Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast

Blog break, schmlog break. Here are two books I’ve been meaning to talk about for forever now, both illustrated by Steve Jenkins, who is some kind of talented and a favorite of mine and a favorite of my children. (I mean, does it get any better than Actual Size?) . . .

I’ve been sittin’ on this wonderful anthology of poetry by the late Valerie Worth for the longest possible time now (thank you, Nashville Public Library, for your loooong circulation periods), enjoying it and trying to find some time to tell you about it.

Now, I know I’m all the dang time shoo’ing you over to David’s reviews at the excelsior file (obviously, I respect his reviews), so you may not be surprised that I’m going to quote him again. In his review of this title, he wrote, “It’s so nice to pick up a book of poetry for young readers that doesn’t condescend to the notion that young readers need poems that rhyme.” Hallelujah, I say. My thoughts exactly when I read these detailed, vivid poems about animals. There’s not a bad poem in here, each one pithy and precise, covering a wide range of animals from the camel to the cockroach and bringing each forth in a new light, sometimes even providing commentary on the way we, as humans, live. Here’s an excerpt from her poem about the cockroach, one that speaks near and dear to my fears (I truly am starting to believe I have a phobia): Read the rest of this entry �

{Note: Head here at Big A Little a for today’s Poetry Friday round-up} . . .

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about Gail Gauthier’s recent post, “Why Blog Reviews Are Important,” in which she makes the case for reviewing older titles after discovering that her most recently published novel was reviewed — eight months after publication — on two different blogs. Blogs, she writes, can extend the season of a book. In today’s world, the season of a book (or movie or any number of other new events, for that matter) is pathetically short. I won’t go on and on about this, except to say that when Eisha and I created this blog, I never set out to review just new titles. But that’s exactly what I’ve done. Gail’s post is a nice reminder that reviewing older titles “remind{s} readers of books they’d been meaning to read but had forgotten about” (such as this review from this week at the excelsior file, one of my favorite blogs — and if it hadn’t been for Just One More Book’s review of the ’06 re-print of Margaret Shannon’s The Red Wolf, originally published in 2002, who knows how long it would have taken me to find this intriguing picture book).

On that note, here’s something else that’s been on my mind, and here’s where the poetry comes in: Mama Goose, which serves as a child’s introduction to poetry. I’ve been reading Chris Roberts’ entertaining Heavy Words Lightly Thrown: The Reason Behind the Rhyme (first published in 2004 by Granta Books). Read the rest of this entry �

{I must quickly note — though unrelated to literature and related only to our site’s format — that we are finally ad-free! Woo hoo! Thanks, Blaine!} . . .

Get me. I recently admitted that I don’t read enough non-fiction, but here is a post about a couple more noteworthy non-fiction picture book titles I’ve experienced. Three in one week. Don’t pass out on me. (And I think I’ll throw in a few more in the way of poetry — technically, non-fiction, too, though I usually don’t have a problem getting my poetry).

This title you see on the left here is not only a good book, but the author, Patsi B. Trollinger, grew up in Tennessee (I was even told she’s a native of Sullivan County, not terribly far from where Eisha and I both used to live, in gorgeous East Tennessee). Trollinger’s Perfect Timing: How Isaac Murphy Became One of the World’s Greatest Jockeys — published in September of this year — became a reality after her interest was piqued when she saw a brief, six-line story about him in a local newspaper (she now lives in Kentucky), according to her web site.

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I don’t read enough non-fiction. There. I admitted it. I’m trying to rectify it, having received the requisite lecture after lecture in graduate school about its importance. And now I’m here to say I’ve read a great non-fiction title in the realm of children’s lit — Extreme Animals: The Toughest Creatures on Earth by Nicola Davies and illustrated by Neal Layton. Is this, technically, a picture book? I don’t know (it’s well over the standard 32-pages), but I don’t care. Where ever it gets categorized, it’s one rockin’ piece of non-fiction.

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… and he’s as awesome as ever, supplying his visual magic to Carole Boston Weatherford’s poignant text in the new picture book biography, Moses: When Harriet Tubman Led Her People to Freedom.

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I always wanted to read this book, published in 2002. But I never got around to it. I finally picked it up a week or so ago, knowing that the five-year anniversary of the 9/11 terrorist attacks was looming. And now it’s just one day away. I can still hardly believe it ever even happened.

911: The Book of Help is sub-titled, Authors Respond to the Tragedy. And that’s just what it is — a collection of twenty-two essays, poems, and short fiction by authors who typically write for young adults with drawings by Chris Raschka (done on the day of the attacks as the second tower fell), all created in response to the terrorist attacks. Edited by Michael Cart with Marc Aronson and Marianne Carus, a portion of the book’s proceeds were given to The Families of Freedom Scholarship Fund. All of the authors and Raschka donated their work. The title of the book makes a seemingly obvious connection between the date of the attacks to the emergency assistance phone number one uses to call for help. (But this terrible irony of the attacks is something that doesn’t always occur to folks right away). The book is divided into four sections: Healing; Searching for History; Asking Why? Why? Why?; and Reacting and Recovering.

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I could just mention this wonderful book in the picture-books-about-music thread that is going in the comments section of the “Never leave your cat alone” post. A few of us started discussing picture books about jazz, but Eisha also mentioned picture books about the blues, opera, and salsa. So, I could just throw in another comment about Honky-Tonk Heroes & Hillbilly Angels: The Pioneers of Country & Western Music (2006), but then you might not see it. And this is one swingin’ book, ya’ll, that you won’t wanna miss. And, yes, the title of my post is rather lame, as I’m trying to work in a Hank Williams lyric. Humor me here.

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Jules here, a.k.a. Miss Link-A-Lot, according to Eisha. I can’t stop adding author and illustrator links to the right.

So, we told folks about our blog yesterday, and that included my father. I was a bit nervous about what he’d think, ’cause he’s so dang smart. If I were half as smart as he is, I’d be set for life. And he said he enjoys it. He also said, “My only comment would be that it seems to be slanted to ‘ladies’ books since I did not recognize any of the books you are reviewing.” I love it! And, before anyone cries sexist!, let me say: a). he says it with no guile and in all sincerity and innocence, and b). don’t be pickin’ on my dad, yo. I’m sorry, but that’s just so cute (you have to imagine Wilford Brimley saying this, since he kinda looks like him sometimes). So, maybe I can find some books to read on model ship-building, which is his favorite hobby (and which I’m sure lots of ladies like to read about, too); I need to expand my reading horizons anyway (actually, I’d be better off reading about the ships and history behind the models he builds; any model I tried to put together would tumble to pieces pretty quickly, since graceful I ain’t and since I seem to have no right brain, but I digress). However, as for me reading other books he likes to read, I will not — I repeat, will not — read The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind that, yes, he tried to get me to read once. Lordy lord and sorry, but I gotta draw the line some where, Dad.

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So, the other night I came home kind of late, and as I was driving up to the apartment I saw a skunk, a SKUNK, run across the street in front of my car, from our landlord’s driveway to the neighbor’s yard.

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Motherhood is a lot of things. It’s joyful, demanding, weighty, sometimes monotonous. One moment you’re lovesick; the next, perplexed and jaded — often, you’re all of these things at once. And, as a good friend of mine likes to say, early motherhood, in particular, is a lot like boot camp.

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