More or Less Grimm

6a00e5535ff83b88330105367edf8d970b-800wiChristmas, Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice, and other festive occasions . . . .

Two recent, compelling fairy tale volumes would make excellent gifts this holiday season.  Matt Phelan’s Snow White: A Graphic Novel (2016) and Shaun Tan’s The Singing Bones (2015; 2016) are my enchanting focus today.  Viewed separately or together, these books’ very different visual takes on classic stories demonstrate the wonderful breadth of unfettered imagination.  Readers tween and up will appreciate these works rooted in folk tales first collected and published by the German brothers Jacob and Wilhelm Grimm between 1812 and 1857.   Those original Grimm stories were more violent and darker than many modern versions, watered down to be “suitable” for younger audiences—most famously by cartoon mogul Walt Disney.  Phelan and Tan’s books, while not totally grim, remain truer to the original tales. 

414pgqjpeyl-_sx402_bo1204203200_Award-winning author/illustrator Phelan (first reviewed here in December, 2013) drew on iconic photographs and films to set his Snow White primarily in Depression-era U.S.A.  Living in 1918 New York City, Snow is a happy, well-to-do child whose later tribulations take place after the 1929 stock market crash precipitates the Depression.  The black-and-white, sepia, or lightly tinted pages of this book reflect photos and movies typical in the 1920s and 1930s.   Before full-color films became the norm, silent black-and-white movies sometimes had a few tinted scenes to reinforce changes in mood or action.  Vivid color—the red of blood and the deceptive lushness of poisoned apples or lips—is used sparingly here, to great dramatic effect.  Similarly, the book’s happy ending (after a dramatic kiss, not in a forest or castle but a department store window!) is reinforced by pages drawn and water-colored in a range of pastel colors. 



snow-white-2Phelan effectively updates and anchors Snow White to this specific time and place in many ways.  Her evil stepmother is a Ziegfeld Follies star whose desire for the spotlight is exceeded only by her greed; here, she is inspired by messages from a seemingly demonic stock exchange ticker tape machine, rather than a magic mirror.  Her plots, machinations, and evil deeds are effectively conveyed by telling close-ups, another cinematic technique Phelan employs.  His knowledge and love of silent films is also evident in the many wordless scenes in the book, some as long as ten or twelve double spread pages.  The electrifying end to that murderous Follies star’s schemes —in a chapter aptly titled “Up in Lights”—is almost totally wordless, yet very rich in emotion as well as fast-paced action.  Sound-effect words and street signs, along with facial expressions, communicate so much in these pages, as they do throughout the book.


This story’s Depression-era characters include seven homeless boys, living hand-to-mouth on the streets and in a hobo encampment, who are Phelan’s fairy tale “dwarves,” sheltering, rescuing, and for a time mourning Snow White.  Their initially suspicious, pugnacious faces are eloquent, even when all their leader will reveal about them is the dismissive, wary phrase, “We’re the Seven.  That’s all you need to know.”   Readers may become misty-eyed when each boy, mourning Snow’s apparent death, whispers his name into her ear. 

download-1Phelan strives for such emotional response in his works.  In an interview , he has said “that emotional connection is  . . . something I aspire to in my work.”  That is why his drawing is not totally realistic in style: as he puts it, “I’ve always loved sketches and art that has a ‘just enough’ quality to it.”  He adds that, rather than using a guide sketch, after much time in preparation and initial thumb-nail sketches (Snow White: A Graphic Novel took three years to complete), he draws freehand from those sketches, working “quickly on each panel.  I want a certain energy to the line and the watercolor.”   Phelan’s typical use of un-bordered, irregularly sized panels and double spread pages, some without any panels at all, adds to the vibrancy of his story-telling goals and technique.


While Matt Phelan avoided reading multiple written versions of Snow White, wanting “to approach the story fresh,” Shaun Tan’s fairy tale volume was inspired by the written word.  Specifically, after designing the cover and a few internal illustrations for 51jqd0yuisl-_sx383_bo1204203200_a German language edition of Grimm’s fairy tales, Tan was hooked!  That book was a translation of noted British author Philip Pullman’s Fairy Tales from the Brothers Grimm (Viking, 2012), which contained Pullman’s favorite fifty tales.  Tan (reviewed here in August, 2014 and April, 2015)  was so entranced by Pullman’s language and storytelling that he went on to identify and create sculptures in The Singing Bones for seventy-five Grimm tales.  Tan’s book, however, does not contain complete versions of these tales.  Instead, a significant passage from a tale appears on the left hand page, with Tan’s related sculpture appearing on the opposite right-hand page.  Noted fairy tale scholar and translator Jack Zipes is the author of these passages, as well as the Annotated Index summarizing the tales’ plots.

imagesAward-winning Tan’s imaginative take on each tale differs dramatically from Phelan’s.  Rather than situating the tales in a particular time and place, Tan’s sculpture captures the emotional center of each story, recreating people, creatures, and items with minimal detail and dreamlike distortion.  In his Afterward, Tan writes that he was “inspired by Inuit stone carvings and pre-Columbian clay figurines . . . .”  He used papier-mache and air-dried clay, colored with acrylic paint, metal oxides, and shoe polish, to create his small-scale pieces.  Elsewhere, Tan notes that some of his  paper sculpting techniques were folk craft taught by his Malaysian/Chinese father.    With input from his skilled photographer wife, Inari Kiuru, Tan then designed for The Singing Bones the photographed versions of his three-dimensional art.   

9781760111038-3These are powerful, haunting images.  Tan embodies the story of Snow White in a sculpture of the evil queen or stepmother, red with violent envy; sharp-featured with consuming, murderous ambition; shadowed by pride which has made her spiked crown as large and important as her barely human head.  His Hansel and Gretel are both too hungry and too greedy for sweets to see the dangerous, powerful witch lurking behind the download-2seemingly harmless old woman who then invites them inside her candy-studded cottage.  The reader, though, sees that monstrous figure as well as the cracks in the cottage, with its doorway that also resembles the opening of a clay oven.  It is the weariness of toiling Cinderella, falling asleep inside the sooty bed of a fireless chimney, rather than her glass slipper and romance, that Tan emphasizes.  And it is the dangerous naivety of Little Red Cap, contrasted with the wolf’s smug assurance and size, rather than her final rescue that Tan embodies in highlight. Readers will want to linger over these familiar tales, and also make good use of the index to discover the full stories behind the many compelling pieces born of lesser known tales.

