by Ruth Krauss and Margot Tomes (Four Winds Press, 1973)
I’m not a real wild-and-crazy kind of person.
Last Saturday I took a Pilates class at 3:30, and the teacher said it’s always such a weird time because most people like to spend their afternoons at the beach or the ballpark. Or perhaps they have to get ready for their evening cocktail hour, and finishing close to 5:00 doesn’t work. But I told her that it’s my favorite time, because then I can be home in pajamas having sort-of-flat champagne before it’s even dark out.
She looked at me funny.
But on some of those pajamas and champagne Saturday nights, I go vintage book shopping online and find things like this.
I love this book.
I love Ruth Krauss.
I love the way her words describe the bizarre and complex world of kids’ heads. And their perfectly simple and sensible world. It’s kind of all wrapped up together for kids anyway, which is strange and endearing and other-worldly.
Each spread has one line, a bright orange to the illustrations’ muted browns. The only other color is the blue on the cover.
And the page turn acts as a sort of puzzle: the last bit from the page before starts the new thought.
Each thing is little. Each thing snuggles up right under the towering mushroom. Each thing is so firmly kid.
The tiny stories ramble on underneath, in those playful monologues that might seem like nonsense. This is where kids are experts.
Grownups, consider this. You might not understand. You might not have any use for a little potato. But, as the girl with the bow in her hair promises, “Little potatoes are especially nice.”
It’s weird. It’s wonderful. And if it fits under a mushroom, it’s fair game.
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