Well, that time of year is here, the one where people buy books for other people and maybe themselves, right? And one thing you’ve all been waiting for is what I recommend. Brace yourselves: this post has a lot of books in it, and they’re all good.
First of all, I want to tell you something: book choices are personal, and this goes for kids as well as grown-ups. If I tell you that a book is good, and, by the way, I know full well I’m correct– that book may still not be someone else’s taste. For kids who aren’t yet reading to themselves, one other thing is critical: the book must be a pleasure for the adult reading with the child. The book must not just be beautiful and nicely crafted; it must be a good mutual experience between adult and child. Thus, every book I recommend for reading aloud here is one I’ve test-driven, as it were. But, always, think about what other books the kid in question has enjoyed, and choose accordingly.
I’m having a hard time not mentioning books I’ve already recommended this year because they’re so good, so I’m going to start with some of those, some I’ve recommended on previous years, or ones I’ve missed.
Purchase links for all of those are: The Skull; Circle Under Berry; Some of These Are Snails; Frindleswylde; What Is Love?; Tomfoolery!; The Woman Who Turned Children Into Birds. Know that I love you; putting those links in was a right pain in the posterior region. Reward me by purchasing good books from local indie book shops, please.
As for books I have not yet told you about? And maybe ones that are, as it were, seasonal? Here goes.
First up, I’m giving you what is quite simply the very best new children’s Christmas book I’ve read in a long time: How Does Santa Go Down the Chimney? by Mac Barnett and Jon Klassen. I’d say something cute like “it’s just annoying how those two can never turn out a dud together,” but it would be a lie. Every single time I see they’ve teamed up, I get a spurt of joy inside, because I know that I’ll get something beautiful. The bone-deep knowledge that it will be excellent is reassuring, and the anticipation of how it will be new and delightful this time– that’s where the surprise comes in. This time? It’s the child’s eye view, serious and thoughtful, truthful and confident, of what we might call the Physics of Santa. There’s none of this nonsense of pandering to what a child might think; this is a child’s eyes, somehow. Like Crockett Johnson, Mac Barnett and Jon Klassen have not lost the knowledge of childhood, and they have the additional depth of observing and talking with kids of their own to get the cadence of a child’s mental voice. And so the child thinking about how Santa can go down a chimney, not be barked at by dogs, or get into a house that doesn’t have a chimney– that child feels a bit like Harold, to me, only the illustrations are distinctly Jon Klassen. Even when Santa’s doing his laundry because his classic red suit got sooty, I thought, “Oh! Yes. Of course he’d have a sailor tattoo, and be wearing trunks with red hearts on, that makes so much sense.” Because that’s how Jon Klassen does it. He looks at the page, and he says, “I know. This is the visual truth behind Mac Barnett’s words.” And then the words and the art are put into a book, and we, the readers, look and say, “Oh! Yes. Of course.” And that’s that. The logic is perfect. We get the truth in a book– not the truth of how Santa goes down the chimney, we have no idea how Santa does that. But we get the truth of how this child thinks about it, and we, too, are so glad for that child that Santa does it. This is my top “every kid who celebrates Christmas needs this book” idea.
One of the very best reading experiences I’ve had with the Spriggan is– absolutely everything I’ve read him by David Almond. A Way to the Stars by David Almond and Gill Smith is just as beautiful to share with a small child on a lap as The Woman Who Turned Children into Birds, and it’s cozier. It’s a cuddle instead of a soar. This book is good for autumn and winter, somehow, for reading under a blanket together. I don’t know the last time I’ve read a book that was so kind, simply kind to read. Not nice, not charming, not lovely– kind. I’ve never met David Almond, but I’ve got an inkling he must just be an incredibly warm and genuine human being because to be able to convey this sort of feeling on the page– how else could you do that? Well, in this book, Joe wants so badly to find a way to the stars. His friends laugh at him, “In your dreams!,” but his dad pipes up over their jeers. He’s not talking to the other kids; he’s talking to his Joe, who wants a way to the stars. Dad says to let him finish his chores and then the two of them will figure it out. (After reading a plethora of books where parents are busy and distracted and don’t notice their kids, I find it refreshing to see a parent notice what’s going on and come in with a suggestion.) The sparse text, without tags for “he said,” “Joe said,” “Dad said,” is the winner here. There’s one page– you’ll find out which one I mean when you buy it and read it– I’ve never read the same way twice, and I’ve read this aloud many times. It’s a wonderfully flexible book that way; and the flexibility, you’ll see, is the point. Joe does find a way to the stars, however you want to read that. The very elasticity of the text and images is the point; the unwavering truth at the core is the love, joy, and confidence between Dad and Joe. That stability allows everything else to feel elastic; every tumble is a laugh when you’ve got the unwavering support of each other right there.