2244Like author Neil Gaiman, who wrote the Foreword to The Singing Bones, I long to touch these pieces, to revel in their textures and also view them from different angles.  My desire here is also fed by my own dabbling in clay this past year, producing pieces heavier on emotion than realism.  It was researching folk tales for possible inspiration for my future sculptures that led me to discover Shaun Tan’s three-dimensional art!   Now, I need to see which tales apart from the Grimm brothers might spark some more of my own amateur efforts.  First up: a look into the folk tales of my own Eastern European Jewish heritage.  


51ywroazv6l-_sx491_bo1204203200_Are you interested in other graphic works depicting folk or fairy tales from different traditions? There are many picture books depicting “Cinderella” stories around the globe.  Ed Young’s award-winning Lon Po Po (1989;1996), set in China; John Steptoe’s acclaimed Mufaro’s Beautiful Daughters (1978; 2008), set in Africa; and Tomie de Paola’s Adelita (2002;2004), set in Mexico, are only a few.  I myself plan to catch up with an award-winning volume of Native American graphic folk tales, edited by Matt Dembicki, Trickster: Native American Tales, A Graphic Collection (2010).  It features the combined efforts of Native storytellers with comic book artists.

Happy reading—and happy holidays!


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Twenty-first Century Genius

genius-007Two graphic novelists were among the twenty-three creative people recently awarded an annual MacArthur “Genius” grant, with its hefty prize money.  The MacArthur Foundation “celebrates and inspires the creative potential of individuals through no-strings-attached fellowships.”  I was delighted to see that novelist Gene Luen Yang, the current U.S. Ambassador for Young People’s Literature, was one winner. (I had discussed Yang’s great works in Gone Graphic posts for August, 2013; March, 2014; September, 2014; and February, 2016.)   But who was Lauren Redniss, the other graphic novelist being acclaimed by the MacArthur Foundation—and what were her works like?  I knew nothing about her! 

Today I am going to describe the three awesome Redniss books I just finished reading.  Teens or tweens interested in graphic works, art, biography, or in these books’ topics will revel in these gorgeous non-fiction volumes. Older folks will be fascinated, too!  Redniss’ deserved acclaim as a twenty-first century “genius”  also showcases and extends some techniques already familiar to fans of literature gone graphic. 

61yotly9i4l-_sx361_bo1204203200_Redniss is an art professor who has been praised by the National Book Foundation for “marrying the graphic and visual arts with biography and cultural history.”  Redniss herself recently said,  “I think I am drawn to people who are undaunted by hardship.  It puts things in perspective.”  Her first two books are unconventional biographies of extraordinary people, dancer Doris Eaton Travis and scientist Marie Curie, boldly showing and yet also at times just hinting at how they felt about the dramatic course of their lives.  Her third book shifts further into science, focusing on weather and climate change.

Century Girl: 100 Years in the Life of Doris Eaton Travis, Last Living Star of the Ziegfeld Follies (2006; 2012) primarily uses collage to document the life of its  subject, who lived to the remarkable age of 106.  Sepia-hued as well as full-color photographs, old newspaper clippings as well as hand-lettered text, are juxtaposed with physical mementos of Doris Eaton Travis’ life.  Born in 1904, thanks to her “back-stage mother,” Doris began performing on vaudeville stages as a four year-old, and after fame in the Ziegfeld Follies she and her siblings appeared in Hollywood’s silent movies. 

d1a839bce638bdb522c1ec0e8e32b825Redniss documents the different ways family members handled success and its loss, into and through the 1930s and 1940s, as the  Great Depression and World War II impacted their lives.  Giddy, silly, saucy, and even some sad images mark the passing decades.  Her sisters and brothers faltered, some just having plain bad luck, while Doris went on to a new career and success as a dance instructor, working with the Arthur Murray chain of dance schools.  Her passion for dance continued throughout her long life and her lengthy, complicated second marriage.  Along the way, this trouper entered college as a 77 year old “freshman,” and became a college graduate at 88!  The volume’s final pages include photographs of 100 year-old Doris onstage as well as of her musing about her life.  

Redniss frequently uses double-page spreads in this book (and her others), often shifting the background color and images to great dramatic effect.  Black is a frequent background color, also used on pages that mark transitions. A number of such spreads are wordless, communicating solely through the juxtaposed images.  What readers “see” here sometimes depends on how carefully we look at pages and remember others.  The cracks apparent on one close-up of a doll’s-head are telling at a low point in Doris’ family life; the tin soldiers one brother loved to play with as a child say something else about him when they re-appear at the end of his life, as he takes shelter with Doris and her husband. 


White, hand-written text, sometimes irregularly spaced, also contributes to the immediacy and rhythm of Redniss’ impressions of Doris’ life.  Another technique Redniss uses to convey emphasis and emotion, highlighting events or brief statements, centurygirl-131is to isolate them in the center of otherwise empty or nearly empty pages.  The left hand side of one such spread states in black letters on a white page:  WITH STRENGTH IN NUMBERS AND A SOLID PEDIGREE, THE EATONS SEEMED UNSTOPPABLEThe facing right-hand white page shows Doris with one of her brothers, with these ominous words as follow-up: BUT TIMES CHANGED. Redniss’ ability to identify and use apt words from interviews as well as printed sources is another storytelling strength she brings to this book (as well as her others). 

51tm3cpkybl-_sx351_bo1204203200_Print materials also complement images in Radioactive: Marie & Pierre Curie, A Tale of Love and Fallout (2010; 2011), another breathtaking biography, which was a finalist for the National Book Award.  Here Redniss uses collage to show how Marie Sklodowska (1867 -1934) battled discrimination against women in science to become the degreed research partner (and later wife) of Pierre Curie.  Together, the couple in 1903 earned a Nobel Prize in Physics for their discovery of radioactivity.  After Pierre’s death, Marie Curie in 1911 earned an astonishing second Nobel Prize for her further work on the radioactive element radium. 

Yet these were not Marie Curie’s only accomplishments and struggles.  She (and Pierre) developed cancer and other  diseases through exposure to radioactive elements; they persevered with their research despite this, just as Marie persevered even after Pierre’s shocking, traffic accident death—researching, rearing radioactive-660x453her daughters, finding and losing another, somewhat scandalous love, and even contributing to France’s frontline efforts during World War I.  Radioactive uses text deftly chosen from letters, journals, and other written accounts to tell a profound love story as well as a history of science.  Moreover, the “fallout” of its subtitle extends beyond Marie Curie’s lifetime into the present day, as the book details the negative as well as positive results of the Curies’ discoveries.  Redniss interposes accounts of nuclear bombs and accidents at nuclear power plants, as well as advances in nuclear medicine, smoothly into the book.

