A frequent topic of conversation in the children's room at the WFL...

Books in the Home: Reading Up

October 24, 2012 By Rosanne Parry Leave a Comment

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Like many writers, I had a reading childhood, but I’ve only recently understood how countercultural my mother was about my reading. My brother and sister and I are close in age, so when I was a child there were no big-kid books and little-kid books; no girl books and boy books. All the books belonged to all of us. They were shelved together in the living room, picture books through adult novels, fiction and nonfiction jumbled up in a wonderfully inviting way. My mother read to me extensively until I could read for myself, and then she not only stopped reading to me altogether but stopped supervising my reading. I was let loose to develop my own tastes and check out whatever caught my eye at the library.
When my children were young, I was happy to follow my mother’s lead and not keep books by gender or level or topic. Each of my four children had his or her favorites, and a few, very tattered, books were adored by everyone. When the kids were all younger than ten they moved fluidly among picture books, chapter books, middle grade novels, and nonfiction of all kinds.
Harry Potter was the start of the trouble. My oldest discovered Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone when she was in fourth grade and her youngest sister was just learning to walk. The books quickly became favorites that we passed around and discussed at dinner. We invented yard Quidditch for birthday parties and knitted hats for the house-elf rebellion. By the time the long-awaited final book was announced seven years later, my youngest, Madelaine, was dying to get in on the game, and being read to was not good enough. She wanted to read the last book for herself. Furthermore, she decided to read all six of the previous books in her second-grade year before the last book came out in the summer. I was all for the project, excited to see her so motivated, proud that she was reading independently — and yet, there were problems I didn’t foresee.
A five-pound book doesn’t fit the standard second-grader backpack, and it’s a lot to carry when you only weigh forty pounds. Madelaine enjoyed each book and loved being up to speed on all the characters her siblings had been talking about her whole life. Still, it took her so long to read them, as a new reader, that much of the momentum of the stories were lost in the work of decoding, so she never found them as exciting as the older kids had. Because the characters were many years older than she was and often focused on things that didn’t interest her, she never made an emotional connection with them, either. But she was keeping up with the big kids, and that was all she wanted.
On the midnight of the final Harry Potter release, all six of us went to our neighborhood indie, Annie Bloom’s, for the party. The kids were eight, eleven, fourteen, and sixteen. We bought one book and six bookmarks. We made the usual bargain about not talking about what happens until everyone’s bookmark passed that chapter — a good incentive for not hogging the book. It was a magical week that July when we all shared our long-awaited Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows!
And yet I found my own enjoyment of the book lessened because Deathly Hallows was such a dark story—not inappropriately dark, but grim reading for a child who had just lost her first tooth. From my tree-house office that week I watched Madelaine as she read aloud to our chickens. Periodically, she would slam the book shut and say to them, in complete earnestness, “This is one of the awful parts. I’m not going to read it to you. You’re only four months old. Maybe later — when you are big enough to lay eggs.” And then she would go curl up with her big brother in the hammock and work her way through the “awful part.” She managed. We all did, and, as with all the other books, there was yard Quidditch to play and inside jokes to tell and lots of meaty topics to discuss. My youngest did not suffer nightmares, as I had feared. But I did find some unanticipated consequences to letting her read up.
Not surprisingly, it took Madelaine the entire school year to read the first six Harry Potter books, which meant she read no picture books in second grade. Many of the really great picture books are for school-aged children. Saint George and the Dragon by Margaret Hodges, The Eleventh Hour by Graeme Base, and The Cats in Krasinski Square by Karen Hesse were favorites of my older children. She also missed out on Encyclopedia Brown and Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle and My Father’s Dragon. The first Clementine book by Sara Pennypacker came out that year, and I was longing to have someone just the right age with whom to share it. But it’s not so easy to go back to simpler books when you’ve spent a year filling up on richer fare. Madelaine’s reading improved tremendously in terms of both speed and comprehension, and of all the benefits of reading up, that’s by far the most immediately valuable. And yet I’m sorry to see that the classic characters from longer picture books and early chapter books are not part of the architecture of her imagination in the way they are for me and for her older siblings.
Now that my oldest two are in college and the younger girls are in middle- and high school, I’ve been rethinking my laissez-faire approach to reading up. For instance, my younger two often find YA books a little bit stale. John Green, whom they used to love when they were in grade school, seems a little silly to them now. And that’s a shame. It’s not that the books are lacking in any way. But as precocious readers, they took only a shallow spoonful of what was available in the text. If they were of a temperament to reread favorite books, they might have come to appreciate his work more fully in time. But they chose to move on, remembering the fun of their shared jokes from An Abundance of Katherines but not the substance they glossed over at the time.
There’s a lot of really great YA writing that my girls won’t touch because it seems too young. The writing is right on target for them developmentally, but because they’ve already read extensively in the genre, it simply doesn’t appeal to them in the way I’d hoped it would. In the last few years they have gravitated toward genres they didn’t read in grade school: steampunk, graphic novels, and fan fiction. Overall, though, they spend less time reading than their older siblings did.
Reading up is not as simple an issue as I’d once supposed. I’ve noticed a tendency among people in the book professions to scorn parents who advocate withholding older books from younger readers, painting them as rigid, conservative, and insensitive to the needs of the child. I thought so myself at the start, but now I have some sympathy for the longer view of trying to nurture a lifelong reader and not just a temporarily precocious one.
I’m happy to report that my younger girls do find YA books they like from time to time. They discovered Terry Pratchett at exactly the right moment and are avid fans. Fortunately, their older brother and sister remember the fun of shared reading enough to give The Wee Free Men a try, even though it’s “too young” for them. Now when everyone is home from college and they’re all making dinner together, they are full of inside jokes from the Discworld and have loud arguments in Nac Mac Feegle about whether the recipe calls for Special Sheep Liniment!
I have always thought that the social dimension of reading gets the short end of the stick in our current educational climate, one that puts so much emphasis on measurable results. In my opinion, the conversations that occur because of the book are far more valuable than anything on the page. So do I regret letting my younger two read YA books so early? No, not exactly; but I do recognize that they lost something in their childhood reading that I cannot now replace. It’s true that Madelaine, in a moment of rainy-day boredom, recently picked up Clementine and gave it a read, trumpeting the funny bits out loud as my kids often do. Those funny bits were still pretty funny, even from the lofty view of sixth grade. Clementine could have been a literary soul mate to my quirky and keenly observant girl. But that ship sailed years ago during her Harry Potter summer, and she and Clementine will be only passing acquaintances.
On the other hand, my kids feel a deep and lasting camaraderie over their shared reading, even as school and college and adult life pull them in different directions. They have grown apart in their talents and aspirations. They have their own circles of friends and will probably never all live in the same town again. And yet I do hope that the stories they loved together will be their common ground, just as Narnia and Earthsea and Middle-earth are the childhood homes my own siblings and I continue to share.
From the November/December 2012 Horn Book Magazine

From the Horn Book: Reading Along the Gender Continuum

Reading Along the Gender Continuum

August 20, 2012 By Julie C. Luecke Leave a Comment

Having grown up in the Free to Be generation, I’ve tried as a parent to steer clear of limiting gender norms in raising, and reading to, 
my son. We’ve read about boys and girls of all types, and (just as 
Hilary Rappaport describes in her May/June 2012 Horn Book article “On the Rights of Reading and Girls and Boys”), his preferences never seemed to hinge on the gender presented on the covers or through the characters. We’ve loved stories in which characters cross gender boundaries, such as Horace and Morris but Mostly Dolores and The Princess Knight and the classic William’s Doll, as well as stories that seem to ignore gender, such as my son’s one-time favorite, Ten Minutes till Bedtime, complete with discussions about which pronoun we should use for the main character.

