Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast

For this morning, the tenth anniversary of the 9/11 attacks, I had planned on posting the illustrations from Don Brown that are featured in this post. For several reasons, I decided to post it on Friday, as you can see, which left me unsure of what I was going to post today.

But then two things crossed my mind, as I pondered what art to feature on this sad day: 1) Julie Paschkis, because she’s one of my top-five favorite illustrators and because her artwork fills me with hope, the kind of hope that leaves you feeling warm (that might sound redundant but there is a kind of hope that can leave you feeling empty, though I digress), and 2) a phoenix.

Yup. A phoenix. I thought it would be a fitting image for today, seeing as how it’s a symbol of re-birth and regeneration.

And wouldn’t you believe my luck, it suddenly occurred to me that Julie herself had painted a phoenix for the wonderful picture book poetry collection by Julie Larios, titled Imaginary Menagerie, published by Harcourt in 2008. (I posted about it here back in the day.) So, I secured Paschkis’s permission to post it, and here we are.

So, yeah. It’s a sad day for many Americans. I am rather speechless, as I’m sure many folks are. Instead of my babbling, I’ll quote the first part of Larios’ poem, “Phoenix,” the one for which Paschkis created that image: “Rising / from the ashes of her nest, / away she flies. / She is a bird that never dies…”

In the book’s closing note about the creatures featured in the book, Larios also writes: “Ancient Greek mythology describes the phoenix singing so beautifully that the sun stops in its path across the sky to listen to her song.”

If I try to describe how these things make me think of the people who died on 9/11, I might very well sound like an idiot, but they do. I guess I’m saying: May we remember them with song and sun and light and warmth. May we continue to rise from the ashes, while at the same time pausing to remember those lost. (And may we treat one another with understanding and respect. I’m talkin’ to you, Lou Ann Zelenik and Andy Miller. Sigh.)

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I’ve been totally swamped, but it is the first Sunday of the month, right? If I’m wrong and you’re giggling, please humor me and do so behind my back. Come on. A good friend would, right?

On first Sundays, I like to shine the spotlight here at 7-Imp on student or brand-new illustrators in the field. Today, I’ve got Bethanie Murguia, whose debut picture book was released in May by Tricycle Press. Read the rest of this entry �

Every now and then, the 7-Imp portion of my brain realizes that I don’t spend enough time focusing on board book illustrations, art for the wee’est of humans.

Well, today I’m gonna.

This morning I shine the spotlight on Joyce Wan, whose art, she tells me, is inspired by Asian traditional and popular culture. She also comes from an architectural design background and loves creating those books for wee ones that are tactile or contain interactive elements.

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Every now and then, in the name of graphic novels for the youngest of children, I like to check in on Babymouse.

And she’s back. Well, she’s been back since May of this year, but sometimes I’m slow with my posts.

And this is her fourteenth title from Jenni and Matt Holm. Yes, fourteenth.

In this one, Babymouse #14: Mad Scientist (Random House), Babymouse meets her new science teacher, Mr. Shelldon (who has “received little support from my colleagues for my discovery that slime mold makes a great pet,” he tells his class). Babymouse, entering the school science fair, has to decide upon a project and eventually lands on amoebas. Looking one day at what she calls a “blob” in her microscope, she meets an amoeba, named Squish. Squish likes to eat cupcakes. Ah, an amoeba after her own heart.

That same month, the Holms released their first title (volume 1), all about this new character, Squish, Super Amoeba (also from Random House), which Kirkus in their starred review called the “hilarious misadventures of a hapless young everylad who happens to be an amoeba.” Yes, a fun science’y graphic novel series about an amoeba: Leave it to the Holms. Worth seeing for Peggy the paramecium alone, it’s a promising series, particularly for those children who are drawn to the Holms’ funny, manic, accessible style, yet might mutter, “Babymouse is for girls” (which I’d argue anyway). Squish loves comics (“Super Amoeba!”) and Twinkies, and he—like Babymouse—is simply navigating life through elementary school (though if you want to know if tacos can stop global warming, not to mention if single-celled creatures can be counted on to step up to do what’s right, this is the book for you). Read the rest of this entry �

I’ve had an early, unbound copy of today’s featured book for the longest time and, after deciding just this week to showcase some art from it, I see that it arrived on shelves just this past week. I have the best luck with the timing of these things, since I’m not organized enough to actually plan ahead.

So, the book is a story by author Elka Weber, called One Little Chicken, illustrated by Elisa Kleven (Tricycle Press). It retells a story in the Talmud. Well, wait. I’ll let the author tell you a bit more, as this comes straight from the closing author’s note:

“Rabbi Chanina ben Dosa lived in Israel in the frst century. He was so poor he sometimes had to live from one week to the next on nothing more than a few carob seeds, but he was so righteous that the Talmud says the entire world was sustained by his goodness.

