by Roger Sutton
Marshall’s book stands on its own, though it’s even more fun as a blithe parody. Jon Scieszka’s hilarious The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs! (by A. Wolf) assumes prior knowledge of the tale it contradicts: here, the wolf offers his own self-serving account. He was only trying to borrow a cup of sugar to bake his granny a birthday cake, he says, when he sneezed and “that whole darn straw house fell down,” leaving the pig inside “dead as a doornail. . . . It seemed like a shame to leave a perfectly good ham dinner lying there.” An unreliable narrator? Probably. What’s certain is that he’s an engaging miscreant, admirably supported by Lane Smith’s comical, surreal art. A Dagwood-high cheeseburger with mouse tails and bunny ears protruding from among pickles and patties; the wolf’s many, many tiny pearly teeth; a cameo of Granny Wolf abed (recalling “Red Riding Hood”) — Smith’s illustrations are endlessly droll and inventive.
In The Three Little Wolves and the Big Bad Pig, Eugene Trivizas reverses roles for a fable on peacemaking. Working together, the gentle wolves build three houses, each sturdier than the last (brick, concrete, an armed fortress), only to have each in turn demolished by Helen Oxenbury’s rogue pig. This scoundrel actually looks a bit less brutish than Moser’s pigs; still, his sledgehammer levels the brick house, then escalates to a jackhammer and finally to dynamite that blows the fortress to smithereens. The wolves’ fourth house, of flowers, wins the pig over, and he and the wolves settle down happily together. Oxenbury’s beguiling wolf cubs and blossom-bedecked landscapes lighten the message somewhat, as does a relatively long text that mentions such innocent pastimes as battledore and shuttlecock.
In his postmodern Caldecott winner, The Three Pigs, David Wiesner explores the very idea of story. The wolf blows down the straw house on the first spread (see the following illustration), but though the text reads, “and ate the pig up,” Wiesner’s illustrations have already begun another story, one in which all three pigs escape their page-shaped frames for a different scenario. Those beginning frames are illustrated in a flat, traditional style. As they leave them, the pigs are transformed, like Pinocchio becoming a real boy: they grow sturdier, more rounded and detailed. As they celebrate their freedom on new, as-yet-unmarked pages, pages from their old story twist, turn, and blow away. One, folded into an airplane, takes them on to another tale: “Hey Diddle, Diddle,” illustrated in a sentimental, conventional style. Soon they’re leaving that story as well, taking the cat with them, and he, too, becomes more corporeal, like the pigs. Later a dragon, escaping the sword-wielding prince in his story, is also transformed. Finally, back on their original pages, the pigs and their two new friends settle down in the brick house, the disappointed wolf still visible through a window.
Wiesner’s marvelously comical and just plain beautiful book demonstrates how far a good old story can take an artist inspired by its essential spirit. Joan Bodger once said, “The wonder of these types of stories is that the child knows there’s a mystery. . . . Children cannot put it into words — there’s no other way to say it except through art or poetry or folk tales — but they pick up on the truth in them.” A child who wants the same story again and again is absorbing such a truth. One newly adopted eight-year-old’s favorite story is “The Three Little Pigs,” which she has explored in many editions. Perhaps “The Three Little Pigs” speaks so eloquently to this young veteran of foster care because it’s about finding a secure home. Tales that last for generations have many such resonances; that’s why they endure across cultures, circumstances, and centuries.
That’s why the old tale speaks to us still.
Several years ago, my then-three-year-old twin grandchildren were going outside. As he always does, Jackson rushed out first. Suddenly he skidded to a stop, squatted down, studied the ground for a moment, and exclaimed, “Wow! Libby, come here!”
Quickly, she joined him and mirrored his actions. “Wow!” she said reverently. “Ants.”
“Yeah,” whispered Jack. “Ants.” A pause: “Wow!”
