuro Kiuchi’s website - his most recent children’s book covers also look beautiful; and I was delighted to discover that he was the artist of the UK Christmas stamps a few years ago. That was the same Christmas that I (picture horrified mother) discovered Older Brother had made a collage (picture proud small son) incorporating a rather large number of (new) said stamps…

Ever since reading in The Storyteller’s Candle that one of the stories Pura Belpré tells to the children at the library is about “a beautiful Spanish cockroach named Martina and a gallant little mouse, Ratoncito Pérez”, I have wanted to know that story! So I was delighted to get hold of it recently as one of the stories included in Señor Cat’s Romance: and Other Favorite Stories from Latin America (first published 1997, reissued by Scholastic, 2001), which I think is set to become a classic. It’s by the same author/illustrator team as The Storyteller’s Candle – Lucia Gonzalez and Lulu Delacre, so my expectations were high (The Storyteller’s Candle is one of our Spirit of PaperTigers bookset; read our interview with Lucia and view Lulu’s PaperTigers Gallery). I certainly wasn’t disappointed: it’s a joy… Although I have to say I didn’t get a look-in for a while because both Older Brother and Little Brother purloined it to read for themselves!

There are six stories in all, each one a delight for sharing with young children. “Martina the Little Cockroach” did not disappoint, though I was mightily relieved to realise that there was one extra page-turn to the story. “The Billy Goat and the Vegetable Garden” also has a connection with Pura Belpré since it is based on her retelling of the Puerto Rican version, included in her book The Tiger and the Rabbit and Other Tales. One of the many Latin American trickster tales about “How Uncle Rabbit Tricked Uncle Tiger” is also included. Then there’s a cheeky wee “Half-Chick” with only one wing and one leg – what a lovely story to weave around the everyday sight of a weather-vane; “Juan Bobo and the Three-Legged Pot”, one of many stories about this character, which translates as Foolish John – and maybe he’s not so foolish… And finally, at the end is the exuberant song abut the Señor Cat of the book’s title.

Lucia’s Foreward and Lulu’s Afterword both make clear the love that has gone into the creation of this vibrant book: but, in fact, that also comes through very clearly via the narration and illustrations themselves. The notes accompanying each story provide insight and connections with other story-telling traditions – and don’t miss the mouthwatering recipe for arroz con pollo Lulu has included in one of her goegeous illustrations!

I have been intrigued by the Red Threads in Chinese folklore that link people invisibly and irrevocably, ever since first reading about them in Grace Lin’s beautiful picture book The Red Thread: An Adoption Fairy Tale. They then reappear in her wonderful Where the Mountain Meets the Moon and Jama at Alphabet Soup quotes Grace as saying: “To me, those red threads, those connections are the stories we share.”…

So I couldn’t resist picking up Ed Young’s Red Thread (Philomel Books, 1993) when I came across it recently: and it’s a wonderful story, which grows in meaning the more you read it. Wei Gu is a young man who, having been orphaned as a boy, is keen to find a wife and be part of a family. Hearing that a matchmaker is going to be in the town of Quinge, he travels there and makes sure he is at the temple good and early – in fact, he is so early that it is still dark (and here, Young’s illustrations are particularly stunning). He meets an old man, a spirit who can tell him that the red thread connecting him to his future wife leads to a three-year-old girl, and that they will marry in fourteen years time. Not only that, but they can go together to see her right there and then. However, Wei Gu is disgusted that she is apparently the daughter of vegetable sellers; and he also finds her ugly. Horrifically, he orders his servant to murder the child – but the red thread cannot be broken so easily and when Wei Gu marries fourteen years later, he discovers that the flower seed his beautiful wife always wears between her eyebrows carries a not unfamiliar story with it…

The narrative is simple but still manages to convey psychological depth; and the complexities inherent in the story mean that the book will grow with young readers. The act of violence is shocking – but as is so often the case in fairy-tales (and I am particularly struck by parallels with the western Snow White here), young readers/listeners will probably be less affected by it than the grown-ups reading it to them. The message that you can’t outrun your destiny is clear – but all the same, Wei Gu is lucky after his wicked act to end up with a loving wife who still loves him, even when the truth comes out.