I had never heard of the Rainbow Magic books (Scholastic) when my son, then five, announced that he wanted to read them; it soon became apparent that they were the new “in” books with his friends at school (kids with names like Emily and Ava and Sophie). So we borrowed Ruby the Red Fairy from the library, and he loved it: the good kids and the bad villains, the magic, the predictable formula, the tidy resolution. We moved on from the Rainbow Fairies to the Weather Fairies, and I told my partner it was his turn to read the next set (there being only so much trite writing I am willing to endure for the sake of crossing gender borders). As our son became an independent reader, we told him that if he wanted to read more Rainbow Magic books, he’d have to read them to himself, and read them he did.
One day when he was getting ready for a playdate, he said he wanted to hide his fairy books so no one would tease him. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with liking them, but he was beginning to recognize that some other kids might. The books were hidden for a while, and then when I started teaching children’s literature and asked if I could bring them in to work to show in my class, he said “sure.” He had moved on, continuing to devour books as he raced through the Littles and Humphrey the hamster, Little Wolf and Ramona, Hank Zipzer and of course the Magic Tree House. There weren’t “girl books” and “boy books.” There were just books.
He switched to a new school in first grade, and since then the books he has brought home from the school library seem to be very gender-typed: Justice League; Big Nate; several iterations of Star Wars. He tells me which kids checked the books out before him, and which ones are waiting to get them next (kids with names like Jack and Connor and Joaquin). He does enjoy these “for boys!”–blazened titles, despite the narrowing focus of the type of reading he is supposed to like. Though part of me mourns this loss, knowing there are many less-obviously-boy-oriented books that would appeal to him too, he is still reading passionately. But how is he being socialized to fit into gender categories? And what if a kid wants (or needs) to fight the categories? How much conviction does a second-grade boy need to carry a book with a pink cover out of the library?
My interest in the presentation of gender in reading materials has shifted over the past three years as I’ve begun to contemplate literary gender roles not just from a parental perspective but also from a professional one, teaching children’s literature to future teachers. Recently, one of my college students wrote a paper referencing The Secret Garden, and as I looked for a copy of the book in the library catalog I saw cover after cover that seemed designed to appeal to a specific category of readers: bookish girls. I do believe that we should work to change society so that we don’t have these gender limitations, and indeed we should not judge books by their covers (even though we know kids do, and will continue to do so). Yet by having images and colors that play into gender norms, aren’t book covers (or the publishers who select them) judging their readers? By putting a sparkly pink cover on a Rainbow Magic fairy book, has it been preordained that only girls need bother picking it up? By highlighting the fairies and jewels and glitter, do we inadvertently approve and promote the idea that boys won’t read about girls?

I have fallen into this trap, too. When I check books out for my class, if I think they might interest my son, I put them in his room until I need them; books I think are too old for him or not to his taste I set on my desk. One day he saw The Doll People on top of my pile and asked about it. Of course I said he could look at it, and in a matter of minutes he was immersed. In a couple of days it was read, as were the others in the series as quickly as we could borrow them. What had influenced me to sort that book into the desk pile? Was it the cover art (dolls, dollhouse, even a heart-shaped lock)? The flourish-filled font? The female authors? The word doll in the title? What if it had said mini-figure instead? The subconscious notions of my adult mind didn’t speak to the real child in my house. The avowed feminist had fallen for the old stereotypical assumptions.


Yet even more layers of assumptions are inherent in this discussion, identifying children as gender normative, boy or girl. On the rare occasion when titles like 10,000 Dresses or I Am J come out in which main characters identify as transgender, these books are praised—and rightly so—for providing bibliotherapeutic relief for young people who are transgender or questioning whether they may be. But our response to books portraying transgender characters reveals that we are once again falling into old patterns of categorization. Sure, we’ve added another perspective on gender, but we still want to separate people into clear-cut groupings: either you’re transgender, or you’re not. We believe we can embrace transgender children and a male/female dichotomy simply by reassigning these children to the appropriate gender role — swapping Captain Underpants for Babymouse.
The reality, however, is that many children are gender variant (with interests and behaviors persistently outside of typical cultural gender norms) and at different points in their lives might be living or exploring at various places along the gender identity continuum (see, for example, Ruth Padawer’s article “What’s So Bad About a Boy Who Wants to Wear a Dress?” in the August 12, 2012 New York Times Magazine). Assigning labels to these places isn’t as important as having a rich understanding of the ways gender is presented in books; a rich understanding of how kids may be presenting and exploring their gender and gender identity; and the skills to connect the two.
To gain that understanding and those skills, we need to remember not to judge children by the “covers” they present. One child may be presenting as a boy only because no other option is permitted in that family. Another may present as a “girly girl” in a phase of experimentation, but may want to both wear pink and study science. Maybe we have to realize that there can be many paths to the same summit, and some of them might involve a detour through an obsession with Disney Princesses and Barbie (and the narrowed roles they suggest), as was the case for one transgender girl I know.
So I would propose that we modify our language, speaking not of “Girl Books and Boy Books,” but of books across gender. To the advice contained within the section of the same name in Roger Sutton’s essay in A Family of Readers (Candlewick), I would offer a modification (in italics below): “The best thing you can give to a would-be, could-be reader, regardless of gender, gender identity, or gender presentation, is access to a wide variety of reading possibilities among which he or she can find what seems just right, labels be damned.” And yet, peer pressure is a mighty force with which to contend, particularly for gender-variant or transgender children, who are routinely targeted for teasing and bullying. A boy who otherwise aligns with gender stereotypes may be given a pass for reading Ivy + Bean, but one who is already ridiculed for being effeminate may find taking such a risk much more dangerous.
So where do we find good books for the children along the middle of the continuum? What do we suggest to the child who feels like a girl but is called a boy (or vice versa), the kids who are exploring gender, or the ones who want to understand a friend who is exploring gender?
It’s not enough to have content with gender-diverse appeal; packaging matters too. Some authors deftly manage to weave rich characters of diverse genders into their books only to be faced with the loss of potential readers through covers that invite just one segment of the gender spectrum, such as the misleading suggestion of romantic fiction on the cover of Phoebe Stone’s engaging historical mystery, The Romeo and Juliet Code. Occasionally publishers make changes between editions, as happened with Linda Sue Park’s Keeping Score: the paperback edition sports not only a new font and image (a dog and a baseball) on the cover but a new subtitle as well, all significant improvements over the cursive lettering and girl-centric picture on the hardcover.


Gender variant girls in many ways have it easier; in my work in the schools, they are comfortable picking up Diary of a Wimpy Kid and adore the Harry Potter books with no reservations. But let’s make sure it stays that way, while opening doors for boys to explore diverse genres. Let’s damn the labels, but let’s actively try to defy them too. There are lots of great examples with titles and cover art that don’t play into the trappings of gender. Books with girls as main characters should appeal to many kids, and titles such as Rules and Out of My Mind (both with goldfish on the covers), When You Reach Me (with its clever display of symbols), and Zebrafish (with a diverse group of kids pictured) are excellent models of inviting potential readers rather that prescribing them. The Judy Moody and Stink books serve as positive examples as well, with their neutral book covers and mix of central characters. The Hunger Games series demonstrates the potential for strong sales with packaging that appeals to all readers. We do want all kids to read more, regardless of how they identify along the gender continuum. And ideally all kids will feel safe to explore gender through their reading, in order (as Roger Sutton put it in his September/October 2007 Horn Book editorial) “to independently and privately assume whatever (not whichever) genders [they] like.” And then maybe, through access to the perspectives these books provide, they can come closer to finding an authentic gender identity and, in the best-case scenario, finding an identity as a reader as well.

