Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast

jules: It’s another multi-blog One-Shot World Tour Day (our most recent one being a visit to Australia with our Margo Lanagan interview last August, though I could have sworn we participated in another One-Shot Day. Ah well, moving on . . . ). Today several blogs will be writing about Canadian authors, and I thought I’d talk a bit about an illustrator whose work I think is one-to-watch, and that would be Jessica Meserve. Granted, she was born in New Hampshire, apparently, but she now lives in Edmonton, Canada. Just humor me here. I really want to tell you about this book.

As I mentioned in this recent post about Jessica’s debut title (Small Sister; Clarion Books; May 2007), Meserve studied illustration at Edinburgh College of Art, worked in publishing as a children’s book designer, and is now freelance illustrating. And Jessica’s done the illustrations for a new early chapter-book from Candlewick, Daisy Dawson Is on Her Way! by British author Steve Voake (just released yesterday, according to this link).

And I’d like to say that this book will so entirely wrap you around its finger and not let you go. Fortunately for us all, the front jacket flap says that “Steve Voake introduces beginning readers to a little girl with a big heart.” Yes, that emphasis is mine, and color me jumping-up-and-down, since that statement indicates we might have a series on our hands here.

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Check it out, ya’ll: we’ve got Sara Zarr in da house. That’s right, National Book Award finalist, Cybils nominee, generally kick-ass writer for young adults, Sara Zarr.

She first hit the scene with Story of a Girl, which won rave reviews and landed her in the NBA nominee camp for its gritty, funny, touching, and – yeah, why not? – inspiring depiction of a girl who makes a really bad decision and has to figure out how to live with the ugly consequences. But unlike a lot of teen novels, in this case the consequences of having sex at 13 with the wrong boy aren’t tangible (pregnancy, STD) – instead, Deanna has to deal with becoming a legendary “slut” in her small town, falling from her father’s favor, and wondering if she’ll ever be asked on a normal date by a nice boy. As School Library Journal said in a starred review, “This is realistic fiction at its best. Zarr’s storytelling is excellent; Deanna’s reactions to the painful things said to her will resonate with any reader who has felt like an outsider.”

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Jules: IT’S SPRING! And here are some poppies for you, courtesy of the very talented Kelly Murphy, an illustrator whose work Eisha and I adore. We’re so glad she’s stopped by today to share some new art work from some upcoming projects. This one, actually, is already featured on her site. Please do go see her re-vamped site. It’s seven kinds of awesome, people. Very beautiful. Anyway, Kelly gave us permission to pick which images we love the most — as well as sent us some new stuff, which we’ll get to in a minute — and it was very hard to pick, indeed. But here are two more:

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Here’s something you might not know: Lucinda Williams, an excellent songwriter for whom Jules and I share a deep and abiding love, is the daughter of a poet. I think I had maybe read that in an interview or two, long ago, and then more or less forgot about it. But I recently stumbled across this article about the two of them, and my interest was piqued. So I looked up Miller Williams, and I found out that he read a poem at President Clinton’s second inauguration. I also discovered this poem, “The Curator.”

There are images here that will haunt me for the rest of my life. Seriously.

The poem takes place during the Siege of Leningrad in WWII. The narrator, a young curator at the State Hermitage Museum (Did you see Russian Ark? Yeah, that place), describes how the museum staff had prepared for the German onslaught by packing up the paintings and storing them elsewhere. But they left the frames hanging on the walls to make it easier to rehang the paintings when it’s safe again…

Nothing will seem surprised or sad again
compared to those imperious, vacant frames.

Well, the staff stayed on to clean the rubble
after the daily bombardments. We didn’t dream—
You know it lasted nine hundred days.
Much of the roof was lost and snow would lie
sometimes a foot deep on this very floor,
but the walls stood firm and hardly a frame fell.