A red thread runs throughout the book, straight across the pages, separating the text from the main focus of the illustrations, which completely fill each double-page spread. There are grandiose architectural spaces, busy market scenes and energetic close-ups, all depicted in a beautiful pallette of blues and greens, with orange as a striking outline color. In fact, as far as Young’s illustrations go, this for me is right up there as one of my favorites.

Now, there’s a question: which books by Ed Young are your and your children’s favorites? I am being very kind putting it in the plural, because I would find it very hard to narrow it down to just one myself!

A young Afghan boy shares his life and dreams for the future with us in The Roses in My Carpets by Rukhsana Khan and illustrated by Ronald Himler (Holiday House, 1998), a beautiful, thought-provoking picture book set in a refugee camp in Pakistan. He doesn’t like school but loves the afternoons he spends weaving carpets from brightly colored threads that all hold special meaning for him: although “Everything in the camp is a dirty brown, so I do not use brown anywhere on my carpets.” One day his work is interrupted by the shocking news that his sister has been badly hurt. He runs to the hospital. His mother is already there, too distraught to think rationally. Our young narrator takes charge, sending his mother home while he waits for news at the hospital. Fortunately, this being a children’s story, the news is good – which in turn allows for a breathing space that alters the nightmare of conflict he describes at the beginning of the book: that night his dreams open up to allow a tiny space out of danger for him and his beloved family.

Reading a story that includes issues of conflict and hurt needs plenty of thinking and discussion space around it, especially at bedtime – but Rukhsana Khan has written this story so deftly that they too will be comforted by the ending. This wonderful book includes a lot of incidental detail, such as the muezzin calling people to prayer and the boy’s musings about his overseas sponsor. Particularly convincing is the way the boy and his mother can hardly eat at the end of the day, after their terrible fright; and also the reality depicted of a boy who is very mature – who has had to grow up too quickly and take adult responsibilities on his shoulders. The attention to detail also carries over into the fine ilustrations – and young readers, and perhaps adults too, may be particularly struck by the mud buildings in the refugee camp.

I have included The Roses in My Carpet in my Personal View for our current issue of PaperTigers, which focuses on Refugee Children. Rukhsana also talks about the book in her interview with us last year; and do listen to her reading it here. On her blog, she has been discussing Ramadan recently – and I particularly enjoyed this post with an Afghan fable. Yesterday Aline pointed to some books for children that focus on Ramadan – including another of Rukhsana’s…

And please, please spare a thought for all those caught up in the floods in Pakistan, including Afghan refugees like the boy and his family in The Roses in my Carpets. If you’re looking for a charity who are sending relief, take a look at Sally’s post for some links.

PaperTigers’ current issue focuses on Canadian aboriginal literature.  I’d like to tell you about a quirkily illustrated and humorous aboriginal children’s title called  Jenneli’s Dance by Elizabeth Denny, illustrated by Chris Auchter (Theytus Books, 2008).  Jenneli is a Metis girl who’s a bit different-looking than her classmates:

She had darker hair and skin and her eyes were an unusual colour. It was as if they could not decide whether to be brown or green.

Jenneli’s one joy in life is doing the Red River Jig — something she has learned from her Grandma Lucee who lives in the small town of Lakeside, Manitoba.  One day, Grandma Lucee enters Jenneli into the jigging contest at the Lakeside fair.  Jenneli is horrified.  Will she do it?  Is she up to the challenge?

What I liked most about this book were the illustrations by Chris Auchter.  There’s something about the ‘flavor’ of the drawings and the details presented that gives the story a feeling of contemporary aboriginal life.  In the illustration of Grandma Lucee’s living room, there’s a picture of Elvis Presley hanging on the wall beside a macrame plant holder dangling from the ceiling.   There’s a magazine on the floor by Grandma’s knitting chair called “Inquiring Minds: Elvis Sightings.”  When Jenneli chokes on her bannock on hearing the news that her grandma has entered her into a jigging contest, the two are sitting outside at a picnic table with a funny looking bison observing them with a large bird (possibly an eagle?) flapping away into the distance.  It’s a Red River sort of scene, all right, done with the right symbols but with a touch of humor.

If you want to read a good aboriginal children’s title to your child at bedtime, I’d certainly recommend Jenneli’s Dance.