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Books with Gender-Diverse Appeal

Anything but Typical (Simon, 2009) by Nora Raleigh Baskin [Intermediate, Middle School]
I Am J (Little, Brown, 2011) by Cris Beam [High School]
The World According to Humphrey (Putnam, 2004) by Betty G. Birney [Primary, Intermediate]
Be Who You Are (AuthorHouse, 2010) by Jennifer Carr; illus. by Ben Rumback [Primary]
Beezus and Ramona (Morrow, 1955) by Beverly Cleary; illus. by Louis Darling [Intermediate]
The Hunger Games (Scholastic, 2008) by Suzanne Collins [Middle School, High School]
Out of My Mind (Atheneum, 2010) by Sharon M. Draper [Intermediate]
Peter H. Reynolds and FableVision Present Zebrafish (Atheneum, 2010) by Sharon Emerson; illus. by Renée Kurilla [Intermediate, Middle School]
10,000 Dresses (Seven Stories, 2008) by Marcus Ewert; illus. by Rex Ray [Primary]
Born to Fly (Delacorte, 2009) by Michael Ferrari [Intermediate]
The Princess Knight (Scholastic, 2004) by Cornelia Funke; illus. by Kerstin Meyer [Preschool, Primary]
Hoot (Knopf, 2002) by Carl Hiaasen (also Flush (2005), Scat (2009), and Chomp (2012)) [Intermediate, Middle School]
Operation Yes (Levine/Scholastic, 2009) by Sara Lewis Holmes [Intermediate, Middle School]
Horace and Morris but Mostly Dolores (Atheneum, 1999) by James Howe; illus. by Amy Walrod [Primary]
Pinky and Rex and the Bully (Atheneum, 1996) by James Howe; illus. by Melissa Sweet [Primary]
Diary of a Wimpy Kid (Amulet/Abrams, 2007) by Jeff Kinney [Intermediate, Middle School]
Rules (Scholastic, 2006) by Cynthia Lord [Intermediate]
The Doll People (Hyperion, 2000) by Ann M. Martin and Laura Godwin; illus. by Brian Selznick [Primary, Intermediate]
Jeremy Fink and the Meaning of Life (Little, Brown, 2006) by Wendy Mass [Intermediate, Middle School]
Judy Moody (Candlewick, 2000) by Megan McDonald; illus. by Peter H. Reynolds [Primary, Intermediate]
Stink (Candlewick, 2005) by Megan McDonald; illus. by Peter H. Reynolds [Primary]
The Littles (Scholastic, 1967) by John Peterson; illus. by Roberta Carter Clark [Primary]
Ten Minutes till Bedtime (Putnam, 1998) by Peggy Rathmann [Preschool]
Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Levine/Scholastic, 1998) by J.K. Rowling; illus. by Mary GrandPré [Intermediate]
Bluefish (Candlewick, 2011) by Pat Schmatz [Middle School]
When You Reach Me (Lamb/Random, 2009) by Rebecca Stead [Intermediate, Middle School]
Little Wolf’s Book of Badness (Carolrhoda/Lerner, 1999) by Ian Whybrow; illus. by Tony Ross [Primary, Intermediate]
Countdown (Scholastic, 2010) by Deborah Wiles [Intermediate]
Parrotfish (Simon, 2007) by Ellen Wittlinger [High School]
Peace Locomotion (Putnam, 2009) by Jacqueline Woodson [Intermediate]
William’s Doll (Harper & Row, 1972) by Charlotte Zolotow; illus. by William Pene du Bois [Preschool, Primary]

Give ‘Em Helvetica: Picture Book Type

August 15, 2012 By Leonard S. Marcus 8 Comments

Type — the formal language of the printed word — speaks to us in mysterious ways. It’s not always clear just what type is saying, or how our reading experience is enhanced or undermined, however subtly, by slight variations in point size (the overall dimensions of the type), or the thickness and proportions of an ascender or terminal (particular elements of certain letterforms). But at a minimum, type is one of the major ingredients in the creation of a visual environment that is favorable to reading, and a book designer must always be thinking about how to achieve this result in a given situation. In the case of picture books, there seems to be widespread agreement among design professionals that the best type is most often the one that calls the least attention to itself.
Not long ago, Claire Counihan, director of art and design at Holiday House and a type devotee from her student days at Pratt Institute, was planning a new series of easy readers to be illustrated by a variety of artists. Among Counihan’s first decisions was to select a sans serif type for the entire series. “Older, more accomplished readers,” she explains, “are better served with serif faces, which help the eye travel more swiftly from word to word by making a series of visual connections. But for new readers, word recognition, not speed, is the point. My editor, Grace Maccarone, and I considered the usual suspects: Gill Sans, Helvetica, Futura. In the end we picked Report School because it has a nice high x height (the height of the lowercase letters) and the letterforms are simple, with the a, d, and g, for example, formed from just a circle attached to either an ascender or a descender.”
On Holiday House’s inaugural I Like to Read series list was Paul Meisel’s See Me Run. Counihan continues: “Paul studied graphic design at Yale before turning to illustration, so type is always a big part of our discussions. Because Paul’s text was just eighty words long, we agreed that the initial point size I had chosen should be increased to better counterbalance the art. I kept the leading — the space between lines — the same, however. Too much leading and your eye plunges from line to line! For display, I picked Wild Ketchup, a typeface as bouncy and wacky as the dogs that run through the book.” See Me Run won a 2012 Theodor Seuss Geisel Award Honor.
Martha Rago’s approach to typography is rooted in classic design principles learned in the 1980s under mentors Nanette Stevenson, Atha Tehon, Riki Levinson, and Cynthia Krupat. Rago, executive art director at HarperCollins Children’s Books, believes that a successful book design “brings order and cohesion to the whole work” while also “matching the book’s emotional content.” As the designer of Night Driving, the first picture book illustrated by Peter McCarty, she noted the spare, poetic, and nostalgic tone of both John Coy’s text and McCarty’s pictures as well as the emotional impact of the story they told — a reminiscence of a boy’s nighttime drive in the company of his father. McCarty’s “shaded, tonal black and white images, rendered in grainy, textual graphic, and featuring round, sculptural forms” were, she says, “both warm and refined.” They referenced period cars, clothing, landmarks, and other details suggestive of the 1940s or early 1950s. With this in mind, Rago chose Gill Sans Light for the text, a sans serif font that had been designed by Eric Gill in 1931. “It is a humanist font, with warmth in its round forms, but also with an elegant, no-nonsense quality, especially in its lighter weights. I used fairly open leading to keep it readable and accessible, with a generous negative space around the blocks of text on each page, to face images framed in a margin of white. The display, Umbra, is also from the 1930s, a cut that relates to the forms of Gill Sans but with sharper verticals, and has a shadow effect that echoes the glow of light and shadow through the book’s imagery.”
While harmoniousness and understatement are clearly among the watchwords in picture-book type selection and design, the element of surprise also has a role to play. Lee Wade, vice president and publisher of Schwartz & Wade Books, recalls with delight her decision to set the copyright notice for Velma Gratch & the Way Cool Butterfly in the shape of a butterfly. She admires the boldness with which the great American graphic designer Paul Rand, in the picture book Sparkle and Spin, broke with the typographic scheme of the book to create a dedication page to remember. “The dedication,” Wade says, “appears in black hand-lettering in the top right-hand corner of the first page of the book. And since it is the only hand-lettering in the whole book, and seems to have been drawn with a black felt-tip pen, it looks like a personalized message to each reader — a design surprise for sure!”
The picture book has a long-standing tradition of hand-lettering, motivated (one assumes) by the basic desire cited by Wade to connect with young readers in the most intimate way possible. Examples from the 1920s and 1930s include William Nicholson’s Clever Bill, Wanda Gág’s Millions of Cats, and Jean de Brunhoff’s The Story of Babar (as originally published). More recently, Vera B. Williams’s “More More More” Said the Baby and Chris Raschka’s Yo! Yes? have continued in this vein. David Saylor, vice president and creative director of trade publishing at Scholastic, observes that a combination of hand-lettering and idiosyncratic type decisions that skew in the direction of hand-lettering are among the factors that define the special visual impact of Margaret Wise Brown and Clement Hurd’s Goodnight Moon.
“The design of Goodnight Moon,” Saylor notes, “is not complicated, but you can tell that careful thought went into it. You can see this in the decision to add color to the type on full-color pages; the sizing of the type so as to sit well on the page without competing with the artwork while still holding its own.
“The text font,” he says, is “a solid, very friendly sans serif (Martin Gothic Bold, I believe), not typical of the classic picture books that relied on serif fonts for some sort of authority. And the hand-lettering of the title type adds a nice warmth and almost casual feeling to the book. It all looks effortless — and inevitable.”

