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Readers can connect with Milo, by Alan Silberberg, in very different ways. I suppose that’s true of any book, we all bring our disparate selves to the text, but it seems especially true for Milo, a story for middle grade readers that embraces broad goofy humor on one end, and authentic, emotional grief on the other. Actually, that’s not true. Those qualities aren’t on separate ends, but are intermingled throughout. It’s a book where a boy can sneeze on someone’s neck in class, then return home to a house of fog and loss, where no one has quite figured out how to move forward after a death in the family. For me as a reader, it wasn’t the humor that hooked me. It was the humor combined with real emotional depth.

That rare thing in children’s books: a boy in full.

After I read Milo, I wanted to meet Alan because I sensed that he and I shared things in common. So I contacted Alan through his website and requested an interview. There was much I wanted to discuss, and our conversation flowed so naturally, that our Q & A went on slightly longer than The Reagan Years. I decided to break it up into two parts. I’m indebted to Alan for his time and patience and for the care he took in answering my questions.

(Whew. I’m relieved he’s not a Yankees fan.)

Alan! Hey, thanks for stopping by all the way from Montreal. Which is still in Canada, right? Could you please leave the soggy Uggs by the front door? Yeah, the moose, too. That’d be swell.

It’s true, Montreal is still in Canada. But you know, I’m from Boston (Go Red Sox!) so my heart — and shoveling technique — is from New England.

I gather that you didn’t initially set out to tackle this huge, daunting topic –- the death of a parent.

You are so right! When I started writing this book my goal was to write a pretty silly book that would include my cartoon illustrations. What started as a goofy look at a 7th grade kid starting a new school turned into something much deeper once I realized I had my own story to tell.

I know that this book grows out of your own personal experiences. Could you give us a little background on that?

Spring. A false promise when you live in Montreal where the groundhog shrugs in February and doesn't even bother checking on his shadow. Spring just lingers on the sidelines as the long days full of sunlight trick us into thinking the warmth will soon follow. And it will follow. But it will be in May.

Spring. A busy time for me. MILO is now in front of me and as I jump in with my fabulous editor at Aladdin, Liesa Abrams, I get to re-visit the story and fix my boo-boos and strengthen some of the connective fiber that feels a tad flabby.

What I am loving is getting my cartooning muscle back into shape as I add and fix the cartoons that make Milo the special project that it is. I love the feeling. And love how my narrative can stop and then a cartoon makes the punctuation mark. Like in this cartoon from MILO - where he and his friend Hilary have just had a heavy talk and then Milo sees some older kids and wishes he could be as cool and wear a wool cap all year long...


...and then back in the narrative Milo gets it. And vows to burn all his wool caps when he gets home.

Being busy is a good thing. And watching your work grow and bloom is a springtime gift even if I still have to wear my winter coat. It's springtime in my office. And for now, that's good enough for me.

freeloader

I don't have time for a FULL post - so thought I'd share a cartoon I just did in James Thurber's attic - and the passage that goes with it from my current project, MILO.