Collage and the placement of images and text for dramatic effect again figure prominently in this book’s blue-rich, color saturated pages.   Photographs, maps, and a crypt rubbing as well as original drawings hold our attention in its page-turning narrative.  At one point, we literally have to turn the page to find the answer to this question about widowed Marie’s new love, scientist Paul Langevin:  “Who wouldn’t rejoice in the union of Paul and Marie—a coupling of giants?” At the bottom of the next double-spread of vivid, contrasting colors  is the answer, “His wife.”!  

blue_radioactiveFor the rich blue shades predominant here and the sometimes eerie images,  which often seem to glow and resemble half-developed photographs or x-rays, Redniss used a specialized technique–cyantope printing.  As she explains at the end of Radioactive and in a related TED Talk, this chemical process depends on exposure to ultraviolet light.  For Redniss, cyanotypes were a method evoking and paying tribute to Marie Curie’s work with radioactivity.  Redniss goes on to explain how she manipulated the resulting blue images to add or change colors.

61agsqhveul-_sx372_bo1204203200_-1Similar thought went into Redniss’ choice of graphic techniques for her award-winning third book, Thunder & Lightning: Weather Past, Present, and Future (2015).  Her author’s note explains that she selected copper plate etching (and its contemporary offshoot, polymer plate etching) as a tribute to the centuries of records kept by weather-studying scientists and artists.  Master printers helped Redniss produce black and white prints, which she then hand-colored. The beautiful and totally wordless chapter 7, titled “Sky,” was hand-drawn by  Redniss, using colorful oil pastels. 

Double page spreads again dominate in this engrossing volume, which moves from unusual weather events to typical climatic conditions, from how individuals challenge themselves in extreme environments (such as distance ocean swimming) to how communities fare in extraordinarily harsh climates, such as the Arctic Sea’s Svarlbard islands. Color is extraordinarily important in this volume, whether vivid or pale.  We are awed by the intense orange-reds of deserts and forest fires and entranced by the dim greys of gallery-1445870542-tandl-p28-29polluted city fog and Arctic “snow blindness.”  Redniss illustrates the latter in four double spread pages, where we peer into soft grey-tones, attempting to make out the faint shapes there just as a snow-blind person might struggle to see in white-out conditions.  Black is again used effectively as background to a typeface Redniss created herself for this book.

In this history which ranges from eras in which weather was worshiped to ones in which humans, both deliberately and inadvertently, change weather events  and climate, Redniss continues to weave a strong narrative.  Diaries, letters, and personal interviews combine with newspaper accounts, official documents, and Redniss’ own words in this volume.  Attempts to predict the weather are both detailed precisely and slyly mocked, as in the pages devoted to the Old Farmer’s Almanac.  This good-natured laughter is one kind of humor in Thunder & Lightning. How much—and yet, how little—thought people seem to have given to climate change may confound readers, causing rueful and dismayed laughter, even as we marvel in appreciation or dismay at related images.   On issues where there is reasonable debate, such as whether humans should deliberately manipulate the environment, Redniss presents the conflicting viewpoints through entertaining anecdotes and images.


Twenty-first century genius Lauren Redniss is a master of some techniques you may have seen before in graphic works.  For example, collage and found objects figure in memoirs by Ozge Samanci (reviewed here in August, 2016), by Lucy Knisley (July, 2016 review), and in novels by Jennifer L. Holm and Elicia Castaldi (September, 2015 review).   Extended wordless passages also have a long history and other contemporary, excellent practitioners—such as Brian Selznick, Shaun Tan,  Peter Kuper, and Erik Drooker.  (See the Gone Graphic postings for November, 2015; April, 2015; and February 2014 for details.)  Level-headed Redniss herself demurs at being labelled a “genius.”  Possibly she might be more accepting of this label if “genius” meant nowadays what it did in 17th and 18th century England—the spark of creativity inside every person. 

lr-nyt-13However one feels about such labels, I am glad the MacArthur Foundation award drew my attention to Lauren Redniss’ gifts.  I intend to catch up with her earlier “Opt-Art” pieces for the New York Times, some cached at her website.  And I definitely will look for her next graphic novels.  Redniss has said that she is now at work on a book about an Apache tribe in Arizona, focusing on three generations within one family.  I am eager to see how she portrays those lives and that history. 



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Lively Looks at the Day of the Dead

 29700866772_5465f2b9ef_k-640x420A spirited crowd welcomed author/illustrator Raina Telgemeier to the Twin Cities the other week.  Tweens in family and class groups filled a large university auditorium, excited to meet the popular, award-winning cartoonist, on national tour to promote her brand-new graphic novel, Ghosts (2016).  This funny, tender-hearted book, colored by Braden Lamb, is one of two works I am spotlighting today, both centered on the November 1- 2 celebration of la Dia de Los Muertos—the Day of the Dead.  Author/illustrator Duncan Tonatiuh’s recent picture book biography, Funny Bones: Posada and His Day of the Dead Calaveras, a 2015 award-winner, is the other.  Both are great reads for any age, and at any time of year.  Especially in October, though, these works can add piquancy and food for thought as Halloween images and activities loom large around us.   La Dia de Los Muertoes celebrates a very different view of the supernatural than the one Halloween traditionally promotes.

518xic8gdhl-_sx346_bo1204203200_The 6th grade protagonist in Ghosts, Catrina Allende-Delmar, is both skeptical and fearful of ghosts.  She and younger sister Maya are not familiar with the Mexican-American traditions that their mother, the daughter of Mexican immigrants, shunned in her own youth.  They do not know that, during the Day of the Dead, loved ones who have died are remembered with joy, honor, and affection.  Music, festive food, and dancing are the background notes to this holiday now celebrated beyond Mexico, with Halloween’s fearsome skeletons figuratively transformed into lost loved ones.  In Telgemeier’s fantastic novel, this transformation is a literal one, as the windy environs of Catrina and Maya’s new California hometown are filled with ghosts.  They may be encountered even on ordinary days, not just during this community’s welcoming Dia de Los Muertos celebration. 

Acknowledging death and what mght lie beyond it is particularly important to Catrina 640and Maya because Maya has cystic fibrosis—a degenerative, fatal disease.  As the younger girl poignantly tells Cat, “I have to talk to a ghost . . . . I want to know what happens when you die . . . . Dying isn’t pretend . . . .”  Telgemeier’s story insightfully depicts how Maya’s illness has shaped family choices, and how—despite the love between the sisters—Cat sometimes resents the priority given to Maya’s needs.  The author/illustrator also realistically depicts how cystic fibrosis typically affects its victims, the main ailment being difficulty in breathing.  Ironically, it is breath or wind which also “gives life” to Telgemeier’s ghosts. 