I love that story and that memory because the kids so naturally expressed the wonder they saw in the world around them. And it made me wonder as well. “How can we encourage that preschool exuberance about science?” Besides ants, there’s a pretty exciting amount of nature around us in Texas, including America’s only marsupial (the opossum); the ever-present armadillo (which blows itself up like a balloon when swimming in our pool); dinosaur tracks; and breathtaking wildflowers. Yes, we have skunks and coyotes, and snakes, but not even for my grandchildren would I approach any of those outside a zoo, so trips to our two local zoos figured prominently in weekend adventures. Those experiences are important, but, as Rebecca Kai Dotlich reminds us in her picture book What Is Science?, science is about more than plants and animals: “So into the earth/and into the sky,/we question the how,/the where, when,/and why.” And where do kids begin to learn how to question? One word: books.
Look carefully at a four-volume series named Science Play written by Vicki Cobb. Both together and individually, these books get right at the process of discovery by asking youngsters to participate in a number of experiments in order to understand scientific principles. Children can discover properties of water (I Get Wet); light and refraction (I See Myself); gravity (I Fall Down); and force (I Face the Wind). And they can come to a true understanding of basic scientific principles, a critical piece of knowledge for children. According to Natalie Angier in The Canon: A Whirligig Tour of the Beautiful Basics of Science, the intuitive scientific concepts we learn (either correctly or incorrectly) in early childhood remain basic to our understanding (or misunderstanding) of science.
In these four books, Cobb asks adults to reinvent the way they read picture books to children. Rather than start at page one and read right straight through, adults are encouraged to stop about every two pages, work with the children to understand the principle at hand, and then move on to the next point. Here’s the pattern: introduce a concept, understand a concept, use that understanding to introduce yet another concept. In a standard introduction for each book, Cobb lays out the process for adult readers and provides them with a list of everyday household items they will need throughout the book. So, what do kids do?
In I Fall Down, for example, young listeners are first presented with several everyday references to gravity: “Know what happens when you trip? You fall down! Know what happens when you spill your milk? It drips down!” Similar examples continue as kids are asked to toss an object (such as a ball, a set of keys, a block) up in the air, and then think about what happens. Cobb ends this four-page section with a question: “Does it ever fall up?” Then she introduces the concept of gravity, that it is always pulling things. “Know which way? Down, down, down.” At this point she directs them to another experiment: Take a spoonful of molasses or honey, point the spoon toward a container, and watch the slowly moving “goo” dribble into the container. To emphasize this point, the illustrations depict the process and the text runs vertically (down, down, down), explaining, “The goo stretches and gets longer and longer. It looks like a ribbon streaming into the jar. Gravity pulls the molasses from the spoon back into the jar.” Got it? Gravity pulls matter down. Next concept: Do all objects fall at the same speed? Several dropping exercises follow (presented as “dropping races” in the spirit of “science play”), including those with a tissue or feather, which show how air slows the descent. Read, experiment, understand; read, experiment, understand.
I’ve read these books to a single child, two children, and groups of youngsters. Each time their responses have been exuberant and playful. During the reading of I Face the Wind, it’s quite a sight to see a group of four-year-olds running around a room earnestly collecting air in a plastic grocery bag. “I got some,” one child will shout. “Me too,” says another. That’s a moment that recaptures the wonder in science.
Cobb knows her science, and she knows children and their abilities. In I Face the Wind, for example, there’s one experiment designed to see if air has
any weight. Kids are asked to take two balloons, blow one up completely and blow the other up about halfway, knot the ends, tape the balloons on separate corners of a coat hanger, hook the hanger on a pencil, and stand absolutely still to see what happens (Does the side of the hanger with the filled balloon tip down? Does air have weight?). Not only was I a little concerned with the children’s physical dexterity, but I also wondered about the “absolutely still” part. No problem with the group I worked with, however — they stood still and grasped the concept.
Will these principles stay with them throughout their lifetimes, as Angier indicates? I don’t know, but I do know of an example where one stayed for four years. One day last summer, eight-year-old Jackson, inspired by the movie Back to the Future, decided to make a time machine, so he fashioned a contraption that combined a paper airplane and his version of the DeLorean. It worked like an airplane, gliding and crashing, but not slowing down after it hit the ground. What did he need? To collect air. How does one collect air? Why, in a plastic grocery bag stapled onto a time machine. Thank you, Vicki Cobb.
