Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast

The other day I heard Bach’s Concerto for Two Violins and Strings in D Minor (2nd Movement). This piece of music pretty much stops me in my tracks every time. I think it’s transcendently beautiful. It also always reminds me of the scene in the film adaptation (from way back in ’86) of Mark Medoff’s Children of a Lesser God in which James Leeds, played by William Hurt, is trying to describe that exact piece of music to his girlfriend, who is deaf, played by Marlee Matlin (for which she won the Oscar, damn skippy). Knowing that he loves the piece, she’s put the record on, walked into the room, and signed, “show me the music.” He tries, but he can’t quite find the words, so to speak.

And then that reminded me of the scene in Philadelphia (from not so far back as ’93), in which Tom Hanks’ character is asking Denzel Washington’s character if he’s ever heard Maria Callas sing La Mamma Morta. And the music moves him so much that he stands up with his IV drip to listen and tries to describe it and lets the music wash over him and the camera’s swinging around him slowly and then red washes over it all and the filming is just so GORGEOUS and it makes me cry so hard like a blubbery fool that the first time I saw it in a dark theater, I thought I’d BUST.

Same for that Children of a Lesser God scene. They are both so moving in that here are two mere mortals trying to capture the very ineffability of music. Valiant efforts, indeed, but can we really do that?

Well, Rainer Maria Rilke tried. I’m always drawn to those poets and authors and musicians who try to articulate the inexpressible, who venture out beyond all words into that mysterious realm. And Rilke is rather the master of all that, yes? Those two cinematic memories—brought to me by a serendipitous moment of Bach on public radio this week—invited Rilke’s “To Music” to mind, which has always been one of my favorite poems. “Music: breathing of statues. Perhaps: silence of paintings. You language where all language ends.”{*} Ah. Sublime. Read the rest of this entry »

Jules: So, Eisha, JUDY BLUME IS HERE! I know you’re as excited as I am that she’s stopped by 7-Imp for a short interview. It really is a kick to be a part of her blog tour, isn’t it? (The previous stops—and one remaining one—on her tour are listed at the bottom of this post for those who want to read further.)

And that would be because she was such an integral part of my childhood and the childhood of many readers our age(ish). Her engaging writing—which addressed questions we had about life and love and relationships in an honest and open manner—as well as her willingness to tackle matters in children’s lit deemed taboo by many other authors have made her not just a luminary of children’s literature, but also a household name. (To have your books be so entrenched into popular culture that they can be the subject of a Saturday Night Live skit goes a long way toward illustrating that latter point. This happened just this past weekend in “The Lost Works of Judy Blume” with guest host John Malkovich. If any of our readers missed it, have a similarly warped sense of humor, and want to see it, it’s posted here.)

Judy’s written over twenty-five novels for children and teens, and her book sales have exceeded approximately seven SKERJILLION. (Just slight hyperbole there. Her Wikipedia entry says 80 million.) She also has been awarded the National Book Foundation Medal for Distinguished Contribution to American Letters; has been selected by the American Library Association for its Margaret A. Edwards Award for her contributions to young adult literature; and has received the Library of Congress Living Legends award in the “Writers and Artists” category for her significant contributions to America’s cultural heritage. Impressive, to say the very least.

But, really, she’s just so…well, so flippin’ cool as the trailblazing, pioneering author she’s been over the years. She’s written books that have stayed with readers like us for most of our lives. As I’ve written before here at 7-Imp, she possesses a spot-on ability to nail the embarrassments, tensions, worries, headaches, and even joys of growing up and, in particular, sibling relationships — and with humor and sensitivity. And she’s still writing great books.

For those reasons, I’m humbled and flattered and even nervous that she’s here today. Does that make sense, Eisha, or do I sound like the total goober fan that I am? Read the rest of this entry »

Hey, everyone . . . Remember when author/illustrator Maxwell Eaton III stopped by last week during his blog tour for seven questions over breakfast? Well, as part of that tour, he also paddled his way over to The Well-Read Child and did a guest post over there. Eventually, I would have made it over there to read that, but I have Jeremy to thank for leaving a comment here and telling us to go check it out and that Maxwell had posted this great series of reluctant-reader tips in a comic format.