Despite these serious problems, Maya is an ebullient kid, quick to make friends, and Ghosts is an upbeat, well-rounded novel, not didactic in the messages it conveys.  Making new school friends, meeting new neighbors, and the good-natured back-and-forth of possibly acquiring an early-stages boyfriend are also depicted here.  Food is the fun-filled way the girls’ mother comes to terms both with her heritage and the memory of her mother.  And there is as much merry-making here as there are anxious moments before Cat discovers just how well-intentioned those ghosts are.  Deserted carnival buildings and rocky coastlines at night are two of the eerie, windswept settings that ratchet up Cat’s fears. 


Visually, Telgemeier combines cartoon-like drawing with more sophisticated narrative techniques.  Sometimes, the images within panels contradict the words with fine dramatic irony; at other points, images support and extend a character’s words.  Tense situations, such as Maya’s being taken ill or a spooked Cat running from her fears, are made more forceful through the alternation of close-ups with long or mid-distance views and changes in perspective.  Several action-packed wordless episodes—some extending as long as ten pages—capture the reader’s attention, leaving us breathless in the best possible way!  Colorist Lamb does a fine job of enhancing text and word balloons as well as balancing composition through color choice.  Ghosts ends on a high note, one maintained by the down-to-earth, informative author notes and thank you that conclude the book.



Telgemeier’s sly sense of humor is further confirmed as we turn to Duncan Tonatiuh’s 814udotafrlpicture book biography, Funny Bones: Posada and His Day of the Dead Calaveras (2015).  Cat and Maya’s welcoming (human) neighbors are named the Calaveras family.  As Tonatiuh explains, the Spanish word calaveras literally means “skull.”  Calaveras has also come to mean the satirical skeleton images, associated with the Day of the Dead, best known through the work of Mexican artist Jose Guadalupe Posada (1852 – 1913).  Posada was himself no slouch in the humor department!  He poked fun not only at politicians but at the vanity and foibles of wealthy and working class people too. 

This picture book is visually rich in so many ways.  Tonatiuh depicts Posada and some other Mexicans with darker skin tones and facial features that reflect their Aztec heritage.  Many of Funny Bones’ pages are bordered bydownload-18 bones alternating with other emblems that indicate the passage of time—for instance, the pencils of Posada’s youth give way to inkpots as Tonituah describes how the artist began to etch his work.  And even life’s ups and downs—growing families, disastrous floods, fame and success, war—are depicted with cohesive visual flair, with centered images often arranged in circles.   I particularly relished the double page spreads showing how the Dia de Muertos was celebrated during Posada’s lifetime and Tonatiuh’s final imagining of what Posada’s calaveras might “look like nowadays.”  Those roller blading and skateboarding skeletons are a hoot!   


Young readers will relish these images along with Posada’s more serious, sometimes frightening calaveras.  Those are reproduced and offset here by Tonatiuh on separate, different-colored pages, with thoughtful questions about what these complex images might mean about human nature, life, and death.  Answers are left up to the reader.  Along with such food for thought, Funny Bones also provides more down-to-earth information.  It has clear, sequential images and brief explanations of the steps involved in the artistic processes of lithography, engraving, and etching.  Tonatiuh’s colorful images and crisp words are a fine tribute to Posada’s art and a holiday that celebrates life as much as it does death.  I think readers will be as eager as I was to read the author’s note and bibliography, which also contains information about where one may see Posada’s work in person in the U.S. A.


What sorts of skeletons will you be creating or looking for this October?  Spooky or kooky . . . terrifying or terrifically friendly?   Possibly la Dia de los Muertos is already one of the holidays you celebrate.  Perhaps it is time for a new (or new “old”) tradition for you and the young people in your life.  Perhaps you do not have to choose—after all, October 31 is followed by November 1 and 2.  First Halloween and then the Day of the Dead?   As Cat and Maya might say, “Wheeee!”!


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School Days vs. Labor Days

Is that alarm clock set to go off for school or work?  And how do the young people in your life feel, come September, when they answer that question? 

08_1001628101_6SUNSPOT072416_40839695Here in the U.S., Labor Day weekend marks the unofficial end of summer and start of another school year.  You probably know at least a few kids unhappy with this turn of events!  Yet around the globe school remains an out-of-reach luxury for too many kids, many of whom labor in unsafe and unhealthy conditions.  Still other young people world-wide are denied an education just because they are female.  These inequities are the focus of today’s blog, which spotlights three excellent picture books.  A recent visit to the Twin Cities by Malala Yousafzazi, the Pakastini teen whose brave, inspirational struggle for an education led to a Nobel Peace Prize, had me looking for graphic works about her and these topics. 

Malala’s remarkable story has been told in a text-based book for older kids and teens—I am Mala: How One Girl Stood Up for Education and Changed the World (2014, co-authored with Patricia McCormick, adapted from the 2013 book co-authored by Christina Lamb).  But I also sought and found works that would bring the hard facts and emotional realities of child labor to even younger readers.  After all, children as young as four labor around the globe.  I hoped I would find books that would uplift as much as dismay—and I am happy to say that I did.   

malala-a-brave-girl-from-pakistan-iqbal-a-brave-9781481422949_hrAward-winning author/illustrator Jeanette Winter has created an unusual as well as powerful dual biography in Malala: A Brave Girl from Pakistan/Iqbal: A Brave Boy from Pakistan (2014).  As one of its covers aptly notes about this volume, it contains “Two stories of bravery in one beautiful book.”  What is remarkable about these twinned stories is that readers can begin either narrative by flipping the volume upside down! Each begins on a separate side of the book, and each concludes as the stories “meet” in the wordless mid-point double spread.  There, in a visually poetic rendering of the similar dreams of each child, Iqbal is shown on one page seeming to reach for a kite, while Malala is depicted on the other holding onto one as it soars. The dreamlike nature of this scene is heightened by its nighttime background, with stars dotting the dark  sky.  This sky unites the pages, as do the balanced composition of images and reuse of colors.  Readers merely flip the book to bring the second scene into more prominent focus. 


Malala struggled for her education, surviving an assassination attempt in 2012, because Islamic zealots in Pakistan thought girls and women should not read anything but religious texts.  She and her classmates had to attend school in secret.  Poverty—and lack of laws against child labor—a decade earlier limited Iqbal’s access to education.  From the age of four, he worked long hours in a carpet factory, sent there by his parents to pay off their debt.  The ways in which this labor stunted and twisted Iqbal’s body, and the beatings he suffered, were long term assaults, the “flip side” of the bullets that in just seconds nearly killed Malala.  It was her extended recovery from this attack that took much time and multiple surgeries.  Yet, as young readers will discover, while Iqbal finally freed himself and others, acquiring and using education to speak out against child labor, bullets also cut short his life.  This murder was probable retaliation by those who lost money and future profits when local laws against child labor became better known, enforced, and expanded. 



