My Books at Bedtime read this week probably needs little to no introduction.  The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick (Scholastic, 2007) has won the Caldecott Medal and has received wide acclaim for its ground-breaking style of presentation of text mixed with graphic novel style illustration.   I’d been lent the book sometime ago by a teacher friend, and it was only recently that my daughter and I embarked on a reading of it.  The book completely charmed her.  A recalcitrant reader at the best of times, she enjoyed the fact that some of the narrative was entirely pictures, but on the other hand, the story in print was so engaging, she would read aloud the pages with text without her usual grumbling.  (We take turns reading aloud the pages — I read one page, she reads another.)  In fact, I think she crossed a major threshold in her reading ability with this book insofar as she was now actually comprehending what she was reading textually rather than reading aloud to get  the right pronunciation of the words (only!) without fundamentally understanding the content of what she had read.   No doubt having the narrative driven by the cinematic series and sequences of drawings between textual portions helped this process along.

The Invention of Hugo Cabret for those unfamiliar with the book is about an orphaned boy, Hugo, who lives in Paris of the 1930′s in a train station where he fixes the station’s clocks.   Hugo is fascinated by all things mechanical and in particular, is in possession of a notebook containing a curious drawing of an automaton.  One day while attempting to steal a mechanical mouse at the train station toy shop, he is caught by the old man proprietor who makes Hugo surrender his precious notebook to him.  However, the proprietor’s god-daughter Isabelle saves the notebook in exchange for finding out a little more about the mysterious boy hiding and living in the train station.  Thus begins an awkward friendship and relationship between these three characters who have more in common than they know.   The story, as I noted before, is told in a combination of words and pictures, and really is a paean to the days of early cinema.

The Invention of Hugo Cabret is a wonderful, cross-genre book and I do recommend it highly as an innovative bedtime read for your middle-years child.

I’ve written a few posts about Shakespeare for PaperTigers and have been much enlightened on how the Bard’s work can be transmitted to children.  I was therefore quite happy to be presented with a copy of Shakespeare’s Storybook: Folk Tales that Inspired the Bard by Patrick Ryan and James Mayhew (Barefoot Books, 2001) by my local university’s (University of Manitoba) Centre for Creative Writing and Oral Culture.  Patrick Ryan, co-author of this book, is this year’s Storyteller-in-Residence at the Centre.

Shakespeare’s Storybook tells the tales that were likely the precursors to the stories of his plays.  As is commonly known, Shakespeare did not ‘invent’ the stories of his plays — they often came from various sources which Shakespeare then ‘played’ with in order to create his own version of the story suitable for the stage.

I launched into a reading of Shakespeare’s Storybook as soon as I got it, and played the CD of the first story “The Devil’s Bet”  to my daughter.  She was immediately hooked.  And why shouldn’t she be?  The first story — the precursor to The Taming of the Shrew — was about a nasty girl named Nora who through an encounter with a gentle but spirited husband and through her own wits, manages to reform herself and rid her household of the Nicky Nicky Nye, a pestilent water devil.   Although my daughter condemned Nora’s nastiness, she did perceive rather sagely that the husband, Jamie, was effectively ‘training’ Nora to be a better woman.  Nothing like a wayward character to get a child interested in a story, that’s for sure!

Equally compelling were some of the other stories like “Ashboy” (Hamlet) and “The Hill of Roses” (Romeo and Juliet.)   My daughter, whose first Shakespeare play was Twelfth Night, was a little disappointed that the story behind that play wasn’t in the book, but she did enjoy the others.  We had an entertaining few bedtime nights of listening to the CDs and going through the book together.  If you enjoy Shakespeare, I’d certainly recommend this book  as an engaging introduction to the master playwright’s work.

It’s back to school time and with all its attendant busyness, our family is considering (perhaps rather foolishly!) of getting a dog.   So lately, we have been researching dogs by consulting various books, looking at websites and generally asking our friends and neighbors for their advice.  One delightful book I discovered in my perusal at the library for dog books was James Herriot’s Favourite Dog Stories, illustrated by Lesley Holmes (McClelland and Stewart , 1995)  In this book, British veterinarian James Herriot regales the reader with stories of dogs he has treated in his countryside practice in Yorkshire.  There’s the story of Tricki Woo, the spoiled Pekingese  who lives with his rather ostentatious owner, Mrs. Pumphrey, or the moving story of Herman, the daschund who suffers from paralysis in his hindquarters owned by a disabled former miner and his wife, and Jake, the greyhound, the beloved companion of itinerant laborer, Roddy.   My daughter listens to these stories with a keen ear in the midst of her bed, covered in stuffed dogs (soon to be replaced by a real one, she readily hopes!)  I’m not sure how our search will go but reading Herriot’s warm stories has certainly  helped increase the anticipation and excitement for this future — gulp! — addition to our household.

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.