I went. I saw. I loved it. Since Maxwell told me I could post it as long as it was okay with Jill Tullo over at The Well-Read Child, I up and asked her. (I didn’t want to steal her thunder, steal her awesome guest post over there.) Well, Jill very graciously told me that of course I could post it over here, too.

Maxwell introduced these illustrations over at Jill’s site with the following:

In discussing reluctant readers I’ve decided to be a ‘wreluctant writer’ and quickly sketch out a few tips for any parents out there with their own little Ricky at home. Of course, I’m not a child behavior or literacy expert, but I do remember what it was like to be at the age where getting me to read was like taking me to get a haircut (a long, drawn out, hopeless battle where fifteen bucks goes down the drain and somebody’s ear gets cut). Oh to be twenty-three again. Anyway, I hope these little suggestions help or, at the very least, don’t result in any lawsuits. Then I’d have to reluctantly read the fine print on the subpoena, and that isn’t fun at any age. Enjoy!

Again, Jill’s post in its entirety is here. Many thanks to Jeremy and Maxwell — and to Jill for sharing. As someone who has worked in school libraries, this makes me nod my head enthusiastically and say amen a lot.

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Pictured above is Wabi Sabi, the cat in Mark Reibstein’s beautiful new picture book, Wabi Sabi, illustrated by Ed Young and published by Little, Brown Books for Young Readers this October. She’s sitting with her master, who has trouble explaining what Wabi Sabi’s name means when her visitors ask. “That’s hard to explain,” she responds, shaking her head.

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Jules: Welcome to our weekly meeting ground for taking some time to reflect on Seven(ish) Exceptionally Fabulous, Beautiful, Interesting, Hilarious, or Otherwise Positive Noteworthy Things from the past week—whether book-related or not—that happened to you.

It’s the first Sunday of the month — can you EVEN believe it’s the last one of the year? — and so it’s time to feature a new or student illustrator. Canadian illustrator Eric Orchard isn’t exactly new to illustrating, but I will join the Vancouver Sun in describing him as “a first-class up-and-coming illustrator,” which they did in October of this year when discussing Anything But Hank!, written by Rachel Lebowitz and Zachariah Wells and published this year by Canadian publisher Biblioasis.

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Here’s the thing about insomnia: it doesn’t just make you tired. It shades everything with a hint of the surreal. After enough nights of lying there watching the hours blink by on the alarm clock, the boundaries between awake and asleep get blurry. I’ll glance at the time on the computer screen at work and realize I have no idea what I’ve been doing for the past hour. I’ll be reading on the couch and doze off, continuing the story in a dream, then wake up and wonder why the story I’m reading doesn’t make sense anymore. I feel a little like Billy Pilgrim, like I’ve come unstuck in time.

I don’t mean to whine – I know my circadian rhythm will settle down eventually. This is just one of those things I’m prone to. Sometimes I get bouts of insomnia when I’m worried or excited about something, and I can’t get my brain to shut up long enough for me to fall asleep. Sometimes it seems to happen for no reason at all. But I think this time it was set off by crossing the international date line a couple of times within a week – my sleep cycle was totally messed up, and I haven’t managed to get it back on track yet. But it’ll pass.

Lines from this poem (a villanelle, one of my favorite forms) keep drifting around behind my eyes. I love it, not just for the irresistible rhythm, but for the dreamy, synesthesia-like atmosphere created by linking all those incongruous sensations. Here’s “The Waking” by Theodore Roethke:

I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.

We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.

Click here to read the rest. And then head on over to Mommy’s Favorite Children’s Books, where Karen is handling this week’s Poetry Friday roundup.