51cKB7Nh4YL._SX258_BO1,204,203,200_This book’s images display Winters’ signature style—vivid colors, flat perspective which removes the need for shading or shadows, and frequent use of decorative borders to frame scenes.  She also depicts some sequential events in different sections of the same setting.  That this so-called “folk art” style is also reminiscent of Persian miniature paintings is a further plus in this biography of two Muslim children, as it is in Winters’ related book about forbidden education for girls, Nasreen’s Secret School: A True Story from Afghanistan (2009).  That multiple award-winning work shows both the devastating effects of repression by the Taliban regime there between 1996 and 2001 and the healing power of education.

After her father is brutally arrested and her mother disappears, traumatized Nasreen stops speaking.  Her sad face and blank stare do not change even when her worried grandmother finds and sends Nasreen to “a secret school for girls.”  Grandmother explains that she wants Nasreen to “learn about the world” as the women in her family have in better, less narrow-minded times.  Nasreen does begin to speak—and feel, and make a friend—but only after many months.  This healing is indeed spurred and supported by the worlds contained and revealed in books.

Besides the wonderful cover image showing the varied folk and fairy tale characters contained within a book, Winters’ vivid illustrations, one per page, bring to life such succinct phrases as “Windows opened for Nasreen in that little schoolroom.”  nasreens-secret-school-9781416994374.in01Illustrations here expand the text, as when Nasreen’s lost parents, shown holding hands, are depicted in the “blue sky beyond those dark clouds” that once obscured Nasreen’s inner as well as outer sight.  It is also telling that Grandmother concludes this story with full-hearted piety, with the typical Muslim expression following an expressed hope, “Insha’ Allah” (God willing).  Her pious wish, so unlike the Taliban’s limits on women’s education, is for Nasreen’s continued growth—that “soldiers can never close the windows that have opened for [her] granddaughter.” The centrality of this goal and this family connection is reinforced by Winters’ final image, showing us  Grandmother and Nasreen close together, in the center of a framed yet boundless night sky.

51Wj7LL9DHL._SX258_BO1,204,203,200_Yasmin’s Hammer (2010; 2015), written by Ann Malaspina and illustrated by Doug Chayka, is set in the country of Bangladesh, once known as East Pakistan.   Its fictional account, rooted in real-life experiences, harkens back to Iqbal’s tale, as it is poverty that limits Yasmin’s access to education.  Yasmin wants to know more to satisfy her curiosity and also to have job opportunities now far beyond her reach.  Her family would like to send her to school, but they need the money that Yasmin, about 10 or 11 years old, and her younger sister Mita earn each day as brick chippers.  This hot, dusty work leaves the girls with coughs that show how their lungs are being harmed, even as their bloodied and blistered fingers are the more apparent injuries. doug-chayka-book-illustrations-02 Yet the coins the girls bring home help pay for food and shelter, and will help their hard-working parents save enough money to purchase the rented rickshaw Father now pedals each day.  ( Mother spends long hours washing clothes and cleaning houses.)  Until then, it seems Yasmin must be content with the promised “Soon” she hears from her parents, a word she repeats to herself whenever school is mentioned. 

That litany takes on new meaning when, having taken on even more work, thrifty Yasmin saves enough to buy and bring home a book.  None of them can read it!  By yasminspread22glowing candlelight, she and her family puzzle out what some of the words in this alphabet picture book might be. Her parents are moved by this experience.  They increase their own heavy workloads, earning more money, so that Father can surprise Yasmin and Mita one morning with a rickshaw ride along an unknown route.  The girls are not going to the brickyard to use their hammers.  It is her father’s smile which helps Yasmine realize joyfully, as the book concludes, where they are instead headed: “Then I know.  This is the way to school.”

The amount of text in this book, along with its front source list and informative back matter, including a glossary, make it well-suited for upper elementary age readers.  Yet readers of any age will appreciate the glowing colors of Chayka’s full page illustrations, originally completed as oil on canvas paintings.  He captures not only the bustling, vivid hues of Bangladesh’s capital city, Dhaka, where Yasmin’s family now lives, but also the calm, softer tones of their earlier village home, before it was destroyed by a cyclone.  And Chayka succeeds, I believe, in his stated aim of depicting the “brightness and inner life of the characters.”  Like Iqbal, Yasmin never loses sight of her goal, and her efforts inspire others to help her to reach it.     

51tnnCNvg6L._SX258_BO1,204,203,200_Young readers may also appreciate learning more about the history of child labor within the U.S.  While the text of Russell Freedman’s award-winning Kids at Work: Lewis Hine and the Crusade Against Child Labor (1994; 1998) is best suited to upper elementary and older readers, Hines’ insightful photographs—still acting as change agents—will provoke interest and discussion in readers of all ages.  Susan Campbell Bartoletti’s Kids on Strike (1999) is similarly illustrated with dramatic historical photos.  And Lawrence Migdale’s sensitive photographs in Migrant 618FK1HJFTL._SY473_BO1,204,203,200_Worker: A Boy from the Rio Grande Valley (1996), written by Diane Hoyt-Goldsmith,  demonstrate ways in which child labor still occurs in the contemporary United States.  As youngsters experience the first days of this new school year, comparing their own recent photos—particularly ones taken at school—with ones in these books might be educational experiences in themselves.

Happy Labor Day as you add new school days to your memories!




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Turkish Delights and Dangers

28_103397706_Turkish_soldiers_secure_the_area_as_supporters_of_Turkey27s_President_Recep_Tayyip_Erdogan-large_trans++ZgEkZX3M936N5BQK4Va8RWtT0gK_6EfZT336f62EI5U (1)What sense do young U.S. readers, bombarded these days by the war of words between our presidential candidates and assaulted by the images and realities of U.S. gun violence, make of recent events in Turkey?  A failed military takeover of the Turkish government on July 15 left hundreds dead and more than a thousand people injured, with thousands more later imprisoned, removed from their jobs, or forbidden to travel internationally.  Just a few weeks before that, a deadly terrorist attack at Turkey’s largest airport, outside cosmopolitan Istanbul, shocked the world.  I follow Turkish news not only because Turkey is an important U.S. ally but because our son lived in Istanbul for four years, from 2009 to 2013.  We learned much about Turkey then and visited there, too.

