Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast

Jules: Trixie’s back, and this time she knows plenty of words. She also has another dramatic epiphany: Last time it was realizing she left her beloved Knuffle Bunny in the washing machine at the laundromat. This time, hand-in-hand with her Daddy on her way to preschool, she comes to the harsh realization that her favorite plush doll is not as one-of-a-kind as she thought it was. Another girl in her classroom, Sonja, has a Knuffle Bunny as well. After lots of glaring and fighting over their dolls, including the correct pronunciation of its name (in what I suppose is a nod — and a very funny one at that — to the number of times Willems has probably been asked if it’s pronounced “Kuh-nuffle” or “Nuffle”), the teacher removes the dolls from their clutches and then — egads! — mixes them up when she returns them. And this time the “Trixie realized something” moment comes at approximately 2:30 a.m., making it an interesting night, indeed, for Trixie’s daddy, as they both attempt to return the right dolls to their rightful owners.

Eisha, what did you think? Is this not a completely winning sequel in every way? And I was worried, too, since sequels can be tricky things, but it totally delivers. And I’d like to quickly add that my three-year-old, when we first read it, immediately said “that’s not Trixie’s bunny” when the teacher returned them all mixed-up. I hadn’t even noticed this yet. Leave it to a child with their superpower-sharp observation skills.

eisha: That’s awesome. But maybe you just hadn’t had your coffee yet… Anyway, yes, this is a great sequel, and a great book in its own right. I just love the illustration style of the Knuffle Bunny books – the pastel-colored inked characters superimposed over black&white photographs just works for me. And I love the way the illustrations are positioned on the pages – sometimes staggered in a scrapbook effect, sometimes wrapping around the edge of the page, pulling the action forward.

How ’bout you? What did you love about it?

Jules: I read recently (at this DRAWN! interview) about the work that goes into those grayscale photographs in the Knuffle Bunny books, that Willems digitally removes objects like air-conditioners, trash, garbage cans, etc. so that the pictures possess “the ‘emotional truth’ of my personal experience.” I wonder if two tons of work had to go into the wonderful aerial spread of the Arch in Grand Army Plaza in Brooklyn (I’ve read in more than one place, including here at Fuse’s old template, that the photo was taken at 3 a.m. on the top of the main branch of the Brooklyn Public Library). Anyway, he makes it all look so simple, but it’s far from it.

I think these Knuffle Bunny books can be ranked right up there with Kevin Henkes’ wonderful domestic dramas (as my grad children’s lit professor used to call them, but then so does every reviewer in the world) — you know, all his mouse-protagonist stories, featuring Lilly and Wendell and Owen and such. Both Henkes and Willems are indisputable experts at mirroring the emotions of toddlers and pre-schoolers. But then amen, too, to what you said about the level of sophistication for the parents reading these books to those children. There are many more laughs for adults in this sequel — from the look Trixie’s daddy has when she’s going on and on about school in the beginning of the book, as you mentioned, to the look his wife gives him at 2 a.m. when he tries to put off the bunny search.

My very favorite moment — as in, the first time I read it, I had to put the book down and laugh aloud for a minute and then pick it up and see it again — is when Trixie first sees the other Knuffle Bunny, and the image of Sonja holding the bunny (with her nefarious smile) gets smaller and smaller in three successive frames and zooms in on the bunny’s face — not unlike you’re watching it on a movie or television screen (and I could hear the dramatic da-da-da! score in my head). Camera moves and such, you know. Oh my, I still laugh every time I see that. Willems got praised up and down with Knuffle Bunny for his ability to nail body language in his illustrations, and he really delivers this time, especially on that spread and especially in the very deflated look Trixie has right after she sees that other plush bunny. It is all just the very essence of toddler (not a new cologne, despite how it sounds). Rather, pre-schooler this time. Well, you know what I mean.

And, hey, I noticed that illustrations-wrapping-around-the-edge-of-the-page effect you mentioned; that didn’t happen in the first book. There are images in the first book that bleed to the very edge, but this sequel has some that definitely wrap around, propelling you forward as you read. Neat technique.

Did you have a favorite moment, too, or do they all wrap up for you into the one Unforgettable Knuffle Bunny Electric Bugaloo Experience?

eisha: Ha! Tough call. I do love the “zoom” moment you described. I love the “We have your bunny” noir moment. I love the view of the Arch. I love the epilogue. I love the moment when Trixie has flung the wrong bunny on the bed between her parents and is pointing accusingly at it.

Yup, I guess you’d have to say I love the whole Knuffle Bunny 2: The Legend of Curly’s Gold experience.

Jules: Knuffle Bunny Episode II: Attack of the Clones all the way!