Speaking of reading aloud– Sergio Ruzzier. There is no picture book author today who is better at creating a voice and structure between words and images on the page to spring into your own story-reading cuddles with a kid around, maybe 4 years old? Though my Spriggan is 3 and absolutely adores every Sergio Ruzzier book we’ve got– and whenever I read him This Is Not a Picture Book!, “No!” said Custard the Squirrel, or The Real Story, children of all ages materialize out of thin air and stand listening and looking at the page over our shoulders. I particularly recommend these for parents who aren’t confident in reading aloud; Sergio Ruzzier has done so much of the work for you that I think it’s impossible not to get lost in the experience. As for The Real Story, has any other parent ever had a vacation-time mishap of the nature, say, of a broken dish and disappearing goodies? Possibly? Have you ever requested an account from a child of what may have occurred? Have you desired to hear “what really happened,” or, perchance, “the real story?” I think this would be a great book to have at hand as unstructured time which may result in such mishaps is on the horizon… But that’s just my ploy to get you to buy it and read it with a kid. The true joy of the book? The true joy is that it’s a story that reveals the joyful, chaotic, yet somehow structured heart of storytelling, and that’s the real story here.
Here’s another Christmas story: Jack and the Manger by Andy Jones with art by Darka Erselji. Now, this is a little harder to come by in hard copy (though well worth the effort), and I’m hoping Running the Goat will reprint it. I do believe they’re considering it. You can get ebook or audio easily, though, and Andy Jones reads beautifully. This is a classic Jack tale, a Jack tale Nativity story. To me, as a medievalist, it evokes the old idea of the Miracle plays, in a way, or of holding a Nativity play at the local manor house. A bit of gently subversive humour here, a grin and a poke there, but without fundamental disrespect. The yearning for peace and joy at the heart of Christmas is there, but the trappings, instead of fluff and syrup, are all in the figure of the folk hero, Jack– so heart and humour are on a pedestal, and the lowliest are up high.
The last picture book I’m going to mention is one I blithely thought was going into the list up top of “books I’ve already told you about,” but apparently I haven’t, if my search tool isn’t deceiving me, but I’m frankly shocked. A Big Bed for Little Snow by Grace Lin is a perfect, quiet, dream of a winter story. Based in Chinese storytelling but feeling somehow like it reaches right into the heart of that “oh, of course!” of any nature explanation myth, it’s the kind of story that as you reach the final pages will make the read-to and the reader-alouder want to flip right back to page one for a second, excited yet cozy, read. I love it, and so does every kid I’ve read it with. That’s rather a lot of kids.
I can’t believe I haven’t told you about one of my “most-recommended” series for kids. The First Cat in Space Ate Pizza and The First Cat in Space and the Soup of Doom by Mac Barnett and Shawn Harris is, well, very funny, very good characters, wonderful art– yes, of course. Also, they are as clever as anything I’ve ever read. Dante, move over, here comes the real team for a tour of any new and exciting space! Visit the Moon with First Cat and LOZ 4000! Both books have absolutely incredible pacing and, above all, brilliant page turns. One thing I love about these books is how extraordinarily well they combine keeping the kids going on a fabulous adventure, including delicious twists and turns along the way, with bringing in all kinds of wonderful tropes and references that enrich the story and will entertain adult readers, but never feel like winking asides the kids won’t get. Mac Barnett and Shawn Harris are simply, beautifully, brilliant at talking to all their readers at once.
Well, I’m going to confess that I have not read all of the following books for older children, but they are the ones my Changeling stole from a box from Candlewick, won’t give back, and she’s kind of hoarding them in her bed like a dragon hoards gold– or maybe like A-Through-L, the wyvern who is half library from The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, might make his nest. I’m hoping she’ll let me read them one day, since she says they’re superb and that I should really read them. Oh, should I, now?
First up is The Little Match Girl Strikes Back by Emma Carroll and Lauren Child. She stole this one in a fit of outraged skepticism. She absolutely hates the Andersen story, The Little Match Girl, and I’ve told her repeatedly that she’s not alone, even Sendak, who was a huge fan of Andersen, couldn’t stand the awfulness of that story, the saccharine cruelty. I told her this book was supposed to turn the nastiness on its head, and she glared at me disbelievingly and snatched the book. About an hour later she was all aglow with fervour: “This book is great! It takes everything nasty about the story and turns it around– she gets a name and she changes things and does things… It’s really good, and the writing is good, too.” I can’t even say, “I told you so,” because, as mentioned, I haven’t gotten to read it. It’s ok, I’m not bitter. (NB: Homeschooling may seem like a good idea at the time, but your kids get more chances to steal your books. These are the things no one tells you.)