I wondered now whether any accessible graphic works would aid young readers’  understanding of modern Turkey, with its complex history as anchor of the once widespread Ottoman Empire.  So—with mixed results—I turned my attention to four graphic novels, all aimed at readers tween and up.  All turned out to be enjoyable reads, but only two speak to the complicated, sometimes brutal realities of life in Turkey today.  And, ironically, one of these relevant books never mentions Turkey at all!

618S+7M1IPL._SX351_BO1,204,203,200_I first caught up with author/illustrator Tony Cliff’s Delilah Dirk and the Turkish Lieutenant, a 2013 fiction bestseller, and its recently published sequel, Delilah Dirk and the King’s Shilling (2016).  These swashbuckling adventures, set in the early 19th century when Great Britain was at war with Napoleonic France, feature the daring, sometimes law-breaking deeds of Delilah Dirk.  In both books, this upper class British woman—whose incredible martial arts training, acrobatic skills, scientific gadgets, and penchant for violent “justice” remind me of superhero Batman—is accompanied by Mr. Erdemoglu Selim, the eponymous “Turkish lieutenant.”  His is the voice of reason which only sometimes restrains Delilah, and his superior tea-making abilities and loyalty to the hot-headed woman who once saved his life both are important plot elements in several of their thrilling adventures. 

514nTIdeZEL._SX351_BO1,204,203,200_While I was pleased to see author Cliff stress that friendship, rather than a stereotypical romance, unites this unconventional pair, I was disappointed to see how Turkey was used mainly as exotic background for the first novel.  Constantinople (the earlier name for Istanbul) is that work’s first, riotously detailed setting.  Selim is, at first, a lieutenant in the Ottoman Empire’s military.  Yet the duo’s shipboard fights against the pirate captain Rakul, here set on the Bosphorus River and Sea of Marmara, might just as well have taken place on the Indian Ocean, with Mr. Selim being replaced by a native of the Indian sub-continent.   Little that is unique to Turkish culture or politics ultimately figures in these volumes—a fact also re-emphasized by the biases of some British characters in the European setting of Delilah Dirk and the King’s Shilling.  Its central villain, the treacherous Major Merrick, certainly disdains and lumps all dark-skinned people together, regardless of their country or continent of origin.  Merrick’s views are ones that fueled British imperialism, though no background notes are given about that, the Ottoman Empire, or the Napoleonic Wars in either book.  Perhaps—I am sad to realize—countries being at war need no explanation for some of today’s young readers, particularly ones seeking pleasure rather than information.   

And there is much that is pleasurable in these two graphic novels.  Cliff’s cartoonish illustrations are marvelous in their energetic, fast-paced depiction of action scenes, with close-ups alternating with mid and long-distance shots, many of them wordless.  We seem to tumble, swerve, and swoop right along Delilah Dirk!  These scenes retain a comic tone, too, through the many, sometimes funny faces characters display as they surprise themselves or one another in what might otherwise be high stress situations.  But there do not seem to be real consequences, in emotional terms, to all the blood being shed and death being dealt.  Instead, we get dramatically varied, inventive sound effect words such as “Clang, “FWHOOP,” “CHOOM,” and “KRISH.” 


Rich, lush colors highlight Cliff’s detailed renderings of scenes, and he wisely employs different, unifying color palettes as the action moves from one scene or time frame to another.  Readers will enjoy the way illustrations sometimes contradict the exchanges between “Miss Dirk” and “Mr. Selim,” showing how these friends sometimes deceive themselves as they attempt to influence one another or trick their opponents. Thinking of these characters’ strong relationship along with their many escapades, I was not surprised to learn that the Disney studio recently acquired movie rights to “the Turkish lieutenant series.”  Real-life events in Turkey would be less appealing to that family-oriented movie company. 

51qqwF3CKNL._SX389_BO1,204,203,200_Similarly, the most dramatic events occurring in 1970s through 1990s Turkey take place mainly “offstage” in Ozge Samanci’s excellent graphic memoir, Dare to Disappoint: Growing Up in Turkey (2015).  These dramas include war with Greece over Cyprus, coups, and attempted coups.   Nonetheless, by selectively depicting her family’s daily life in the western coastal city of Izmir—including what she herself did not understand as a 6 year-old when the memoir begins—this author/illustrator has created a vividly intimate portrait of their lives, her growth as an individual, and how a restrictive society shaped individual choices and family dynamics.  Sad to say, many of those repressive situations—government limits on mass communications; sudden arrest of people suspected of dissent, followed by torture or beatings; a military sometimes operating on its own; and government officials who “bend” laws to remain in power—still exist in Turkey today.   As the backgrounds in some of Samanci’s illustrations slyly point out, through posters and graffiti on walls, only the names of some  dissident groups have changed.  I believe that reading this memoir will indeed help to inform tween and up readers about life in Turkey today, even though 21st century politics have brought new complications there.   Yet Dare to Disappoint is anything but heavy-handed or heavy-hearted in its storytelling.

Samanci effectively inserts collaged items into the impishly-drawn cartoon   narratives of her fifteen chapters.  For instance, the family members to whom the book is dedicated are represented by “stick figures” actually composed of button “heads” and trailing yarn “limbs.”  Young Ozge’s prized pink ruler is shown several times as an actual plastic ruler, bearing not only the cut out geometric shapes U.S. readers will recognize but also a profile of revered Turkish leader Mustafa Kemal Ataturk!  (Ataturk’s image is indeed everywhere in Turkey, as frequent in government buildings as Washington’s or Lincoln’s face is here.  Samanci devotes a whole chapter to Ataturk’s influence in the media and schools.) 

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Such creative, unexpected touches as collage or crayoned scribbles lighten this family history, where personal choice is often limited by a harsh, unstable economy, fear of offending powerful government officials, and a rigid educational system that uses standardized tests to slot young people into schools and careers, regardless of their desires or potential.  To satisfy their worried father’s goals, both Samanci and her older sister study and enter fields that deny their real interests, along the way stifling friendships and creativity.  Only after she has graduated from college does Samanci “dare to disappoint” her family, veering off her prescribed course to pursue art as a career.  Today Ozge Samanci is an artist and professor at Northwestern University in Illinois.   


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What is “foreign” in Turkey’s everyday life will be more accessible to American readers because of the ways in which Samanci zeros in on aspects of childhood that transcend borders.  The desire of a preschooler to be like her school-going sibling; an elementary school student’s adulation of a kind, attractive teacher; the seemingly endless hour at the end of a boring school day, minutes counted down one-by-one: all are captured by this gifted author/illustrator.  Her mainly black-and-white pages use color tellingly, highlighting dramatic moments, realizations, or settings.  The book’s cross-cultural experiences extend beyond childhood into more adult terrain: first boyfriends, juggling school with part-time jobs, the social pressure to marry, and even a terrifying attack and near-rape by a stranger are also recounted here.  By the memoir’s buoyant conclusion, when Samanci surfaces atop a sparkling, collaged fish to encourage us to “Come, let’s swim against the current!,”  we understand how she has struggled to reach her open-hearted, triumphant sincerity.  Her final words to readers are a joyful, well-meant challenge: “Do you dare to disappoint?”