Jules: This is Sís’ latest title, what Booklist calls a “combination of graphic novel and picture book.” For anyone who has perhaps not already heard about this one, let’s just take the publisher’s handy blurb:

Through annotated illustrations, journals, maps, and dreamscapes, Peter Sís shows what life was like for a child who loved to draw, proudly wore the red scarf of a Young Pioneer, stood guard at the giant statue of Stalin, and believed whatever he was told to believe. But adolescence brought questions. Cracks began to appear in the Iron Curtain, and news from the West slowly filtered into the country. Sís learned about beat poetry, rock ’n’ roll, blue jeans, and Coca-Cola. He let his hair grow long, secretly read banned books, and joined a rock band. Then came the Prague Spring of 1968, and for a teenager who wanted to see the world and meet the Beatles, this was a magical time. It was short-lived, however, brought to a sudden and brutal end by the Soviet-led invasion. But this brief flowering had provided a glimpse of new possibilities—creativity could be discouraged but not easily killed.

Eisha, I think this book is so amazing that I can’t quite apply enough what-will-probably-seem-meaningless adjectives to it: poignant, stunning, beautiful, powerful. What did you think? Did you read Fuse’s recent review (Part One and Part Two), definitely some food-for-thought?

eisha: I hadn’t read her review until after I’d read the book. She has some good points – this is not a neutral book. But it’s a memoir of a certain period in Sís’s life. I generally took the anti-Communist/pro-West tone as reflective of Sís’s feelings during that period, so I wasn’t particularly bothered by it. But a few bibliographic references wouldn’t hurt, I suppose.

Your turn, J. Go ahead and throw some adjectives around.

Jules: Your response to the anti-Communist/pro-West tone as reflective of him during that time is how I felt, too. I normally am all for subtlety in children’s books, less black and white (so to speak) approaches in storytelling, letting children put two and two together for themselves. But I also think in this kind of powerful story in which freedoms are so majorly hard-won that, well . . . it’s excusable to forego the need for such subtlety, such finely-drawn distinctions. There’s also a certain level of stylization in the illustrations here, particularly if Sís decidely set out to make this a combination of graphic novel and picture book. The pig-nosed soldiers, in other words, worked for me.

As for the density, I think — as Fuse also pointed out — that this is prime material for high schoolers, especially to supplement a world history course. I say give them those magnifying glasses, if you will, and as much time as you can spare, and let them take this all in. There is so much to pore over, particulary his old art work, as you mentioned, and photos. Didn’t I read somewhere that it took him years to create this, to work up the courage to tell the subject matter of his story, so raw for so many years? And yet, even though it is his personal memoir, it connects at such a universal level, too — the longing for personal freedom. It was all so, I dunno — does touching sound too corny? ‘Cause I thought it was.

And I agree about the final illustration. Didn’t work for me either. “Creepy” describes that moment well.

I read this in the School Library Journal review (’cause I’m a nerd who enjoys reading reviews): “The pacing and design of the compositions create their own rhythm, contributing much to the resulting polyphony.” How did you feel about the pacing and compositions? As you said, since there were so many details to pore over on some spreads, I found the larger, less detailed spreads almost a relief (such as the Prague Spring of 1968 spread), though they were detailed, too.

eisha: “Polyphony” is a good word. In some places it even borders on cacophony. So yes, I thought it was a good thing that the finely-detailed illustrations are occasionally interspersed with the large two-pagers. As I mentioned before, I had a hard time figuring out how to read this. At first I felt like I was spending too much time poring over each little illustration and reading all the little expositional snippets in the margins. That felt clunky, so I started over, just reading the story text at the bottom of the pages, thinking I’d come back and read all the historical stuff in a second reading. But that didn’t feel very satisfying – the story text doesn’t tell you enough about what’s happening in the illustrations. So in the end I think you really have to throw the idea of a linear story out the window. This is more like a series of galleries in a museum, with each collection of images and text combining to give the artist’s impression of a time and place; and you wander through, stopping in each room and looking at everything there is to see until you’ve had your fill. And definitely bring a magnifying glass.

That’s all I’ve got to say about it. How about you? Any last thoughts?

Jules: I think we mostly covered it. Your museum-gallery analogy for reading it/taking it all in is an apt one. “Apt” — now, that sounds like a watered-down compliment if ever there were one. “YES! SO APT!” {pumping arms in air} . . . but you know what I mean. Anyway, it’ll be interesting to see what happens, come award season, no? And I meant to add a big resounding YES! to the spread you were talking about — the “two-page spread of him riding away off the cliff on his bicycle, towards a hazy blue New York skyline, with his paintings forming a pair of wings behind him . . .” I found that very moving, too. It’s the ultimate example of the power of the art to heal, one of my favorite themes in literature, as I’ve rambled about before. Even more, really. It’s art as an escape. Powerful stuff.

Thanks for talkin’ books again, E-dawg. Doing a co-review on picture books was crizazy fun. Let’s take on Punk Farm on Tour next, since we just got our copies and since we get to interview Cow and Sheep and Pig and Goat and Chicken soon, as they gear up for their big concert tour. Until then . . .