First, there’s the book and then there’s the movie.  Where to encounter the narrative first is always the question!  Most of us ‘older’ folk tend to encounter the narrative first in a book, and then later in the movie version.  But for today’s children and for me — especially in the case of Japan’s Studio Ghibli movies at any rate — it’s often the movie first.    When I first got wind of Studio Ghibli’s movie release, Arietty (it came out in Japan in 2010, DVD release July 2011) I noted quickly that it was based on Mary Norton’s The Borrowers (Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1953).  The directors at Studio Ghibli — notably Hayao Miyazaki and son, Goro Miyazaki — have occasionally gone to British children’s books for inspiration for their movies.  Their previously released Howl’s Moving Castle was based on Diana Wynne Jones’ book of the same title (published in 1986) and it was through that movie, that I was introduced to Wynne Jones’ writing.

Thanks to Studio Ghibli again, my daughter and I have had a chance to experience The Borrowers by Mary Norton.  I picked up a hardback edition of the novel at a used book sale in Nishinomiya where I lived and began reading it at night to my daughter.  The Borrowers are little people who live under a house in England, and who ‘borrow’ things from the much larger humans that dwell above them.  The family in the first series of the Borrowers books is a small one comprising of the father, Pod, the mother, Homily, and their fourteen year old daughter, Arietty (on whom the movie title is based.)    My daughter and I got about halfway through the novel before she got to see the movie (we rented the DVD in Japan just before the day we left) and it was clear from the snippets I saw of it that the Studio Ghibli team was well into animating the tiny world of the Borrowers with its signature, detailed and colorful animation for which it is famous.  I hope Arietty makes it into the North American viewing market soon, but barring that, The Borrowers still make a great read for parents and children alike.

Greetings!  It’s been awhile since I’ve posted largely because I made the move back to Canada this month.  I had many great adventures while in Japan and especially enjoyed my discoveries of childrens’ books in the country.

One of my  discoveries was the work of Tashima Seizo whose Tobe Batta or Fly High, Grasshopper (Kaiseisha, 1988) I read for the big July reading event hosted by the Tongari Boshi Mother’s Reading Group held at my daughter’s elementary school in Nishinomiya, Japan.  Fly High, Grasshopper is a picture book for young children, ages 4 and up.  It’s a short but brilliant little tale about a timid grasshopper who finally overcomes his fear of predators by taking a risk with his life and jumping out into the open, where he can be seen by all.  Immediately, he is attacked by a praying mantis and a snake.  However, the grasshopper jumps with all his might and lo, he discovers something about himself — he has wings!  And with these wings, he flies off into the distant horizon, his life changed forever.

Although a simple story, Fly High, Grasshopper is about overcoming one’s fears in life and taking risks.  And what better way to illustrate this deeper truth about life than to depict it with insects?  Theirs is truly a fearful world — and Tashima pulls no punches in illustrating it as such.  Yes, poor little grasshopper is afraid, but who wouldn’t be with little shredded up corpses of other grasshoppers half-devoured by other predatory insects lying about around you?  It takes more than a little bravery to make a decision to expose oneself in this world, and yet that is exactly what this grasshopper does.  I liked that this story clearly illustrated the insect world with all its dog-eat-dog proclivities in a bold and distinctive style of drawing that is uniquely Tashima’s.   It is a book that I will long remember, not just because I read it aloud (in Japanese — talk about taking risks!) to a group of children in Japan, but also because of its story and perspective on the very human decisions we sometimes make in a world that might otherwise seem hostile and inhospitable to our lives.

Sometimes at bedtime, “reading” a wordless picture book is just what is required to let imaginations soar together before one of us at least heads for sleep (and I’m not saying which one!). Gathering Books recently focused on wordless picture books and have a fantastic round-up here. Wonder Bear by Tao Nyeu (Templar Publishing (UK), 2009; originally published by Dial Books (US), 2008) isn’t on their list but I reckon that if they manage to get hold of it, they’ll fall in love with it as much as we have.

First of all there’s the satisfyingly large size of the book, and the shiny printing on the cover. Then you open it and immediately encounter a dizzy pattern before arriving at the title page showing Wonder Bear him – or is it her? – self, doffing his hat, which we soon realise is the hat, the magic hat. And he is framed by a garland of flowers with three of the many cheeky monkeys who will later explode across the pages.

But back to the beginning of the narrative. A boy and a girl are climbing a hill ready, it would appear to do some gardening. She carries the watering can; he has a sign showing a slice of watermelon and – well, it’s tricky to see just what is on the other sign. But turn the page and… what do you know, it’s a hat! Of course it is! And so for the next 30 pages, we are entranced as the magic hat grows and grows and explodes into a flowery wonder, with a bear tucked in among the petals. He is carrying the hat and you can see him showing it to the children on the bookcover. Hmm, yes, they seem to think it’s empty but of course as soon as Bear sticks his paw in, wonderful things emerge. First there are the monkeys, then bubbles (and not just any bubbles), then leaves from which Bear magics an ocean of creatures in the sky… and so they all play until the day is done. And they invite those sharing the book to bring their own imaginations into play with them – the possibilities are endless, and sometimes only a couple of pages will encompass a whole bedtime session.