Samanci’s memoir debuted in 2015 to glowing U.S. reviews and positive ones in Turkey’s liberal press. One reviewer there called it Turkey’s first graphic novel.  Dare to Disappoint was and may still be under consideration for publication in Turkish there.  Yet I suspect that Turkey’s current government, criticized by Samanci in her online blog, may make such publication unlikely, if not impossible.  Other graphic works from and about Turkey are scarce.    Anthologies about comics in the Middle East such as Muqtatafat (2016) focus on translating Arab language works—from countries such as Lebanon, Egypt, and Jordan—rather than works from Westernized Turkey, with its Romanized alphabet. 

61exQG62lDL._SX351_BO1,204,203,200_Ironically, to get a further sense of how suppressed groups live under a military regime, and how teens’ choices and friendships are constrained by the laws and customs upholding such regimes, readers might look past Turkey or any other clearly-identified country.  Author/illustrator Faith Erin Hicks’ new graphic novel, The Nameless City (2016), colored by Jordie Bellaire, spotlights these questions in an adventure-filled, fantasy novel centered on two teens—a ruling caste young man named Kai and an impoverished, homeless young woman known only as Rat.  Her people powerfully refuse to use the names given to their pre-industrial city by its succession of conquerors.  That strategically-valuable city, located at a juncture on what might be the central Asian steppes, is prized by different ethnic groups, another distinction drawn here between conquerors and the conquered. 

Unlike Delilah Dirk who challenges authority for excitement, honor, and—at times—for the satisfaction of righting wrongs done by others, Rat dangerously bounds across rooftops, avoiding armed soldiers, to find food! She and other conquered people in the Nameless City do not have enough to eat. Rat does not have the choices and privileges that Delilah has.  Her ethnic identity—different from Kai’s—is another feature that sets her apart . . .  a difference even sharper in this novel than race is for Mr. Selim in Europe.  Harsh choices, rigid laws upheld by the military as well as police, and punishment of any kind of dissent—all were part of Ozge Samanci’s Turkey and typify Turkey today.  And, as Samanci notes in her memoir, some Turkish dissenters belong to that country’s ethnic minorities.  In The Nameless City, both Kai and Rat have to learn to see past their racial differences to become friends and allies.  There are parallels between life in Hicks’s mythical city, 19th century racial bigotry, and its unfortunate lingering into the 21st century.

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I recommend Hicks’ book, the first volume in a trilogy, not just for the issues it addresses but for its engaging characters and detailed, energetic illustrations.  I look forward to the trilogy’s second volume, The Stone Heart, scheduled for publication in Spring, 2017.  It is enticingly previewed here.  I can only hope that by next spring the news from Turkey will be better, life there safer and more comfortable for its citizens and the refugees it now shelters.  



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Following Aaron Copeland’s Dream

2955What would composer Aaron Copeland have made of the Jewish Film Festival in Bozeman, Montana, now in its second season?  The Jewish, Brooklyn-born and raised Copeland (1900 – 1990) made notable use of his klezmer-infused, cityscape youth in many musical pieces, yet Copeland is probably best-known for musical works emblematic of the expansive American West.  The Billy the Kid suite (1939),  Rodeo (1942), and Appalachian Spring (1944)—all regularly performed by high school orchestras and aired on public radio stations—were created by the bar mitzvahed, agnostic son of Russian Jewish immigrants.  Originally, their family name was Kaplan. 

99 lpcoverCopeland himself credited his early fascination with the pioneering American spirit to movies.  He explained, “I suppose in one sense it’s a feat of the imagination . . . . But after all, a kid in Brooklyn would’ve seen movies with cowboys in them. . . . I did go out to the southwest fairly early in my career. And, I don’t know, every American kid grows up with a sense of cowboys and what the west must have been like.”  Coming full circle, Copeland’s musical scores for films include one for a Western, The Red Pony (1948), based on a John Steinbeck story collection.  (Copeland’s first, award-winning film score was for the movie version of another Steinbeck work, Of Mice and Men [1938],  set in the ranch land of Depression-era California.)  

I thought about the unlikely conjunction of Brooklyn and Bozeman the other night, as my husband Don spoke about watching a Jewish Film Festival offering with our son Daniel, who now works for Montana State University-Bozeman.  A few days earlier they had also gone out to another movie revival, part of a series of classic Westerns, John Ford’s The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance (1962). 20160618_202756 What feats our imaginations can indeed accomplish!  As a tween, I loved singer Gene Pitney’s crooning of that movie’s title song so much, played a 45 RPM record of it so often, that I always hear Pitney’s lush voice over the film credits—even though the Pitney version was not released until weeks after the movie’s debut.  I guess Gene Pitney is part of my Brooklyn-bred, city kid’s dream of the American West.

062316 Bozeman (1)Now that I too have visited Bozeman, walking its friendly streets and viewing the magnificent vistas of the aptly-named Big Sky state, I appreciate Copeland’s musical renditions of the West—ebullient, witty, solemn, grand—even more.  He really got so much of it so right!  Yet the West Copeland dreamed about and created really never contained just one melody, and nowadays it contains many more.  There is a Jewish Film Festival now in Bozeman, with wailing klezmer clarinets somewhere in the air. And before that, there were Jewish merchants in Montana as early as the 1870s, with a synagogue established in Helena in 1890.

Today, there is also probably sitar music along with the two great Indian restaurants we visited, and perhaps Korean drums, Arabic ouds, and Japanese  flutes, too.  (Our son helps international students find their niches at the university.)  And the songs and chants of the Black Feet and Crow peoples, among other tribes, have always been there . . . .

519WmtwdLoL._SX336_BO1,204,203,200_Sometimes reality is better, richer, and more complicated than one’s dreams—worth the extra effort to discover and explore.  Sometimes, though, dreams may  turn out to be dismaying or disappointing. I was delighted a few years ago when the Western Writers of America considered a biography I had written about a 19th century Northern Paiute leader —Sarah Winnemucca: Scout, Activist, and Teacher (2006)—for one of its prestigious Spur Awards.  I felt a little like Aaron Copeland back then, in my own much smaller way another Brooklyn-born kid imaginatively taking part in and recreating the Old West.  