If I were more organized I would have declared this Blog Tour Week here at 7-Imp. First, Maxwell Eaton III stopped by, kicking off his tour at 7-Imp, and now Cece Bell is here in the midst of her own tour (if you’re interested in winning some original Cece art at the close of her tour, be sure to check out that link). I think Maxwell and Cece are a good pair of illustrators to show up beside one another during a one-week span, seeing as how they both create your more light-hearted, cheerful, cartoon-esque, colorful, fun-filled fare — books with uncluttered, spare styles and simple, rounded shapes for the youngest of picture book readers, yet ones that rely on their visual humor to snag the reader. Cece, who’s joining me for “buttered toast and hot chocolate” this morning, has certainly created books without a sock monkey as the protagonist, but there’s no question she’s better known for her tales of one of those old-fashioned, hand-crafted toys made from, you know, socks and fashioned to look like, you know, monkeys (all those titles published by Candlewick). Since 2003, Cece’s brought us three tales of Sock Monkey, beginning with Sock Monkey Goes to Hollywood: A Star is Bathed, which Publishers Weekly described as Cece’s “imaginatively silly debut.” Bouncy, breezy, “as light as cotton candy” (that would be School Library Journal on Sock Monkey Boogie Woogie: A Friend is Made) — these are descriptors for Cece’s tales. And, whew, what would we (and the children. THINK OF THE CHILDREN!) do in this world without our bouncy and breezy?

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This is a Quickie Post in Grand Appreciation of a Great Opening Paragraph.

I’ve been reading Polly Horvath’s newest novel, My One Hundred Adventures. No, really. I know I’ve been talking about picture books and illustrators A LOT lately here at 7-Imp, but I do still read novels, too. Anyway, it’s wonderful, and I love Horvath’s writing (er, 99.9% of the time). My One Hundred Adventures, published by Schwartz & Wade this September (and which, incidentally has been met with all kinds of starred reviews and comments such as “a masterful novel of considerable beauty” and “Horvath…at her finest”), tells the story of twelve-year-old Jane, who lives on the beach with her mother and siblings — and who longs for adventures. The novel centers around one particular summer in Jane’s life, one that involves a ride in a hijacked hot air balloon—with Nellie Phipps, preacher and very amateur psychic—and a falling-Bible mishap on said ride; babysitting a group of rowdy children as a result of the falling scripture; meeting a handful of men, one of whom could be her father; and more. Oh, and I’m not even done with the book. I’m sure there’s much, much more to come.

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Here’s Maxwell Eaton III. He’s rowing his way to my kitchen so that I can ask him seven questions over breakfast. Make that seven questions over “a big glass of orange juice, a big glass of whole milk, and a bowl of dry cheerios.” Maxwell adds, “if I could somehow suck more nutrients out of that meal than actually exist, I’d probably eat it three times a day for the rest of my life. Oh and please add a cup of coffee with way too much artificial creamer in it. But make it a small cup, because if I have too much, I’ll have to throw in the towel on drawing for the day. Shaky hands!”

Well, OF COURSE, I’m going to have coffee, the brown life-blood, and he deserves it after that strenuous rowing adventure. I’ll take good ‘ol-fashioned half-and-half, thanks very much, but—as a courteous hostess—I’ll have “way too much artificial creamer” on hand for Maxwell. See him again to the left here? He’s excited about his new book and is ready to chat. In fact, this is Day One of a blog tour Maxwell is undertaking; scroll down to the bottom of this interview for the remainder of his blog tour schedule. I’m happy to be kickin’ it all off here at 7-Imp.

Maxwell Eaton III is the creator of the the Max and Pinky picture book sagas, two of which have been covered here at 7-Imp (here and here), all published by Random House, and what Kirkus Reviews has called “a warm affirmation of budship.” Max and Pinky are best buds (“Always have been. Always will be”). Pinky loves Max just a little bit more than he loves marshmallows. Which is a lot.

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Jules: We have Mei Matsuoka to thank for this wintery-yet-warm illustration this morning as we prepare to list our kicks. Mei, as you can read here at her site, is half English and half Japanese (born in Tokyo and moved to England at age eleven), graduated from Kingston University in London with a degree in Illustration, is also an animator, collects hats and wears toe socks, and is learning Philosophy. I’m rather partial to bios like that, which provide random, appropros-to-nothing fun facts. Somehow, they tell us more about a person than the lengthier, more formal ones. Feel free to leave one or two or seven random fun facts about yourself in your kicks. Me? I collect suns. And I once saw The Hoodoo Gurus live.

That opening image is from Mei’s most recent title Footprints in the Snow, originally published in Great Britain in 2007 but published here in the U.S. this year by Henry Holt. Here’s Wolf at his writing table:

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