Playing Nice Donald Crews has always turned to the same font—Helvetica—for the titles and texts of his now-classic picture books for toddlers and preschoolers. Asked about this, he responds—half in rapture and half in disbelief at being called upon to state the obvious—with a question of his own: “What would we do without Helvetica? Helvetica lets us create simple and beautiful words, phrases, and paragraphs that meld perfectly with the geometric, iconographic imagery in modern design solutions. It conveys the essential information but doesn’t overwhelm the overall page, poster, or book. It plays nice.”

The path to reaching that nirvana of ultimate design integration is, of course, maddeningly different for each and every book. As the art director for Stephen Savage’s first picture book, Polar Bear Night, Saylor sensed the need for a strong sans serif to match the monumental feel of Savage’s linoleum block illustrations. “I wanted the type to feel definite and confident, the same way the bear cub feels as she ventures out to explore the world.” The font Saylor selected, Neutraface Text Bold, was inspired by letter designs of the twentieth-century American architect Richard Neutra, and it served to accentuate the retro flavor of Savage’s art.
Given the inherent playfulness of the picture book as a genre, it was inevitable that type would one day assume a more kinetic and central role than the supporting one usually assigned to it. Iconoclastic artists of the last century, from French poet Guillaume Apollinaire to American painter Jasper Johns, produced modernist magic by shining a maverick light on the letterforms in a quixotic quest for the message embedded in the medium. And while news of their experiments was slow to reach Children’s Book Land (surprise, surprise), when it finally did make an impression — most notably via the typographic high jinks of The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales, designed by Molly Leach — designers took note of a picture book that had clearly opened up new territory for everyone. As Laurent Linn, art director at Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers, observes, type in The Stinky Cheese Man not only harmonized with the art but also became “an integral part of the illustrations.”
It was significant, he says, that Leach selected Bodoni, a classic font, for the body type, rather than a showier or more outlandish choice. “Using a single, well-known font established a solid foundation, which in turn helped to ground the overall design within which the illustrations were quite energetic and zany. But the real creative genius lies in how the type was manipulated and placed to create real emotion and energy and humor. You don’t need to read a word to understand what each particular character means to say.” For a pre-reader, Linn adds, the type becomes almost as big a part of the visual experience as the illustrations.
A picture book Linn himself recently designed shows how design ideas, including those learned from The Stinky Cheese Man, can travel and morph to suit the unique challenges posed by a very different kind of project. For I, Too, Am America, Linn wanted a way to signal poet Langston Hughes’s contrasting vision of the prejudiced time in which he lived and the future that he hoped would bring racial equality. In addition to what became an exhaustive search for a single typeface that felt appropriate for both the historical and contemporary scenes evoked by Hughes and depicted by illustrator Bryan Collier, Linn wished to draw a clear graphic distinction between the two time periods through a contrast in the type presentation.
“For the first [historical] part, I set the type in white, framed boxes within the illustrations. I also placed the art itself in a similar, traditional frame. Then, for the second half of the book, I got rid of the frame around the art and had the illustrations go fully to the paper’s edge, so that we no longer see the book’s world through a frame, but are fully in it. I also eliminated the text boxes. In this part, the text flows freely, curved and floating on pieces of paper that swirl through the air, each incorporated into the art. The type goes from being outside of the action to being a part of the action, just as the reader does.”
And as readers of The Stinky Cheese Man have been doing now for years.

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All Types of Type

Goodnight Moon (Harper & Row, 1947) by Margaret Wise Brown; illus. by Clement Hurd
Night Driving (Holt, 1996) by John Coy; illus. by Peter McCarty
Freight Train (Greenwillow, 1978) by 
Donald Crews
Harbor (Greenwillow, 1982) by Donald Crews
The Story of Babar, the Little Elephant (Random, 1933) by Jean de Brunhoff
Millions of Cats (Coward-McCann, 1928) by Wanda Gág
I, Too, Am America (Simon, 2012) by Langston Hughes; illus. by Bryan Collier
Velma Gratch & the Way Cool Butterfly (Schwartz & Wade/Random, 2007) by Alan Madison; illus. by Kevin Hawkes
See Me Run [I Like to Read] (Holiday, 2011) 
by Paul Meisel
Clever Bill (Doubleday, Page & Co., 1926) by William Nicholson
Sparkle and Spin: A Book About Words (Harcourt, 1957) by Ann Rand; illus. by 
Paul Rand
Yo! Yes? (Orchard, 1993) by Chris Raschka
The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales (Viking Penguin, 1992) by Jon Scieszka; illus. by Lane Smith
Polar Bear Night (Scholastic, 2004) by Lauren Thompson; illus. by Stephen Savage
“More More More” Said the Baby: 
3 Love Stories (Greenwillow, 1990) by 
Vera B. Williams
From the September/October 2012 issue of The Horn Book Magazine.

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Filed Under: Creating Books, Featured Tagged With: HBMSept12, Horn Book Magazine, sight reading

About Leonard S. Marcus
Leonard S. Marcus is the author of Minders of Make-Believe (Houghton), The Annotated Phantom Tollbooth (Knopf), Show Me a Story! (Candlewick) and Listening for Madeleine: A Portrait of Madeleine L’Engle in Many Voices (Farrar).

2012 Boston Globe-Horn Book Awards

2012 Boston Globe–Horn Book Awards for Excellence in Children’s Literature

June 7, 2012 By Horn Book

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Rebecca Stead and Roger Sutton announcing the 2012 Boston Globe-Horn Book Awards.

Today, at BookExpo America, The Horn Book’s editor in chief Roger Sutton and 2010 Boston Globe-Horn Book Award-winning author Rebecca Stead (When You Reach Me, Random House) announced the 2012 Boston Globe-Horn Book Award winners.

PICTURE BOOK AWARD WINNER:
Extra Yarn by Mac Barnett, illustrated by Jon Klassen (Balzer + Bray, a HarperCollins imprint)
When young Annabelle finds a small box containing a never-ending supply of yarn of every color, she does what any self-respecting knitter would do: she knits herself a sweater. Then she knits a sweater for her dog. She continues to knit colorful garments for everyone and everything in her snowy, sooty, colorless town—until an archduke gets greedy.
Read The Horn Book‘s review
FICTION AWARD WINNER:
No Crystal Stair: A Documentary Novel of the Life and Work of Lewis Michaux, Harlem Bookseller by Vaunda Micheaux Nelson, illustrated by R. Gregory Christie (Carolrhoda Lab, an imprint of Lerner)
Lewis Michaux opened the National Memorial African Bookstore in Harlem at the end of the Great Depression with an inventory of five books and a strong faith that black people were hungry for knowledge. For the next thirty-five years, his store became a central gathering place for African American writers, artists, intellectuals, political figures and ordinary citizens. In a daring combination of fiction and nonfiction and word and image, thirty-six narrative voices are interwoven with articles from the New York Amsterdam News, excerpts from Michaux’s FBI file and family papers and photographs.
Read The Horn Book‘s review
NONFICTION WINNER:
Chuck Close: Face Book, written and illustrated by Chuck Close (Abrams Books for Young Readers) 
Chuck Close’s art is easy to describe and especially attractive to children because he creates only portraits—in almost every possible medium with an intriguing trompe l’oeil effect. This book explores how his life story and so-called disabilities relate directly to his style. In this Q&A–style narrative, Close himself answers with a clear voice without a hint of famous-artist self-aggrandizement or angst.
Read The Horn Book‘s review