When Gecko complains to Raden, the jungle’s chief and a lion, about the fireflies that are keeping him awake, he sets in motion a string of complaints as each culprit of one animal’s complaint blames his actions on another’s behaviour. Eventually Raden is brought face to face with Rain:

When he reached Mount Batur’s highest peak, Chief Raden roared loudly, “Rain, why are you ruining the jungle pathways and causing so many problems for the animals?”

While waiting for Rain’s reply, Chief Raden dropped to the ground in exhaustion. Looking out over Bali, he saw sparkling rivers, blue skies filled with drifting clouds and endless hills of green. Raindrops fell, cooling his tired body. [...]

Raden then understood he was asking a very foolish question.

He returns home and delivers a few home truths to the animals about remembering all that Rain provides, and tells them to stop complaining but learn to live “in peace with one another”. By being considerate to their fellow creatures and recognising that there is much to appreciate in their own lives, they do in fact find themselves with little to complain about.

Gecko’s Complaint/ Keluhan Sang Tokek, a Balinese folktale, retold by Ann Martin Bowler and sumptuously illustrated by Balinese artist I Gusti Made Sukanada (Periplus Editions) is available both in English and, as of this year, as a bilingual book with English and Indonesian text. It is definitely a fable whose meaning has bearing on the lives of us humans. Chief Raden is a respected authority figure who listens and is decisive and fair – a role model who will also be respected by young listeners of the story. At the same time, the narrative doesn’t fall into the trap of being didactic but provides plenty of room for characterisation and humor to come through. The vibrant illustrations are full of jungle wildlife and we love the vignettes of animals, birds and flowers scattered through the text. Perhaps it’s an unreasonable quibble, but if another edition is ever planned, it would be great to have an appendix saying what they all are; it would provide a good counterbalance to the introduction, which gives an interesting overview of Indonesia and Bali in particular.

Ann talks a little about writing the book in her interview with PaperTigers – and I have to say, I’d love to know more about what she describes as the “adventure” of working with I Gusti Made Sukanada to create the book. She has also written a song, Complaining, to accompany the book – it’s available on her website.

To read a little more about how Gecko’s Complaint fits into Indonesian folklore, read this review from the Bali Advertiser. Many cultures feature animal fables in their traditional story-telling – do you have any particular favorites that you’d recommend as a bedtime story?

Pam Allyn’s recent article in the Huffington Post, Bedtime Reading: Children’s Stories to Inspire You In Your Sleep, lists her top recommendations for bedtime reading for all ages for the year 2010. Why did she make this list?

When the sun goes down, fears come up. The blessing of a transcendent story for any age is that it helps us to escape, to relate, to connect and to understand the perils and magic of our mortal universe. [...]

In the midst of the swirling clouds of conversations on recession, terrorism threats and environmental anxieties, our great authors, honoring the mysterious yet profound world of childhood, steer us toward peace and community, and the promise of hope in the morning.

Pam’s list is comprised of 8 books and includes Planting the Trees of Kenya and One Hen: two books which we chose for our Spirit of PaperTigers Book Set! Here is what Pam has to say about these two books and why they made her list:

Planting the Trees of Kenya: The Story of Wangari Maatthai by Claire Nivola. Wangari Maathai won the Nobel Prize in 2004 for her efforts to repair the environmental damage done to Kenya. She taught women and children to plant seeds and grow trees. Nivola shows the children restoring the health of a country. How this book will inspire: it’s not just Wangari who rallies us; it’s the tenderness of the children and their mothers, taking political action by planting gardens.

One Hen: How One Small Loan Made a Big Difference by Katie Smith Milway, illustrated by Eugenie Fernandes.  Kojo lives in a small Ashanti village. His life is changed when he is given a micro-loan by his village and he is able to buy a hen. His success after this impacts everyone in his community and beyond. Why we all should read this: When we try to figure out what to do to help in this year 2010, this book gives us a good model for how teaching a man to fish is more important than the fish itself.

Be sure to click here and read about the other books on Pam’s list.

The Storyteller’s Candle/ La velita de los cuentos Children’s Book Press, 2008) is one of the books selected for inclusion in the 2010 Spirit of PaperTigers Book Set, which is part of the Spirit of PaperTigers Project launched yesterday on our website. Set during the early years of the Great Depression (1929-1935), it tells the story of two children, cousins Hildamar and Santiago, who have moved with their families from Puerto Rico to New York and how their lives are transformed by coming into contact with librarian Pura Belpré, whose pioneering work revolutionised the roles of libraries within their communities.