Here is the story, now, that I want to tell you.
Early one day, a dark December morning,
we came on three young soldiers waiting outside,
pacing and swinging their arms against the cold.
They told us this: in three homes far from here
all dreamed of one day coming to Leningrad
to see the Hermitage, as they supposed
every Soviet citizen dreamed of doing.
Now they had been sent to defend the city,
a turn of fortune the three could hardly believe.

I had to tell them there was nothing to see
but hundreds and hundreds of frames where the paintings had hung.

“Please, sir,” one of them said, “let us see them.”

And so we did. It didn’t seem any stranger
than all of us being here in the first place,
inside such a building, strolling in snow.

There’s one of the images that has seared itself into my brain: soldiers, standing in an opulent gallery strewn with rubble and snow, staring at empty picture frames while the curators… well, you really must read the rest of the poem. Goosebumps guaranteed.

Apparently this is based in fact, too. Here’s an article from an exhibition at the Hermitage about the Siege years that describes what life was like for the curators:

“The museum not only withstood the bombings, but continued its routine work, safeguarding its exhibits and buildings, hosting surrealistic tours of its vacant halls… The starving defenders of the Hermitage found solace in the thought that core collections would survive though they themselves might die.”

Amazing, isn’t it? What a story. And what a poem. And what a weird confluence of topics in this one blog post.

Poetry Goddess Elaine is on round-up duty at Wild Rose Reader. Do check out the other entries, if you haven’t already.

It’s time again for a look at some of my favorite new picture books — with the added bonus of taking a peek inside at some of the art work.

So, Adrienne and I are composing a list of our favorite Slightly Demented Picture Books and why we love them so. One of the books you’ll see on that list — whenever we actually post that thing, the idea for it having been born last August, I think (can someone please give me three more hours in each day?) — is Kara LaReau and Scott Magoon’s Ugly Fish, which I raved about here at 7-Imp over a year ago. Good things like Ugly Fish happen when LaReau and Magoon put their heads together, so I was thrilled to see they have a new one from Harcourt, Rabbit & Squirrel: A Tale of War and Peas, to be released this May.

If you’re wondering what exactly we mean by “slightly demented picture books,” well…you’ll have to tune in later and check out our list, huh? But, as a teaser and as Adrienne put it so well, they are those books that we love and that kids love that make some adults uncomfortable, ones that tell big truths about life in one way or another. We think Ugly Fish most definitely fits comfortably in that category, and more on that later. Is Rabbit and Squirrel’s tale one that is going to make some parents squirm a bit? No. But does it tell big truths about life? You’re darn tootin’ it does (sorry, my four-year-old’s vocabulary is encroaching its way into my own), in this case a bit of commentary about nothing less than war and peace. Whoa.

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That title might be lame, but at least I got your attention, right? That’s a rather pathetic amalgamation of the three titles I’m going to review today. Yup, it’s time for a short round-up of some new middle-grade titles I’ve read recently. Let’s get right to it then…

First off is Steven Herrick, Australian poet and free verse author, whose books I consistently adore, as I’ve made clear several times here at 7-Imp (see here for a review of The Wolf and here for By the River). Originally published in 2005 by Allen & Unwin, the first U.S. edition of Naked Bunyip Dancing has just been brought to us from Front Street. I know that free verse can be so used and abused that many of our loyal readers perhaps get twitchy when even hearing the phrase, but with Mr. Herrick, you’re in good hands.

This novel chronicles the school year for one Australian classroom 6C, a group of students who are a bit in awe of their unconventional new teacher, Mr. Carey, who has a beard, wears “flared trousers / and beads / and a T-shirt with the slogan / Meat is Murder on the front / and McDonald’s = McJunk on the back.” In his introduction to the class, Mr. Carey plays some Bob Dylan (“who sounds like / he swallowed a bag of marbles / and got two stuck up his nose”). Before the bell rings, Mr. Carey — whom the class has quickly dubbed “Carey, the scary!” and “the bearded beaded one,” though “Carey the hairy” is the name that sticks — tells the class that he hopes they’ll sing together and read some poetry after lunch. Ahem. They’re a bit blindsided by this, but Carey the Hairy quickly wins the adoration and devotion of all the students with his candor and creativity. Read the rest of this entry »