When a man I met recently told me that his grandfather awakened him as a boy by reciting poetry, giving him a lifelong appetite for delicious rhythms in his ears, I changed my method of waking our son, Madison, up. No more chipper greetings, no more buzzing clocks. Now I sit at his bedside for ten minutes every school day before he needs to rise, reading Carl Sandburg, Langston Hughes, Lucille Clifton, Emily Dickinson, even Wallace Stevens (whom I am finally beginning to understand).
I like imagining what filters down into Madison’s deep consciousness. We don’t discuss the poems at breakfast, but after a few weeks of my reading them, he began saying, “I really liked those poems today. Could you read them again soon?” or “All day that poem came into my mind.”
I feel gratified and strongly suggest to other parents this simple method of helping children “wake up with literature” as well as go to sleep with it. It is our happy task to find as many comfortable ways we can to make enduring words an essential part of all our lives.
MORE GREAT PICTURE BOOKS
Chris Barton, illustrations by Tom Lichtenheld, Shark vs. Train
40 pp. If a shark were pitted against a train, which would win? The answer depends on the contest: the train’s belch is louder, but he’s no match for the shark when jumping off the high dive. Barton’s deadpan text — sparked with dialogue balloons that give the characters both personality and one-liners — is matched by Lichtenheld’s spot-on visual humor.
Jonathan Bean, At Night
32 pp. Unable to sleep, a girl follows a breeze to the roof of her apartment building. Muted blues and oranges keep the tone subdued in this bedtime story, perfect reading for a warm night.
Bonny Becker, illustrations by Kady MacDonald Denton, A Visitor for Bear
56 pp. “No visitors allowed.” The sign on Bear’s door is clear, but one mouse is undeterred. By a friend’s persistence, Bear is transformed; text and art handle the shift with aplomb.
Doreen Cronin, illustrations by Harry Bliss, Diary of a Fly
40 pp. Cronin’s impeccable comedic timing conveys real-life information in a way that makes the facts memorable. Short sentences and visual jokes make this a great selection for listeners and new readers alike.
Shutta Crum, illustrations by Carol Thompson, Thunder-Boomer!
32 pp. As a fierce thunderstorm blows in, a farm family rushes to bring in the animals. But one of the chickens resists — could it have something to do with a little lost kitten? This satisfying picture book captures the drama of a summer storm even as it rewards readers with a smaller-scale, homey story.
Bob Graham, April and Esme, Tooth Fairies
40 pp. Modern-day tooth fairy sisters convince their parents that they’re old enough to collect their very first tooth (Mom: “Send me a text if you need to”). Youngsters will linger over the detailed illustrations, reminiscent of The Borrowers: in the family’s cottage, teeth dangle like wind chimes, the bathtub’s a milk pitcher, and the sink is a thimble.
Kevin Henkes, Little White Rabbit
32 pp. Little White Rabbit hops through idyllic fields and forests, wondering what it would be like to be just about everything. Alternating full-page spreads depict his rich inner life, where he is as green as the high grass, tall as the fir trees, or still as a rock. Bold lines, expressive movement, and a springtime palette of pink, blue, and lush greens delight the eye.
G. Brian Karas, The Village Garage
32 pp. At the Village Garage, a diverse crew of municipal workers happily tackle jobs around town through spring, summer, fall, and winter. Few things fascinate young children more than watching workers on the job; visiting The Village Garage is almost as good as the real thing.
Helen Lester, illustrations by Lynn Munsinger, Tacky Goes to Camp
32 pp. Tacky the Penguin returns for his seventh adventure, his funniest yet. The lovable slob saves the day as the campers discover that their best defense against a ravenous, campsite-raiding bear is a s’more-addled penguin.
Liz Garton Scanlon, illustrations by Marla Frazee, All the World
40 pp. After a trip to the beach, a family stops at a farmers’ market, visits a park, and waits out a rainstorm in a café before heading home at the day’s end. Scanlon’s text has a child-friendly simplicity, and the seaside setting showcases not only Frazee’s affectionate mix of people but also her stunning, glowing skyscapes.