This telling of Pura Belpré’s work through the eyes of children, written by Lucía González, makes a very special readaloud, both to a group of children and cosily at home. As the whole Puerto Rican community of El Barrio joins together to put on a play at the library to celebrate el Día de los Reyes, Three Kings’ Day on the 6th January, the cold outside is forgotten and the library is filled with the warmth not only from the roaring fire, but also from people’s hearts. Then, at the end,

“Ms. Belpré concluded the show in her usual way. “Close your eyes and make a wish,” she whispered as she held the storyteller’s candle.

Lulu Delacre’s gorgeous illustrations (and you can see some of them in her PaperTigers Gallery) are particularly special because she has added collage details to every page using a newspaper from 6th January 1930. I think my favorite, wittily accompanying this illustration of the audience at the library, is a column of thank yous to theatre critics for rave reviews…

Of course, Pura Belpré’s work continues to be commemorated by grown-ups with the awarding of the Pura Belpré medal, whose 2010 winners were announced in January. The Storyteller’s Candle means that children can share in her wonderful story too – and enjoy her legacy of libraries as hubs in their communities.

Following our library’s recent refurbishment, I was excited to find several bilingual picture-books in the newly-revamped children’s section… I borrowed two and we will definitely be going back for more!

Yeh-Hsien: A Chinese Cinderella, retold by Dawn Casey and illustrated by Richard Holland, with a French translation by Annie Arnold (Mantra Lingua, 2006) is familiar but different – there’s no fairy godmother, instead Yeh-Hsien befriends a fish: “she nourished her fish with food and with love, and soon he grew to enormous size.” However, the wicked stepmother kills the fish, cooks it and eats it (this detail gives the story the frisson of horror that is sometimes missing from modern fairy-tale retellings…). The magic fish bones that are left allow Yeh-Hsien to make wishes come true – soon she has enough to eat; and then she is able to conjure up beautiful clothes to go to the Spring Festival… It’s great to have a feisty Cinderella, who has to think and do for herself – and who runs away from the party because her nightmarish step-mother frightens her, not because she forgot the time…

Grandma’s Saturday Soup by Sally Fraser and illustrated by Derek Brazell with a Cantonese translation by Sylvia Denham (Mantra Lingua, 2005) is a delightful book – Mimi takes young readers/listeners through her week during a British winter. Everything reminds her of some ingredient in the soup she will be having at Grandma’s house on Saturday (clouds like dumplings, shoots of new growth through the snow like spring onions); and everything also contrasts with the stories Grandma tells of life in Jamaica –

“The sun shines every day. The sun is warm on your skin and you only need to wear your shorts and a T-shirt.”
Warm every day? Shorts and a T-shirt? I can’t believe that!

And the illustrations bring it alive too, alternating chilly winter scenes with glorious, tropical weather; playing in the snow with playing in the sand. This is a lovely book about a child learning about her cultural heritage from a beloved grandmother.

Mantra Lingua offer a wide range of bilingual picture-books in over 40 languages. I love the cultural mix they can create – and I would suggest that bilingual books aren’t just for those who are growing up with both the featured languages. It doesn’t matter in our family, for example, that we are only really reading the English – the stories somehow have an added dimension just by there being the parallel text there – minds are opened, even if it’s simply via the recognition of different codes of punctuation!

It’s a cold, wintery New Year’s Day and an elderly couple must sell the wife’s heirloom wedding kimono to buy the rice cakes they need to eat for “good fortune to smile on us”. On his way to market, the old man passes six statues of Jizo, the protector of children. he carefully brushes the snow off them, telling them about the reasons for his journey as he does so. After a series of trading transactions, he finds himself at the end of the day not with the desired rice cakes but five bamboo hats.

He returns home and on his way, again passes the statues. He carefully ties the bamboo hats on the heads of the statues to protect them from the snow; and he ties his own hat under the chin of the sixth statue. Returning empty-handed to his wife, he apologises while telling her all that has happened: she replies that she is proud of him.

Later, after they have gone to bed, they hear a noise outside and discover an enormous rice cake at their door – and in the distance, the six Jizo statues walking away in single file… That New Year the celebrations were unforgettable!