Ever seen the art in an illustrated book and cried? Not because the book is particularly sad in any way, but simply because the art is beautiful, the emotions evoked so stirring, and the creator so artistically accomplished? As melodramatic as it may sound, we here at 7-Imp have had experiences similar to that when looking upon the beautiful oil paintings of illustrator Kadir Nelson. Actually, you can make that “author-illustrator” now, since Kadir penned as well as illustrated his latest book — We Are the Ship: The Story of Negro League Baseball, just published in January by Hyperion/Jump at the Sun. As if his blazing talent with paint brushes weren’t enough, leaving us speechless at every turn . . . now he proves he’s got the writing chops as well.

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Jules: This is one of those Sundays in which we’re really featuring a book (as opposed to, say, an illustrator stopping by to share something new or not-seen-before), this one a (mostly) wordless picture book, entitled Jukebox, published by Kane/Miller this year (originally published in France in ’07), and created by French illustrator David Merveille — ahem, make that “illustrateur.” Having gotten these spreads from the publisher, since I think this book is awfully fun, I did email David to see if he wanted to send us some commentary about the book and perhaps talk about his creation of the art work therein, but alas! I had to send my email in l’Anglais, and I have no idea if he understood me (my high school French has receded into the far corners of my memory, and it is très mauvais — at least, I think that means very-bad-as-in-LOUSY).

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For the past couple of days I’ve been fighting off a raging blue funk. No particular reason, really – just a combination of seasonal affective disorder, travel fatigue, the endless grind of the job search, politics, world events, Dreamweaver 8, and… okay, fine, I’ll say it: PMS.

Blah. Blah-de-blah-blah-blah. Whatever.

Times like this, I gotta call in the big guns. Plath? No, did that already. Lowell? Nope, him too. Sexton? Meh. Millay?

Millay… Yeah, that’s it. When it comes to blue funks, Edna St. Vincent Millay knows how to throw down. Here’s “Spring”, a perfect little jewel of a downer poem:

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?

Ahhh… Nothing like a little Edna to make me feel like I’m in good company. But you really have to read the rest of the poem. The last line is the best.

Jama’s hosting the round-up today at Alphabet Soup. AND she’s got a contest going for anyone posting about Bob Dylan lyrics. So, here’s a couple verses from one of my favorites, “Song to Woody.” Thanks, Jama!

I’m out here a thousand miles from my home,
Walkin’ a road other men have gone down.
I’m seein’ your world of people and things,
Your paupers and peasants and princes and kings.

Hey, hey Woody Guthrie, I wrote you a song
‘Bout a funny ol’ world that’s a-comin’ along.
Seems sick an’ it’s hungry, it’s tired an’ it’s torn,
It looks like it’s a-dyin’ an’ it’s hardly been born.

It’s time once again to take a look at some of my favorite new picture books, but instead of merely reviewing them, we’ll take a peek inside at some of the art work therein, thanks to either the illustrator him or herself or the publisher. I have four books this week, and — since it would pain me to have to pick a favorite — I’ll put them in alphabetical order by illustrator. Yup, everything’s coming up Eun-hee Choung, Frank Dormer, Pascal Lemaitre, and Jeremy Tankard this week. Let’s get right to it then.

So, just take a look at what Minji is up to while her mother is away at the salon, getting her hair dyed a blazingly cool shade of red (illustrations used with permission from publisher):

This is from Minji’s Salon by South Korean illustrator Eun-hee Choung (Kane/Miller, February 2008), who was awarded the grand prize in the Korean Published Arts Contest in 2005. Her goal is to “make unique picture books,” and she undoubtedly succeeds with this one, originally published in South Korea in 2007.

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