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PICTURE BOOK HONOR WINNERS:
• And Then It’s Spring by Julie Fogliano, illustrated by Erin E. Stead (Roaring Brook Press, a Macmillan imprint)
• And the Soldiers Sang by J. Patrick Lewis, illustrated by Gary Kelley (Creative Editions)
Read The Horn Book‘s reviews
FICTION HONOR WINNERS:
• Life: An Exploded Diagram by Mal Peet (Candlewick Press)
• Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein (Hyperion Books for Children, a Disney imprint)
Read The Horn Book‘s reviews
NONFICTION HONOR WINNERS:
• Georgia in Hawaii: When Georgia O’Keeffe Painted What She Pleased by Amy Novesky, illustrated by Yuyi Morales (Harcourt Children’s Books, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt imprint)
• The Elephant Scientist by Caitlin O’Connell & Donna M. Jackson, photographs by Caitlin O’Connell and Timothy Rodwell (Houghton Mifflin Books for Children, Houghton Mifflin Harcourt imprint)
Read The Horn Book‘s reviews

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“The Boston Globe-Horn Book awards are unique for so many reasons—the winners are books that are frequently unusual or under-the-radar choices,” said Sutton. “Because of the small judging panel, there’s always an excellent chance for surprise. Each year, the judges uncover some amazing treasures that I think will delight adult readers as much as the intended audience of children and young adults.”
Celebrating its 45th year, the Boston Globe-Horn Book Awards are among the most prestigious honors in the field of children’s and young adult literature. Winners and two Honor Books are selected in each of three categories: Picture Book, Fiction and Poetry, and Nonfiction.
Previous Boston Globe-Horn Book winners include luminaries Ezra Jack Keats (1970, Picture Book Award Winner), David Macaulay (1989, Nonfiction Award Winner), Lois Lowry (1987 Fiction Award Winner, 1993 Fiction Honor Winner) and Tim Wynne-Jones (2011, Fiction Award Winner; 2007, Fiction Honor Winner; 1995, Fiction Award Winner). A complete list of previous winners is available here.
The awards are chosen by an independent panel of three judges appointed by Mr. Sutton. The 2012 Boston Globe-Horn Book Awards judges are: chair Thom Barthelmess, curator and lecturer, Butler Children’s Literature Center, Dominican University (Chicago, IL); Lauren Adams, high school English teacher and former The Horn Book editor; and Megan Lambert, instructor at The Center for the Study of Children’s Literature at Simmons College (Boston, MA).
The winning titles must be published in the United States, but they may be written or illustrated by citizens of any country.
The awards will be given at the Boston Globe-Horn Book Awards Ceremony, a part of The Horn Book at Simmons Colloquium (September 28 and 29, 2012) at Simmons College in Boston, MA. The event kicks off with the Boston Globe-Horn Book Awards ceremony with speeches from the honorees, followed by an autographing session and a celebratory evening reception. The following day, The Horn Book at Simmons Colloquium features the awardees in talks, panel discussions and small group sessions offering librarians, educators and children’s literature professionals a chance to examine critical issues relevant to children’s and young adult literature.
First published in 1924, The Horn Book Magazine provides its readership with in-depth reviews of the best new books for children and young adults as well as features, articles, and editorials. The Horn Book Guide, published twice annually, provides comprehensive reviews and a numerical rating for every hardcover children’s book published in the United States during the previous publishing season. The Horn Book Magazine, Guide, and Guide Online are publications of Media Source Inc., which is also the parent company of Library Journal, School Library Journal, and Junior Library Guild.

Two questions for four Fellows by Roger Sutton

Two questions for four Fellows

June 6, 2012 By Roger Sutton

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Left to right: Roger Sutton, Maurice Sendak, Sergio Ruzzier, Frann Preston-Gannon, Ali Bahrampour, Denise Saldutti. Photo by Richard Asch.

Last year, I went to Maurice Sendak’s house to spend a day with the Sendak Fellows, four artists who were given time and studios to work on any project they desired, as well as access to Maurice for advice and encouragement. So who better to talk about his legacy? I asked each Fellow “what’s the most important thing you learned from Maurice?” (And, as a bonus, asked them for their favorite Sendak titles.)
Frann Preston-Gannon:
1. Maurice confirmed so many things that I already felt but didn’t have the confidence to admit. He taught me that while creating books everyone else should be forgotten, even children themselves. As he said during our stay: “Kids…What do they know?” In his profound and wonderful way he repeatedly told us “don’t let the bastards get you.” Most of all, the fellowship made me utterly grateful and proud to call myself an illustrator and to be doing what I love.
2. I hesitate to say Where the Wild Things Are as it seems too obvious, but that book means the world to me — and for the wicked Wild Thing inside, I believe it always will. The Sign on Rosie’s Door was also a great love of mine as a child.
Sergio Ruzzier:
1. That I will probably never be able to get rid of self-doubt. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
2. The Little Bear books, which were among the very first books I saw. Those pen drawings made an everlasting impression on me.
Ali Bahrampour:
1. It’s hard to pick out something I learned in any didactic sense. Maurice Sendak was himself a lesson: his integrity, his devotion to his art, his warmth and generosity to the fellows. I know that if I am ever tempted to make some concession or take the easy road, I will think of Maurice and be too ashamed to betray myself.
2. Part of me wants to pick In the Night Kitchen. Another part wants to pick the gorgeous drawings for Hector Protector. But my childhood self chooses Pierre, for whom I felt a perverse admiration for sticking to his principles even from inside the lion’s belly.
Denise Saldutti Egielski:
1. Live your life, he would say, be happy (he loved to laugh), it’s okay being different, it’s okay being sad or even frightened or frightening at times, let love rule, be brave and be bold, be yourself in your art, and then tell children anything you want. Maurice has had a profound effect on my life since he was my teacher when I was twenty and more recently when I was a Sendak Fellow. I feel like I’ll never stop learning from this great artist. I know I will never stop missing him.
2. Recently my sister sent me Somebody Else’s Nut Tree and Other Tales from Children by Ruth Krauss, illustrated by Maurice Sendak. I had never seen this book before, and now I can’t put it down — it’s so full of life, warmth, humor, sadness and all “gracefully illogical.”

Animal Masquerade --- one of our new favorites!

Review of Animal Masquerade

May 15, 2012 By Kathleen T. Horning

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Animal Masquerade
by Marianne Dubuc; trans. from 
the French by Yvette Ghione; 
illus. by the author
Preschool, Primary Kids Can 120 pp.
3/12 978-1-55453-782-2 $16.95
For kids who never tire of driving one joke into the ground, this is the perfect book—and for their adults, there are enough surprises to make that one joke tolerable for repeated readings. There are fifty-three animals headed for a costume party, each one disguised as 
the next animal in line. Six additional party guests/disguises include Little 
Red Riding Hood, a three-headed 
monster, a unicorn, a poppy, and a chocolate cake. Of course, it’s funny 
to see a mouse disguised as a flamingo, a flamingo disguised as a giraffe, and a giraffe disguised as a millipede—
suffice it to say that none of the disguises are going to fool anyone—but a little of this goes a long way. Just when you think you’ve had enough, the text breaks the pattern: for example, the bear chases Little Red Riding Hood (disguised as a chocolate cake) before he puts on his own snail costume. The dromedary is roundly criticized for disguising himself as a camel (too easy!), and the hen is simply too stupid to participate. The pencil crayon illustrations show each animal before and after they don their disguises, and they all march from left to right across the page, headed to a party that’s shown in a final wordless double-page spread. “Welcome to the masquerade!”

Graphic Novels 101: FAQ by Robin Brenner

From the March/April 2006 issue of The Horn Book Magazine

Graphic Novels 101: FAQ

By Robin Brenner

By day a mild-mannered library technician at Cary Memorial Library in Lexington, Massachusetts, Brenner is the creator and editor-in-chief of “No Flying, No Tights,” a website reviewing graphic novels for teens, and “Sidekicks,” its sister site for kids. Here are her answers to some frequently asked questions.

Q What’s the difference between a comic book and a graphic novel?

A Most simply, length. A comic and a graphic novel are told via the same format, officially called sequential art: the combination of text, panels, and images. Comic strips, comic books, and graphic novels are in this sense all the same thing, but comic books stretch a story out to about thirty pages, whereas graphic novels can be as long as six hundred pages.

Q What’s the difference between American comics and Japanese manga?