This lovely story, Bamboo Hats and a Rice Cake, has been adapted from Japanese folklore by Ann Tompert, and gorgeously illustrated by Demi (who features in our current Gallery – do take a look if you haven’t already, her Q&A is fascinating). It is perfect for this time of year and is a lovely book to share – not just because of the beauty that shines from both the story and the pages of the book, but also because the English narrative incorporates Japanese characters for key words like kimono, rice-cake(s), bamboo hat(s) etc. The key extends down the side of the page and I can vouch for the delight of a small person inserting the correct word at the right moment, while the story is being read to them!

All in all, the book is a delight – Ann Tompert’s narrative is expressive and gentle and Demi has depicted lots of tiny vignettes to explore. Little Brother also loved the way the statues stood very statue-like but could move their eyes to watch the old man, and could smile. We have so much snow here at the moment, too, that this has been our perfect New Year book this year. What about you? What have you been reading with your children (at home, in class or at your library) to welcome in the New Year?

For a lively, happy bedtime story, look no further than Cora Cooks Pancit by Dorina K. Lazo Gilmore and illustrated by Kristi Valiant (Shen’s Books, 2009). Cora has always had to watch her older brother and sisters helping with the “grown-up jobs” in the kitchen but she’s certainly been taking it all in (well, almost!). And when one day she is alone in the kitchen with her mother, her dreams come true! First she gets to choose pancit for that day’s evening meal – and then she gets to really help, as opposed to just licking spoons… Later, with the family gathered round the table to eat, comes Cora’s moment of reckoning:

“Did she do everything right? Would they like it? Would Mama tell about the accident with the noodles?”

Young listeners will be just as anxious as Cora to find out – and the gorgeous illustration on the next page with a delighted Cora standing on her chair, holding the apron she’s still wearing, says it all.

There is so much love wrapped up in the tone of the writing and the glow of the illustrations (both in terms of the use of light and the expressive faces of the characters) that little ones will fall asleep basking in its warmth – and they’ll also have enjoyed a chuckle at the antics of the family dog, whose pile of soft toys seems to get bigger and bigger as the story progresses.

But as well as being a great bedtime story, Cora Cooks Pancit is likely to find its way into the kitchen so that children can use the recipe provided to make pancit themselves (with the help of an adult, of course: this is indeed “proper” cooking). Unsurprisingly, Jama Rattigan has a wonderful post about the book, including several illustration spreads – and thanks to Jama, I have also discovered Dorina K. Lazo Gilmore’s mouth-watering blog Health-full. The book has obviously touched a chord with pancit-lovers of all ages – I enjoyed reading this, this and this.

Also, with our current focus on the Philippines and the Filipino diaspora continuing until the end of the month, head on over to the PaperTigers website for a full review of Cora Cooks Pancit, as well as an interview with Dorina K. Lazo Gilmore by Tarie Sabido.

And if you have enjoyed reading Cora Cooks Pancit or other similarly themed books with your children, do tell us about it!

A beautiful read at any time of day, but particularly ideal as a gentle bedtime read and exploration, The Park Bench by wife-and-husband team Fumiko Takeshita and illustrator Mamoru Suzuki (Kane/Miller, 1988) is a gem. Taking the simple focus of a park bench sitting silently under a tree, the finely honed narrative takes readers through the day from dark, early morning to dark, starry night. I have to say it sits silently because there is a magical expectation throughout that if the bench wanted to, it could actually speak. And the stories it could tell, of old people through to tiny babies, not to mention birds and animals! We are given a glimpse of some of them through the gorgeous illustrations, which expand on the simple words. For example,

Friends meet at the park.
The two mothers begin to chat.
They talk on and on.
Chitter-chatter, chitter-chatter, until its time to eat.

All the while the white bench listens quietly.

…While the mothers are busy chatting (and there’s a situation many young readers will empathise with!), their two toddler children are keeping themselves occupied, playing on the bench; the jolly park worker is mowing the grass backwards and forwards behind them; and a kitten arrives unnoticed and settles down under the bench. All these narrative threads can be followed in the cartoon sequence on the facing page, though there is no mention of them in the text. Two double-page illustrations of the park offer hundreds of details, as well as scope for comparison, both with each other and with the characters who surround the park bench more directly. The most important of these is the afore-mentioned park worker, who cares for the bench and talks to it - through him, young readers’ affinity with the actual bench is caught and held, as they explore, and perhaps speculate on, the myriad of different lives passing through the park.