The artwork (and you can see a number of pages on Tao’s website, as well as in this lovely interview with 7 Imps) was “silkscreened using water-based ink”, and right from this very first of her books, Tao Nyeu demonstrates true virtuosity with the technique. The colors are rich and vibrant; backgrounds vary between swirly patterns and solid blocks of color (or blank white). Full-bleed, double-page spreads sweep the reader along with their bold perspectives, and are perfectly counterbalanced by the parts where all attention is on what the bear is doing with the hat, contained and compact within a deep frame.

Wonder Bear is a very special book that will take children on a different journey every time they open 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 Anuar 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…

As one of the books in our PaperTigers Reading the World Challenge (and I’ll be bringing you a full update on that later on in the week), Younger Brother and I have read together Haroun and the Sea of Stories by Salman Rushdie (Granta Books, 1990). My brother gave a first edition to my boys several years ago but this is the first time we’ve read it – and I see that it is now available in many editions, with a lovely array of book covers, which I can’t resist including here (and see this project book cover/splash page from Art Slug).

But back to the story. We both adored it. I was practically tied down at bedtimes and made to read on. For any child (or adult) who loves words and playing with language and ideas, I can’t recommend it highly enough.

Haroun’s father, the Shah of Blah, has lost his story-telling Gift of the Gab because his wife has left him. Haroun, who has become a little jaded with his father’s focus on fiction himself, soon finds himself in possession of Iff, a Water Genie’s Disconnector and spinning into a spiral of adventures. He discovers that stories are physically real and that the balance of human happiness is being threatened because the menacing land of Chup, where it is always night, is poisoning the Sea of Stories, despite all the attempts to keep it clean by the happy land of Gup across the water, where it is always light…

Haroun meets a wonderful array of characters – as well as Iff, there is Butt, the oxymoronically magical mechanical hoopoe depicted on the book’s cover; Bagha and Goopy, two of the plentimaw fishes who swim in the sea (don’t you just love it?!), Mali the Head Floating Gardener, and many more – and of course, there are also the often shadowy baddies, led by the terrifying Khattam-Shud. Despite all the P2C2E, Processes Too Complicated To Explain (I told you you’d love it!), Haroun finds a way to help his new friends, and in so doing restores the balance of happiness to his own life.

Yes, this is definitely one of the most wonderful readalouds we’ve shared. The prose is like poetry – you almost chew the words. We relished the huge, unanswerable questions that the book explores – what is Reality? What is Story? Who is that character, that person… who am I? – as well as the allegories of light and darkness (which make this so relevant to an adult as well as a young audience), environmental responsibility and empathy. And we revelled in each little bit of wordplay, from character names to gleeful patter.

If your child enjoys stories of worlds within worlds, like Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, or the Harry Potter series, they will love Haroun and the Sea of Stories.

Barefoot Books can always be depended on for their wonderful anthologies of stories from all over the world, and Grandmothers’ Stories: Wise Woman Tales from Many Cultures (Barefoot Books, 1999/2006) is no exception. The eight stories included are retold by Burleigh Mutén in wonderful prose that just begs to be read aloud, and vividly illustrated by Siân Bailey. They are framed by an introduction in which three grandchildren ask their grandmother to tell them a story, and a conclusion in which (it will be no surprise) the two older children have fallen asleep but the little one is wide awake, asking to hear them all again.

And no wonder! From the first story from Senegal about “The Midwife and the Djinn” we are captivated. In fact, when we listened to the story recently, Little Brother was in stitches of laughter, anticipating the next stage of the story while disbelieving that it could possibly be so. We were listening to Olympia Dukakis reading on one of the two accompanying CDs. I have to say, at first I thought it was going to be a terribly labored narration, she begins so slowly – but in fact, it was perfect: as the pace of the story picked up, so did the reading; and I realised that if she hadn’t read it slowly at the beginning, she wouldn’t have been able to get the words out by the end!

The other stories are just as engaging – “The Old Woman Who Was Not Afraid” introduces us to the grotesque and greedy little Onis from Japan; there is a cross between Baba Yaga and the well-known “Hansel and Gretel” from Russia (“Grandmother’s Basket”); the beautiful Hawaiian legend of old Heena, “The Woman in the Moon”; the bewitching story of La Bruha, “The Beautiful Crone of Córdoba” in Mexico; an Irish Wise Woman who helps a widow and her daughter get a band of “small spirit people” out of their house; the magical Mother Holle from Germany; and “The Old Woman Who Was right” from Sweden.

All the stories have that timeless quality of the traditional story that is sure to make them popular for being read and listened to again and again – and they have the added appeal of resonating with stories from other cultures too. Mutén’s retellings here hold firm to their oral origins, which makes them such a joy to share.