A There are a few key differences between American graphic novels and Japanese graphic novels, or manga. While superhero comics still dominate the U.S. market, in Japan there is a much wider diversity of topics, from romantic comedies to historical fiction to how-to comics, and they are published in both weekly and monthly installments. Japanese comics work with a complex language of visual signals, from character design to sound effects to common symbols. The biggest difference is obvious: Japanese comics are from another culture and were never intended for export. In some ways, Japan’s pop culture is like ours, but in many ways it’s not, and learning the secret code that opens up those stories for us is one thing that makes manga so appealing to American readers.

Q Are different graphic novels aimed at different audiences?

A Most certainly! In today’s market, graphic novels exist for almost everyone but are not automatically for all ages. In the past, American comics were mostly aimed at children and teens, but today there are graphic novels for everyone from elementary school kids to seniors. It’s true that a higher percentage of graphic novels and comics are still essentially aimed at men from teens to middle age, while girls and women have fewer titles created expressly for their tastes. Japanese manga creators, on the other hand, have a specific age and gender audience in mind when working on their titles, and those age and gender recommendations usually hold up.

Q What are some common misconceptions about graphic novels?

A Comics and graphic novels are for kids. In reality, comics never were just for kids. Even in the 1940s–1950s Golden Age of superhero comics, there were crime, fantasy, and science fiction comics intended for teens and adults rather than children. However, due to the hullabaloo started by psychologist Fredric Wertham’s Seduction of the Innocent (1954), which drew a tenuous connection between juvenile delinquency and comics, comics’ content became watered down. Many adults are still under the impression that the format automatically means juvenile content — but as the average age of a comics reader is thirty, this is certainly not true.

Graphic novels are all full of violence and explicit sex. On almost opposite tack to the idea that graphic novels are for kids, many adults fear that they are full of sex and violence. Like many previous formats, graphic novels are painted with the extremes of what’s available. There are comics with R- or X-rated content, but they are not the bulk of what’s available, nor are those titles intended for younger audiences.

Comics and graphic novels are only superheroes. Yes, superheroes are still the bread and butter of the big companies, but genre diversity is increasing every day with more and more independent companies publishing a range of genres, from memoir to fantasy to historical fiction. This is partly what has allowed graphic novels to truly break into the book market. On the other hand, this distinction could also lead to the mistaken conclusion that there is nothing of value in superhero comics. A few years ago, many dismissed fantasy as a lesser genre, but the success and popularity of Harry Potter has reminded the reading public that genre does not define quality.

Graphic novels are for reluctant readers. One of the biggest benefits of graphic novels is that they often attract kids who are considered “reluctant” readers. This is not just hype — the combination of less text, narrative support from images, and a feeling of reading outside the expected canon often relieves the tension of reading expectations for kids who are not natural readers, and lets them learn to be confident and engaged consumers of great stories. That being said, graphic novels are not only for reluctant readers — they’re for everyone! It’s a disservice to the format to dismiss it as only for those who don’t read otherwise, and relegating graphic novels to a lower rung of the reading scale is not only snobbish, but wrong.

Graphic novels aren’t “real” books. This one’s a zinger and contains a bit of truth and a lot of prejudice. The key to categorizing graphic novels is to remember that they’re a format, akin to audiobooks, videos, and television, all media that have struggled for acceptance. Graphic novels are not and were never intended to be a replacement for prose. Sequential art is just another way to tell a story, with different demands on the reader. So, yes, graphic novels don’t work exactly the same way that traditional novels do, but they can be as demanding, creative, intelligent, compelling, and full of story as any book.

Q Why should kids read comics and graphic novels?

A Graphic novels are simply another way to get a story. They represent an alternative to other formats, not a replacement. They are as varied as any other medium and have their fair share of every kind of title, from fluff to literary masterpieces. What they always involve, though, is reading — just as books, from Newbery winners to the latest installment in the Animorphs series, do. Stephen Krashen, who examines voluntary reading in his book The Power of Reading, discovered that comics are an unrecognized influence on reading. He found that not only were kids more likely to pick up comics voluntarily, but the average comic book has twice the vocabulary as the average children’s book and three times the vocabulary of a conversation between an adult and child. And the very fact that a child chooses to read them gives them a greater impact on that child’s confidence in reading.

Not only do graphic novels entail reading in the traditional sense, they also require reading in a new way. To read a comic requires an active participation in the text that is quite different from reading prose: the reader must make the connections between the images and the text and create the links between each panel and the page as a whole. This is generally referred to as “reading between the panels,” and this kind of literacy is not only new but vital in interacting with and succeeding in our multimedia world. If you’ve ever struggled to make the connections in reading a graphic novel while a teen reader whizzes through it, you’ve experienced how different this type of literacy is.

Summer reading recommendations from The Horn Book

Summer reading recommendations

May 15, 2012 By Katie Bircher 4 Comments

Need suggestions for beach reading or books to bring to summer camp? We’ve hand-picked some new favorites, all published within the last year, that are ideal for the season.

Picture books (Fiction and Nonfiction)
Suggested grade level listed with each entry.
No Dogs Allowed! written by Linda Ashman; illus. by Kristin Sorra (Sterling)
Faced with a restaurant’s “NO DOGS ALLOWED” sign, a boy and his dog sit at a fountain. Soon there’s a crowd of people with pets enjoying the hospitality of a nearby lemonade and ice cream stand. Grade level: K–3. 40 pages.
Z Is for Moose written by Kelly Bingham; illus. by Paul O. Zelinsky (Greenwillow)
In this funny and inventive ABC book, Moose jumps for joy in anticipation of his moment in the spotlight. When we finally get to M, though, it turns out to be for…Mouse, resulting in a major meltdown. Grade level: K–3. 32 pages.
Coral Reefs written and illus. by Jason Chin (Porter/Flash Point/Roaring Brook)
Alongside a straightforward description of tropical coral ecosystems, fantastical illustrations show a girl enjoying an adventure when the contents of this very book come to life. Grade level: K–3. 40 pages.
Neville written by Norton Juster; illus. by G. Brian Karas (Schwartz & Wade/Random)
A lonely boy stands outside yelling “Neville!” Soon every kid in the neighborhood is calling for Neville, though no one knows who he is—not even the reader, who finds out on the satisfying last page. Grade level: K–3. 32 pages.
I Want My Hat Back written and illus. by Jon Klassen (Candlewick)
In this subversive, hilarious tale, a bear has lost his red hat. After he questions his fellow woodland critters to no avail, a sudden recollection leads the bear back to the thief. Grade level: K–3. 32 pages.
The Three Little Aliens and the Big Bad Robot written by Margaret McNamara; illus. by Mark Fearing (Schwartz & Wade/Random)
A mama alien sends her children to find a planet of their own, warning them to watch out for the Big Bad Robot. Robotic onomatopoeia and a space setting will make this take on a classic tale a read-aloud hit. Grade level: K–3. 40 pages.
Stars written by Mary Lyn Ray; illus. by Marla Frazee (Beach Lane/Simon)
Beginning and ending with stars in the sky, this quiet narrative muses about star shapes in nature and around the home. Expressive illustrations offer a spot-on portrayal of imaginative play. Grade level: K–3. 40 pages.
The Camping Trip That Changed America: Theodore Roosevelt, John Muir, and Our National Parks written by Barb Rosenstock; illus. by Mordicai Gerstein (Dial)
After reading John Muir’s book advocating for forests, the president asked Muir to take him camping. By the time they reached Yosemite, Roosevelt was persuaded to create our national parks system. Grade level: K–3. 32 pages.
A Stick Is an Excellent Thing: Poems Celebrating Outdoor Play written by Marilyn Singer; illus. by LeUyen Pham (Clarion)
Eighteen poems celebrate outdoor play, featuring different styles of poetry and moving from morning to dusk. The illustrations show a multicultural group of children enjoying the exciting day. Grade level: K–3. 40 pages.
A Good Knight’s Rest written by Shelley Moore Thomas; illus. by Jennifer Plecas (Dutton)
The good knight badly needs a vacation—but since he allows three demanding young dragon friends to come along, he doesn’t get much rest and relaxation. Grade level: Preschool. 32 pages.
Press Here written and illus. by Hervé Tullet (Handprint/Chronicle)
This interactive book invites the reader to press, tilt, blow, and clap to “transform” colored dots from page to page. Satisfying patterns alternate with surprises to keep the activity fresh. Grade level: Preschool. 64 pages.
Brothers at Bat: The True Story of an Amazing All-Brother Baseball Team written by Audrey Vernick; illus. by Steven Salerno (Clarion)
The Acerra family from Long Branch, New Jersey, was the longest-playing all-sibling baseball team in the mid-twentieth-century. This story of a real American family whose bond was the game is vividly brought to life. Grade level: 1–3. 40 pages.
The Duckling Gets a Cookie!? written and illus. by Mo Willems (Hyperion)
The Duckling asks politely for a cookie and gets one, setting the Pigeon off on one of his trademark tirades. His rant comes to a screeching halt when the Duckling generously offers him the cookie. Grade level: Preschool. 40 pages.
Secrets of the Garden: Food Chains and the Food Web in Our Backyard written by Kathleen Weidner Zoehfeld; illus. by Priscilla Lamont (Knopf)
Alice and her family have a plot of land upon which they grow edible plants, raise chickens, and enjoy their interactions with the variety of living things in their backyard ecosystem. Grade level: K–3. 40 pages.