The Park Bench is published as a bilingual book, in its original Japanese and English. I can’t read Japanese and read this review from School Library Journal with interest. It made me wish, as ever, that I could have a handle on the original - but I actually like the simplicity of the English (including the fact that the narrative is in the present tense, which persumably does reflect the Japanese) and had already noted the use of very English onomatopeia in Ruth A. Kanagy’s translation…

All in all, I would say that this charming book looks set to have enduring appeal on both sides of the Pacific… and every time it is opened, some new detail will pop out - oh, yes, there’s another one!

We came home from the library recently with a very special story: The Colour of Home by Mary Hoffman and illustrated by Karin Littlewood (Frances Lincoln, 2002). Our attention was first caught by the radiant smiles on the front cover but as soon as we leafed through the book, we realised that there was a darker side to the story. In fact, I was very glad that I then actually read it on my own first, as it proved to be a very moving story and I had to get my own tears out of the way before reading it aloud.

A new boy, Hassan, joins a class in an English school. He is struggling with everything being so different from his home in Somalia. The afternoon class is painting, which he has never done before. He sets about painting his house and family back home - “a lovely picture” - but then he paints in what happened to his house and family - the fire and bloodshed, and his uncle “smudged out”.

The next day, Hassan explains the painting and his family’s flight to England:

Hassan talked for an hour and then he ran out of words, even in Somali. When he finished Miss Kelly [his teacher] had tears in her eyes.

So did I… However, this story ends on an upbeat note: Hassan plays football with his classmates, who are welcoming and friendly; and paints another picture of his old house for his mother. Its bright colors help him to see the other colors around him and we know that he is starting to feel confident about his future.

So beautifully written and illustrated, this sensitive picture-book offers a focal point for children, who, increasingly, can empathise with its story through personal experience. I shared it with my own children; if you already know this book and have shared it at home or in class, do tell us.

And while writing this post, I have enjoyed discovering Mary Hoffman’s blogs (Book Maven and Mary’s Musings) as well as her website. I don’t know where I’ve been, but I realise I have a bit of catching up to do in terms of her books for older readers and know what I’ll be looking for on our next trip to the library! I also love all of the books I’ve come across illustrated by Karin Littlewood - her own website is under construction at the moment but here’s the link because one day…!

“It’s magic!” was Little Brother’s gleeful reaction to Jan Ormerod’s beautifully executed Water Witcher (Little Hare, 2006); and he literally jumped up and down in excitement, when we read it together this evening.

On a parched, drought-stricken farm in the Australian outback, Dougie helps his dad collect water each day from the ominous-sounding Last Stop Well, an hour away by horse and dray from their farm. Dad tells Dougie that if his grandfather were still alive, he would be able to find water because he was a water witcher (aka diviner). Dougie is intrigued and decideds to try it out for himself, though he knows that you have to “have the gift. Only one in a thousand can do it.”

To his astonishment and delight, his divining stick does tip downwards. Despite the scepticism of his mother and sisters, he spends the rest of the day and evening digging - it’s hard work and it looks like it hasn’t worked after all. Then at bedtime he heads outside for one more look and discovers that his hole has filled with water. All thoughts of going to bed disappear in a joyful frenzy of splashing, bringing the animals to drink, watering the vegetables and filling every available vessel with water…

Jan Ormerod has produced an absolute gem of a book. The illustrations are stunning (you can see a couple of them here). Using an effective palate, restricted mainly to oranges and blues, she evokes the heat of day and the coolness of water, as well as the emotional intesity with which Dougie sets about finding it. The narrative really gets this across too, offering insight into that sense of achievement in being “one in a thousand” in your family’s eyes, whatever it is you set your heart on doing. And the story also offers a glimpse of a bigger picture - the importance and precious nature of water, which it is so easy to waste when all you have to do is turn on a tap… Moss, Green Children’s Books talks more about this aspect of the book here.

Meanwhile, I know that tomorrow Little Brother will be walking around our garden with a forked stick… and for all you sceptics out there, it really does work - as a young teenager, I once had a go at Menzies Castle, which we happened to visit while major restoration work was carried out. Perhaps the water diviner was looking for old wells, I don’t remember - but he let me have a try and WOW that feeling when the stick dipped! I’ve never forgotten it!