Bob Shea, Dinosaur vs. Bedtime
40 pp. A little red dinosaur takes on the world, from a pile of leaves (“ROAR!”) to a plate of spaghetti (“ROAR! CHOMP! CHOMP! ROAR! ROAR!”). An ideal bedtime story for active readers.
MORE GREAT FOLKLORE
Zoë B. Alley, illustrations by R. W. Alley, There’s a Wolf at the Door
40 pp. Grades K–3. The wolf gets foiled five times over in linked (and humorously fractured) folktales. The wisecracking in the text, echoed by the comic-strip format, is balanced by delicate drawings in pastoral tints. The extra-large format maximizes the fun.
Jim Aylesworth, illustrations by Barbara McClintock, The Mitten
32 pp. Grades PS–2. In this new take on the old Ukrainian story, the text exhibits perfect pacing, precisely chosen details, and most of all, participatory repetition: “My toes are cold as ice!/Your mitten looks so cozy,/ and warm toes would feel so nice!” Children will love the humor in the expressive pictures.
Anthony Browne, Me and You
32 pp. Grades K–3. In this haunting version of “The Three Bears,” have-not Goldilocks, walking her neighborhood’s mean streets, gets lost and seeks shelter in the bears’ prosperous home. Her story is told in cramped, colorless panels; the bears’ story appears on opposite pages, in expansive, cheerful pastels. This innovative retelling will challenge readers’ assumptions about the familiar tale.
Ashley Bryan, Beautiful Blackbird
40 pp. Grades PS–2. Noted folklorist and artist Bryan presents a life-affirming folktale from Zambia — how birds got their black markings — illustrated with simple scissors-and-brush collage.
Rachel Isadora, The Fisherman and His Wife
32 pp. Grades PS–2. Isadora uses collages of paint-striated paper plus scraps of fabric to place the Grimms’ well-known tale in an African setting. Dialogue is minimal, suiting the story to listeners and beginning readers. One of several folktales Isadora has reimagined in Africa.
Salley Mavor, Pocketful of Posies: A Treasury of Nursery Rhymes
64 pp. Grades PS and up. Sixty-four nursery rhymes are illustrated with intricate tapestries of wool, felt, embroidery, beads, and every kind of needlework. The textured constructions encourage the eye to linger on every hand-sewn detail as they capture action, emotion, and personality. Every family deserves a fine collection of nursery rhymes, and this is one of the best.
Sam McBratney, illustrations by Russell Ayto, One Voice, Please: Favorite Read-Aloud Stories
167 pp. Grades 4–6. These fifty-six short fa
bles, cautionary tales, and anecdotes tickle both mind and funny bone with unexpected twists of logic. The angular drawings punctuate the pages with their own lighthearted take on wise men, fools, and tricksters.
Jerry Pinkney, The Lion & the Mouse
40 pp. Grades PS–2. Pinkney retells Aesop’s fable entirely in his lush pencil-and-watercolor art; the story is all the more eloquent for being wordless. On every page, this beautiful book illuminates both its real setting (the Serengeti) and the world of fable, where a bargain between a regal lion and a doughty mouse can be made, and mutual rescues may happen.
Coleen Salley, illustrations by Janet Stevens, Epossumondas Saves the Day
48 pp. Grades K–3. An irresistible possum and his human auntie and mama reenact the southern folktale “Sody Sallyraytus,” which here involves a birthday party, a “great, huge, ugly Louisiana snapping turtle,” and a baking-soda–induced explosion — not to mention a distinctive down-home storytelling voice and lively pictures.
Laura Amy Schlitz, illustrations by Max Grafe, The Bearskinner: A Tale of the Brothers Grimm
40 pp. Grades 4–6. With clarity and grace, Schlitz narrates a Grimm tale of an ex-soldier making a bargain with the devil. The full-page illustrations are atmospheric and almost monochromatic, composed of grays and browns with an occasional wash of blue, gleam of gold, or sunset hue.
Family legend has it that one day when I was six, I was sitting at home silently looking at a book when I suddenly looked up and said to all and sundry, “I can read!” Yes, Harper & Row had trademarked that slogan in 1957, but my epiphany was completely my own, as it is for every child upon the discovery that printed words in a row are more than printed words in a row, that printed words say something.