Early Readers and Younger Fiction
Suggested grade level listed with each entry.
Ivy + Bean: No News Is Good News [Ivy + Bean] written by Annie Barrows; illus. by Sophie Blackall (Chroncle)
Ivy and Bean start a neighborhood newspaper, selling subscriptions to afford the fancy cheese they’ve been coveting. Their attempts to find newsworthy stories have hilarious results. Grade level: 2–4. 127 pages.
Cork & Fuzz: The Swimming Lesson [Viking Easy-to-Read series] written by Dori Chaconas; illus. by Lisa McCue (Viking)
Cork (a muskrat) realizes Fuzz (a possum) has never visited his home—Fuzz can’t swim. After some on-the-ground lessons, the possum falls into the water and, following a moment of panic, swims. Grade level: K–3. 32 pages.
Friends: Snake and Lizard written by Joy Cowley; illus. by Gavin Bishop (Gecko)
Snake and Lizard, roommates and business partners, bicker constantly, but the outcomes are fair, reasonable, and often delightfully ironic. Grade level: 2–4. 126 pages.
Benjamin Bear in “Fuzzy Thinking” written and illus. by Philippe Coudray, trans. by Leigh Stein (Candlewick/TOON)
Twenty-seven single-page cartoon stories for emerging readers featuring Benjamin Bear and friends. The book is original, imaginative, and deep-down funny. Grade level: K–3. 32 pages.
The Dunderheads Behind Bars by Paul Fleischman; illus. by David Roberts (Candlewick)
When the “Dunderhead” kids sign up to be extras in a movie over summer vacation, they discover their erstwhile teacher Miss Breakbone and her police-chief brother are there, too. Grade level: K–3. 48 pages.
Sadie and Ratz written by Sonya Hartnett, illus. by Ann James (Candlewick)
Sadie and Ratz are the pair of hands that belong to Hannah — and get her into trouble, especially with her little brother. This tale of temper and self-control is an original take on sibling rivalry. Grade level: K–3. 60 pages.
Grin and Bear It written and illus. by Leo Landry (Charlesbridge)
“Bear had a dream…to make his friends laugh.” But poor Bear has stage fright, and his debut flops. A hummingbird named Emmy partners with Bear to save the day. Grade level: K–3. 48 pages.
Invisible Inkling written by Emily Jenkins, illus. by Harry Bliss (Balzer + Bray/HarperCollins)
Fourth-grader Hank Wolowitz’s imaginary friend is an invisible, cranky, almost-extinct “bandapat” named Inkling. Inkling’s attempts to help Hank with a school bully go hilariously wrong. Grade level: 2–4. 156 pages.
Earwig and the Witch written by Diana Wynne Jones; illus. by Paul O. Zelinsky (Greenwillow)
Orphan Earwig, adopted by an unpleasant witch, teams up with the witch’s familiar, a talking cat. Plentiful line illustrations add to the humor. Grade level: 2–4. 120 pages.
I Don’t Believe It, Archie! written by Andrew Norriss, illus. by Hannah Shaw (Fickling/Random)
Ordinary Archie always seems to be in the middle of outrageous happenings (told in seven connected short stories). This British import is an easy read, but also complicated enough to engage mystery fans. Grade level: 2–4. 124 pages.
Hooey Higgins and the Shark written by Steve Voake, illus. by Emma Dodson (Candlewick) In this over-the-top screwball comedy, Hooey and his friend, Twig, try to capture a shark. Their methods involve ketchup, a cricket stick, and a bathtub. Grade level: 2–4. 104 pages.

Intermediate Fiction and Nonfiction
Suggested grade level for each entry: 4–6
Fake Mustache: Or, How Jodie O’Rodeo and Her Wonder Horse (and Some Nerdy Kid) Saved the U.S. Presidential Election from a Mad Genius Criminal Mastermind written by Tom Angleberger; illus. by Jen Wang (Amulet/Abrams)
Lenny knows his friend Casper is behind a spree of bank robberies—the robber was wearing Casper’s (fake) handlebar mustache. As Casper’s criminal ambitions grow, the slapstick and jokes amp up accordingly. 201 pages.
The Penderwicks at Point Mouette by by Jeanne Birdsall (Knopf)
In their third book, the Penderwick sisters—Rosalind, Skye, Jane, and Batty—face their first-ever summer separation. Easing the sting is the company of friend Jeffrey. 296 pages.
Citizen Scientists: Be a Part of Scientific Discovery from Your Own Backyard by Loree Griffin Burns; photographs by Ellen Harasimowicz (Holt)
Four remarkable scientific projects enlist regular people in data collection to better understand ecological issues. Detailed accounts of the projects are followed by ways to get involved. 80 pages.
Remarkable by Lizzie K. Foley (Dial)
Everyone in the town of Remarkable is brilliant and talented, except for Jane. Ingeniously naughty twins get themselves kicked out of the School for the Remarkably Gifted and join Jane at the public school. 329 pages.
Summer in the City written by Marie-Louise Gay and David Homel; illus. by Marie-Louise Gay (Groundwood)
Instead of taking a summer trip, brothers Charlie and Max must make their own fun at home in Montreal. Each chapter relates adventures that inevitably turn into misadventures. 151 pages.
The Midnight Zoo written by Sonya Hartnett; illus. by Andrea Offermann (Candlewick)
Three Romany siblings are overlooked when German soldiers round up the rest of their community. The children end up in an abandoned zoo still inhabited by ten animals—who begin to talk. 217 pages.
With a Name like Love by Tess Hilmo (Ferguson/Farrar)
Thirteen-year-old Ollie, daughter of a traveling preacher, befriends Jimmy. He needs her help: his mother has confessed to murdering her abusive husband, but Jimmy claims she’s innocent. 250 pages.
Mr. and Mrs. Bunny—Detectives Extraordinaire! written by Polly Horvath; illus. by Sophie Blackall (Schwartz & Wade/Random)
Madeline’s parents have been kidnapped. Capable Madeline engages the services of a couple of (rabbit) detectives—leading to an absurd and breakneck bunny noir plot. 248 pages.
The Fairy Ring: or, Elsie and Frances Fool the World by Mary Losure (Candlewick)
In WWI England, two young cousins produced photographs many believed proved the existence of fairies. Primary sources and the photographs themselves enhance this narrative of a famous hoax. 180 pages.
The Cabinet of Earths by Anne Nesbet (Harper/HarperCollins)
In Paris with her family for a year, Maya meets an elderly relative who is keeper of the mysterious Cabinet of Earths. Maya finds herself in a life-or-death struggle when she becomes the next Keeper. 260 pages.
Secrets at Sea written by Richard Peck; illus. by Kelly Murphy (Dial)
The rodent world meets Upstairs, Downstairs in this comedy of manners. When the (human) Cranston family decides to take an ocean voyage to Europe, their (mouse) neighbors tag along. 241 pages.
Summer of the Gypsy Moths by Sara Pennypacker (Balzer + Bray/HarperCollins)
Stella is stuck with Great Aunt Louise on Cape Cod, where she works tending vacation cottages. When Louise dies suddenly, Stella and new friend Angel cover it up, taking over management of the cottages. 273 pages.
Sidekicks written and illus. by Dan Santat (Levine/Scholastic)
In this graphic novel, superhero Captain Amazing holds auditions for a new sidekick; his pets hope to win the role. Meanwhile, Captain Amazing’s nemesis has stolen a belt that jeopardizes the entire city. 218 pages.
Far from Shore: Chronicles of an Open Ocean Voyage written and illus. by Sophie Webb (Houghton)
This journal combines scientific information, field-guide-like illustrations, and a detailed account of experiences onboard a National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration ship studying dolphin populations. 80 pages.
First Girl Scout: The Life of Juliette Gordon Low by Ginger Wadsworth (Clarion)
In 1912, Low founded the Girl Scouts—a pioneering organization designed to help empower girls of all races and ethnicities. Information is provided about the organization and its continued success after Low’s death. 209 pages.
Nerd Camp by Elissa Brent Weissman (Atheneum)
Ten-year-old Gabe is excited to go to the Summer Center for Gifted Enrichment (a.k.a. “Nerd Camp”) but he worries what his new, cool stepbrother Zack will think. 261 pages.