 I am still honored to have a wall plaque above my desk that declares my book to have been a finalist in the WWA’s 2007 Best Western Juvenile Nonfiction Competition.  Even though I had dreamed of winning the award, I probably would not have enjoyed displaying it in my office nearly spur-banner2-300x174as much. Each Golden Spur Award is an actual, three-dimensional gilt spur mounted on a similar wall plaque—a reality I could never have appreciated without a wry smile and shake of the head.  I admit to my limited experience and world view here, which make spurs still the stuff of other people’s lives, of history and the movies.  For me, some connections between Brooklyn and Bozeman still remain best left to the imagination. . .  unless and until Daniel shares other global airs now current in Bozeman, ones following Aaron Copeland’s dream.

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Relishing Something New

 51uULz0-aJL._SX351_BO1,204,203,200_A health crisis recently overtook our family, with my son Daniel suddenly in the hospital a long way from our home.  Now that his health is more stable, the problem being addressed, I find myself thinking about those questions and bits of wisdom that often seem distant from daily life.  The whys and hows of existence.  The truths underlying old clichés such as “Take time to smell the roses.”  The reasons we have rituals to mark special occasions and milestone events.  Aptly, I already had a copy of author/illustrator Lucy Knisley’s brand-new memoir about her own special occasion, Something New: Tales from a Makeshift Bride (2016), at home.  The charms of this comforting, entertaining memoir led me to catch up with Knisley’s earlier, award-winning memoir, Relish: My Life in the Kitchen (2013).  Her focused, lighthearted take there on two pleasurable daily activities sometimes overlooked in life’s bustle—eating and cooking—was just the tonic I needed.  (Although, of course, a wedding of some sort may someday figure in my adult son’s future.  No pressure there, son.  All in your own good, long lifetime.)  

Lucy Knisley surprised her family and friends when, after three years apart, she and her former live-in boyfriend, John, became engaged.  They had separated because Lucy wanted to have children but loveable John did not.  Remaining friends who visited one another, sometimes vacationing together even as they dated other people, the late-20s couple finally got together when John changed his mind about kids.  Something New somethingnewblog1depicts these events plus the following year, when Knisley’s whole family (including her retired caterer mother) became involved in planning and hosting her large do-it-yourself (DIY) wedding.  Her memoir is a satirical critique of the Western wedding industry, a humorous look at strange wedding traditions world-wide, and a wry, self-mocking expose of how Knisley’s obsessive involvement with fine, locavore cuisine and handicrafts took over her life during that wedding-planning year.  Along the way, she continues the exploration, begun in Relish, of her close relationship with her free-spirit mother, with whom she lived after her parents’ divorce.  

Sometimes Knisley’s cartoonish drawings illustrate the text, as in the circular panel showing John’s restless, midnight retrieval of an heirloom wedding ring from his family’s keepsakes box.  At other points, drawings expand the text.  For instance, after a visit with John that takes place during their separation, she writes in a narrative box that “John gave me a squeeze and sent me home to New York.”  The panel, however, download (17)shows sad-faced Lucy hugging her cat, with the word “GLOOM” in thin mauve letters dominating the rest of the panel.  Throughout this work, the author/illustrator also cleverly uses photographs and photo-montages to both illustrate and comment on events.  These include entire pages filled with cut-out magazine photos of brides and montages of actual wedding invitations Knisley had accumulated.  I looked forward to these “real-life” pictures of the characters, places, and related items in this memoir—and you will too! 


Double spread pages devoted to such humorous topics as “Should I Go to This Wedding (A Flowchart)” and “”A Few Theme Weddings I Kinda Wish We Had Done” are also lively, clever elements here.  Knisley deftly alters frame size or abandons frames altogether at apt moments, also effectively zooming in or out and altering perspective, throughout the memoir. An “Afterward from John,” written by the groom but drawn by the bride, and Knisley’s final “Thank you,” illustrated with their wedding photos conclude Something New in a gracious, satisfying way.  Readers teen on up—and perhaps some a bit younger, if they have been involved in formal weddings—will appreciate this sharp-eyed, light-hearted treatment of one of life’s seriously joyful special occasions.

51BPsomYd0L._SY344_BO1,204,203,200_Relish: My Life in the Kitchen (2013) follows Knisley from infancy, “a child raised by foodies” in New York City and later in upstate New York, through her college years.  This memoir is infused with Knisley’s belief that her most “vivid memories jog [her] brain with the recollection of how things tasted.”  These “taste-memories” are introduced early on, depicted as colorful, wordless balloons by the creative author/illustrator.  Later, instead of the interspersed photographs found in Something New, Knisley interweaves sprightly cooking directions and recipes for some of her favorite foods and dishes.  Readers will, for instance, learn how to best prepare mushrooms as well as how to cook huevos rancheros and sushi rolls. 

Throughout, Knisley pays tribute to the spirit and skills of her caterer mother, who imparted her own delight with fresh foods and cooking to Lucy at home and at work.  Readers tween and up will appreciate Lucy’s misadventures at a similar age helping out at farmers’ market stalls and, a few years later, working as a junior caterer alongside her mother.  They will also enjoy her adventures with food and travel as a 14 year old visiting Japan and, as a college student, her encounter with Italian food and culture.  Those aromatic, jam-filled croissants! Food is also a bond between Lucy and her gourmet father, even after her parents’ divorce when she is six.  Great meals figure in mutual visits between her dad’s New York City apartment and upstate New York, with Lucy’s mother still preparing some of his most savored dishes. 

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Her “life in the kitchen” has shaped Knisley’s philosophy—beliefs set out near the Alex Award-winning book’s conclusion.  There is much to mull over in adult Lucy’s realization that “eating is a social act.   It’s a treat, even when the food is bad.”  The memoir’s final panels contain other knowledge its creator wants to share.  They show her at a stove, tasting a dish she is preparing.  She smiles—perhaps at its taste but certainly as well at another important realization.  She is doing “What I love.  And doing those things with excitement, curiosity, and relish.”   

Cuisinart-Immersion-Blenders-300x275 (1)I am happy that my son already acts on similar beliefs.  (A bit of a “foodie” himself, Daniel enjoys cooking, and last year we re-bonded over the pleasures of a new immersion blender.)  I think Daniel’s appetite for life will sustain him as he faces medical adversity with the same empathy and gusto that have led him to travel the globe, tasting food and “tasting” cultures that most of us Westerners will never encounter.  So many great meals, new places and people, and wonderful books ahead of him!  Now added to my own pile of to-be-reads: Lucy Knisley’s autobiographical travelogues French Milk (2007), An Age of License (2014), and Displacement (2015).

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