I’m going to be honest– with The Puppets of Spelhorst by Kate DiCamillo I knew I didn’t stand a chance, and, frankly, I don’t have to read it to recommend it. Kate DiCamillo, and look at the cover. Go forth and buy. But I would very much like to read it. As soon as I saw it, I thought of The Magicians of Caprona by Diana Wynne Jones, also with puppets. Eventually, after much exasperating wrangling of trying to get her nose out of the book, I got the following answers: “oh, yeah, I can see that– the puppets, yes.” Asking more, I got, “it’s a book of mysteries you don’t need the answers to.” Well, now I really want to read it. I may just going to get my own copy, dammit.
For books I’ve read that you should definitely give, top of the list are these two. I’ve thought of Osmo Unknown and the Eightpenny Woods by Catherynne M. Valente (pssst if you order at that link and ask in the order comments, you may be able to get a signed copy and– if timing works– you may be able to get it signed and personalized to the recipient) and The Ogress and the Orphans by Kelly Barnhill as a team for so long that I’m surprised I never told you about the wonderful Ogress. The rock, root, and heart of these two books is generosity and understanding. You cannot feel sympathy without empathy, they want you to know. Open your doors, they say. Make a pie and bring it to a neighbour, listen to children, and make that tea for two. These books want to tell you they understand that the world is hard, but they remind you, also, it is also beautiful, and that glittering gold in a dragon’s hoard isn’t more valuable than the kindness in a smile. I can vouch for it that these would be pleasurable to read aloud as a family, a chapter a night, perhaps.
I’m trying to think of a single book that speaks to me more completely as the kid I was than Time of Green Magic by Hilary McKay. Do you know a kid who reads so completely, so deeply, they seem to vanish into the book? This book is for that kid. But its more than that. It’s a book that, as in my daughter’s description of The Puppets of Spelhorst, doesn’t feel the need to tell you every single thing about it. It’s a book that trusts the reader, a book that trusts both kids and parents and reassures them both that they’re loved. It’s a book that understands why you really want to hug the tiger at the zoo, and doesn’t tell you that you’re stupid, but also wants you to be safe. It’s a very understanding and very accepting book. I suggest you read it before giving it to that kid, and if you want to use the “I should know what my kids are reading, just in case there are questions” excuse, I’ll roll my eyes at you but accept it. I think you should read it first because before you know it, it’ll have been dropped in the bath, lost front and back cover, and be totally wrecked with love, so you should read it first. (“Things I’ve Learned from Experience” 27b, section iii.)
I’m going to end with a book I haven’t known how to talk about by an author I consistently fail to be able to discuss cogently: Treacle Walker by Alan Garner. Shortlisted for the Booker should tell you something. Also, I ordered three copies from the UK before it was finally released over here, and when my fabulous cousin told me she was going to London and would I like any books? I asked for “any books on the shelves by Alan Garner– Treacle Walker is wonderful.” (I wish you all cousins as fabulous as mine.) But, still, I couldn’t figure out what to say about the book except that “like all books by Alan Garner, it’s all in the book, all on the pages, there’s nothing else to say.” Finally, I was talking to a friend who reads more literary fiction (as opposed to all of the unliterary fiction on the shelves, I always think), and was trying to tell give her a sense of Treacle Walker so she could make a call on whether to read it. (I’m going to take the leap and give her a copy, which is an act of great trust; I never give copies of this book except where I feel like the relationship can survive “what if they don’t like it?”) I wrote this to her, and I don’t think I can improve on it: “I would say that his books are not so much a read experience as a lived experience. I cannot tell you what they are about, including this one. Ignore the flap copy– the flap copy was written by somebody who was told that they had to write flap copy so that it could be published, and threw something together in desperation. There is no clear ‘about,’ but there is a clear feeling as you read that you are living through an experience that slowly unfolds just the way that when you’re looking at an illustration done in pen and ink with deft lines your eyes are tracing over on the page, they come together in an image, an experience in your mind. This isn’t about plot and character. This is just beautiful writing and something that can only be done in words on a page; not cinema, not a play, not anything but words on a page.” And so, I dare you– read it and see.
The Children's Bookroom 