You know, I’m just going to admit to something: I’ve been grouchy lately. I have been balancing Things I Want To Do with Things I Don’t Want To Do, and, I repeat, it’s been making me grouchy. Some of it’s been just the usual: I don’t know many people who eagerly anticipate unpacking suitcases, for example. It’s just not a chore that gets people super excited, in my experience. But lots of people enjoy the travel which precedes that annoying task.
I hereby confess to the fact that I was extremely grouchy about the travel I undertook this winter. I take full responsibility for said travel: No one bought the ticket and dragged me to the airplane against my will. I sighed, bought the ticket, and got on the plane all of my own free will; I was just grouchy about it the whole time. Kudos go to my husband for putting up with a travel partner who said, “But I don’t have time for this!” at least a hundred times.
I was just that charming a companion.
That said, once we reached Rome (our destination), I took a deep breath, said to myself and my husband, “If I’m here, I may as well enjoy it,” and we sketched out a plan. The plan was to take it easy, see the city, get some work done, and bring back a shitload of paper. I think we did a good job of tackling all of the above. (We… got some paper, yes.) (From three different stores, including Il Papiro and Fabriano.) (We take paper seriously in my family.)
One other thing we did was to visit a children’s store which was half books, half toys, and entirely charming. And while we were there, I saw a book carefully wrapped in plastic, and my heart started to beat a little faster.
Stanotte… ha nevicato! by Steffie Brocoli (originally published in French as Il a neigé ce matin!)
I snapped it up in a hot second and brought it carefully home with us, where I’ve been showing it to everyone I think will be remotely interested. And either people have learned to humour me, or else it really does make people sit up and take notice. As they turn the pages, they murmur to themselves, “Would you look at that? Oh, that’s charming! It’s so restrained. Look at that use of colour!”
And I get it, because I had very similar responses myself. What I don’t know how to do is to convey to you just how captivating this book is, and my hesitation is due to one particular challenge: the entire aesthetic of the book is predicated on texture, not colour. Further, it’s basically wordless. So everything depends on textured white paper, and white textured paper is really hard to get across on a computer screen. Normally if I want you to admire an illustration, I grab my phone take a (generally fairly crappy) picture, and post it here for you to admire. How can I do that for embossed white paper? But it’s my moral duty to share beautiful children’s books with you, so here we are.
The way the book works is like this:
You open it up, and see tiny footprints embedded in the page, leading to a little textured leaf. Then you lift the leaf and– ah! beneath it is a bright, colourful bird. You flip the page. There are three coloured flowers and another set of footprints leading to a bush, and behind the bush– a hedgehog! And so it goes. Each page sets up a little puzzle, the very simplest of puzzles, and a bright surprise behind a flap. It’s ingenious, charming, and uplifting.
(I stole this picture from Steffie Brocoli’s excellent website because it’s a much better quality picture than I was able to get!)
The question, I think, is: Uplifting? Why uplifting? And I don’t have a deep answer for you because it’s all very simple. We’re turning pages through a white, quiet world, and in that white, quiet world we find the occasional surprise of bright, cheery colour, all jewel tones shining through the snow. That feels exciting. It feels good. It feels like when you’re trudging along being grouchy– and suddenly you discover a beautiful book and everything feels worthwhile again.
So, I just wanted to share that simple joy with you. Usually I post links for places to buy books I share with you, but I bought this one in a tiny shop in Rome. If you’re really intrigued and want a copy of your own, here’s the French publisher and here’s the Italian. Good luck! (I agree with your private thought right now that it’s worth tracking down a copy of your own. Go for it.)
The Children's Bookroom 