Rabbi Chanina carefully followed all the teachings in the Torah. Among them is the directive to return lost property to its owner. (‘If you see another person’s animal, you shall not hide from it; you must return it to the owner. If the owner is not known to you, then you should bring the object into your house, where it shall remain until the owner inquires after it, and you will return it to him. So shall you do for his donkey, his garment, or any lost article that you may find. . . .’ …) Read the rest of this entry �

It’s the first Sunday of August (whoa, it feels like just yesterday I said that for January 2011), so it’s time to shine the spotlight on a student or new-to-the-field illustrator. And I’m doing the latter today — not a student, but an artist whose first illustrated picture book was just released this year (the only picture book this year, I can safely say, in which a sheep is slaughtered, grilled, and made into shish kebab). Maria Zaikina rendered the art in Lucine Kasbarian’s The Greedy Sparrow: An Armenian Tale, released by Marshall Cavendish in April, with layers of wax and oil paint and then cut away the layers to reveal the colors underneath. (Is this a sort of scratchboarding, perhaps?) I’m a nerd who, yes, reads reviews for fun, and I like how Kirkus described the illustrations as having, as you can see above, “an appealing, vigorous heft.” Yeah. What they said.

But, first. Quickly. It just occurred to me that it’s the five-year anniversary of 7-Imp. I’d almost forgotten. Back last month, when I realized a birthday was coming up, I figured I should do something special for the big five-year one. But then I got busy, and now I’m at a loss anyway. I’d really rather just do what I always do — feature some art. But I want to say, quickly: One of the reasons I started this blog five years ago—co-founded it, remember, with my best friend, who is still my best friend but just no longer a blogger (here’s the low-down)—was to connect with others and to keep my foot in the door of children’s lit. I was suddenly at home (my choice) with young babies, who were puddin’ heads (though screamy ones) and kept me on my toes, but altogether incapable of expounding on the latest and greatest in children’s lit with me. (All I was gettin’ was some goo-gah here and some baa-baa there.) I was no longer in a school library, where I could gab daily with teachers and other librarians who loved children’s and YA lit as much as I did. And I really missed that. Read the rest of this entry �

This morning I’m featuring the oil paintings of Maureen Hyde, and evidently this is her first illustrated title (from Gingerbread House) in about twenty-five years. What she has illustrated here is an imagined boyhood story from the life of Saint Francis of Assisi, written by Josephine Nobisso. (Yes, since I posted about this picture book so recently, I figured I should mention this one sooner rather than later.) “Our story is set in the very early morning—before anyone else is awake to observe it—in order to propose an imagined moment in the boyhood of Saint Francis of Assisi,” the author writes. “Do forgive our taking liberties with history! Even though the details may not be true, they are, at least, possible. When one is a saint, after all, any goodness is possible.”

Seven possible goodnesses before breakfast. I like it. Read the rest of this entry �

My introduction to this lovely book will be short, because I’ve been out of town, but suffice it to say that fans of 2006’s An Egg is Quiet and 2007’s A Seed is Sleepy will be happy to see A Butterfly is Patient (Chronicle Books, May 2011), again from author Dianna Hutts Aston and illustrator Sylvia Long.

As with the previous titles by this duo, this book is beautifully illustrated, informative, and engaging — all at the same time. This is an introduction to butterflies (the many varieties, their behavioral habits, their development and growth, their migration, and more), and Aston and Long do it up with style with text and illustrations that children and adults will pore over. Also as with the previous titles, many double page spreads are designed to look like the notebook of a nature-lover who has paused to note the beauty witnessed. Long’s illustrations, rendered in ink and watercolor, are lush and elegant. And the handlettering! Beautiful. Publishers Weekly calls this one a “lovely mix of science and wonder” and School Library Journal, a “lyrical, colorful, and elegant production.” Kirkus adds, “{s}imilar butterfly albums abound, but none show these most decorative members of the insect clan to better advantage.”

I said I’d be short, right? I meant it. Sorry not to provide more details, but I’ve got some unpacking to do. While I do so, here are some more spreads. You may click each spread to enlarge. Enjoy. Read the rest of this entry �

Before the summer gets away from us all (well, times flies when you’re busy, and before we know it, school will be starting), I’m showcasing today one of the most summery picture books I’ve seen this year, Pig Kahuna (Bloomsbury, May 2011).

This is the third picture book from fine artist Jennifer Sattler. (This 2009 7-Imp post features art from her first two titles.) It tells the story of Fergus and his baby brother, Dink, who are collecting treasures at the shore one day: Seaweed. A pebble that looks like an eyeball. A shell that might really be a shark’s tooth. Their collection grows. And all is well, “as long as Fergus didn’t have to go in the water.” There is the “lurking, murky ickiness factor of the water,” after all.

But then a surfboard washes ashore. They name it Dave. Needless to say, they play with it well away from the water. But when Fergus trots off to get ice cream, Dink sets Dave free. (This is pictured above.) Fergus braves the water to save Dave, but the entire experience isn’t what he expected: Read the rest of this entry �

Since I mention Katherine Paterson, the reigning National Ambassador for Young People’s Literature, below in my kicks, it’s only fitting that I share some spreads today from her picture book adaptation of Saint Francis of Assisi’s Canticle of the Creatures, illustrated by Pamela Dalton. In Brother Sun, Sister Moon, released in March from Chronicle’s Handprint Books, Paterson reimagines the nearly 800-year-old hymn of praise from Saint Francis, originally written in the Umbrian dialect of Italian and also known as the Canticle of the Sun, which celebrates life — everything from Brother Sun to Sister Moon and “all our Sister Stars who clothe the night” to even the courage given us “in this world of hatred and war.”

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