Middle School Fiction and Nonfiction
Suggested grade level for each entry: 6–8
City of Orphans by Avi (Jackson/Atheneum)
In 1893 New York, thirteen-year-old newsie Maks must find a way to free his wrongly imprisoned sister. A detective, a lawyer, and orphan Willa help him uncover the truth in this fast-paced mystery. 355 pages.
Superman Versus the Ku Klux Klan: The True Story of How the Iconic Superhero Battled the Men of Hate by Rick Bowers (National Geographic)
In 1946, the producers of the Superman radio show deployed their character’s popularity in a campaign against bigotry. Bower traces the creation and history of the superhero as well as the rise, fall, and resurgence of the K.K.K. 160 pages.
Dead End in Norvelt by Jack Gantos (Farrar)
In 1962, Jack’s summer job typing obituaries keeps him busy as the elderly citizens of Norvelt, Pennsylvania, drop like flies. Gothic comedy meets richly layered semi-autobiographical tale. 341 pages.
The Obsidian Blade [Klaatu Diskos series] by Pete Hautman (Candlewick)
Created as an entertainment in a distant future, diskos are windows to points in human history. Tucker enters one of these portals to look for his missing parents, beginning a dangerous journey through the millennia. 311 pages.
Chomp by Carl Hiaasen (Knopf)
Wahoo’s father Mickey is a well-known animal wrangler. He allows the TV show Expedition Survival! to film on the family’s Everglades property, but must come to the rescue of the bumbling star. 294 pages.
Bloodline Rising by Katy Moran (Candlewick)
In this companion novel to Bloodline, master thief Cai is waylaid by his rivals and sold into slavery. Taken from Constantinople to Britain, Cai becomes mired in complex loyalties. 336 pages.
Withering Tights by Louise Rennison (HarperTeen/HarperCollins)
Fourteen-year-old Brit Tallulah is attending a performing arts summer school. Her madcap adventures, literary musings, and hilariously naïve inner monologues are all highly entertaining. 275 pages.
Goliath [Leviathan Trilogy] written by Scott Westerfeld; illus. by Keith Thompson (Simon Pulse/Simon)
In this steampunk trilogy ender, airship Leviathan picks up inventor Nikola Tesla. Alek believes reuniting Tesla with his electrical weapon Goliath can stop World War I. 545 pages.

High School Fiction and Nonfiction
Suggested grade level for each entry: 8 and up
The Future of Us by Jay Asher and Carolyn Mackler (Razorbill/Penguin)
In 1996, something called “Facebook” pops up when Emma loads an AOL disk into her computer. Using Facebook, Emma and friend Josh learn about their lives fifteen years into the future. 359 pages.
Steve Jobs: The Man Who Thought Different by Karen Blumenthal (Feiwel)
A journalistic narrative engagingly relates the life of the Apple co-founder who later went on to leave an indelible mark on three additional fields: movies, music, and cell phones. 312 pages.
Beauty Queens by Libba Bray (Scholastic)
Teen beauty pageant contestants crash-land en route to their competition. They use their “can-do” Miss Teen Dream spirit to survive on what they assume is a deserted island (actually home to a government conspiracy). 396 pages.
The Story of Us by Deb Caletti (Simon Pulse)
Anxious seventeen-year-old Cricket spends a memorable week at a beach house (with a plethora of family and soon-to-be family, friends, and dogs) before her mother gets married. 390 pages.
Bitterblue by Kristin Cashore (Dial)
Eight years after Graceling, Bitterblue is queen of Monsea. Feeling disconnected from her people, Bitterblue sneaks out to observe city life; a friendship with thieves makes her reevaluate everything she’s been told. 549 pages.
The Way We Fall by Megan Crewe (Hyperion)
Kaelyn’s island community is hit by a mysterious virus. While Kae’s microbiologist father frantically works to diagnose the illness, normally shy Kae takes on a leadership role. 311 pages.
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green (Dutton)
Hazel is controlling her stage four cancer; Augustus lost a leg to osteosarcoma but now seems okay. Sexy romance and a meditation on life and death deepen this acerbic comedy. 321 pages.
Why We Broke Up written by Daniel Handler; illus. by Maira Kalman (Little, Brown)
In addition to her extensive break-up letter, Min is planning to drop on Ed’s doorstep a box of tokens of their relationship. The imagistic stories of each object provide insight into the couple’s flawed love. 355 pages.
The Name of the Star [Shades of London series] by Maureen Johnson (Putnam)
At boarding school in London, American Rory learns of nearby Jack the Ripper copycat murders. She falls in with an undercover group investigating a paranormal explanation. 370 pages.
The Disenchantments by Nina LaCour (Dutton)
Colby and Bev had planned to do a summer tour with their band, then take a gap year together in Europe. When Bev reveals she will be attending college in the fall, Colby struggles with feelings of betrayal over the course of their wild road trip. 310 pages.
Legend by Marie Lu (Putnam)
Day is wanted by the totalitarian Republic; June is one of the Republic’s brightest prodigies with her own grudge against him. But when their paths cross, June is attracted to Day’s selflessness and courage. A perfect Hunger Games read-alike. 301 pages.
This Dark Endeavor: The Apprenticeship of Victor Frankenstein by Kenneth Oppel (Simon)
When sixteen-year-old Konrad Frankenstein contracts a mysterious illness, his twin Victor searches for a cure through alchemy. Secrecy, deception, and a love triangle complicate the quest. 298 pages.
There Is No Dog by Meg Rosoff (Putnam)
The god assigned to supervise planet Earth is a lazy, self-centered teenage boy named Bob. When Bob falls for mortal Lucy, the situation on Earth goes from bad to worse. 271 pages.
Past Perfect by Leila Sales (Simon Pulse/Simon)
Chelsea works as a living history interpreter at Colonial Essex Village. This summer she traitorously falls for a Civil War interpreter at a rival reenactment park. 306 pages.
I’ll Be There by Holly Goldberg Sloan (Little, Brown)
When Sam’s mentally unstable father learns Sam and his brother are becoming close with Emily and her family, he takes off with the boys. After their dramatic car accident in the woods, the story shifts from romance to survival. 392 pages.
The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater (Scholastic)
Puck intends to ride her mare in the annual Scorpio Races—alongside murderous water horses. Sean, a stable hand who understands the water horses better than anyone else on the island, is also desperate to win. 409 pages.
Daughter of Smoke & Bone by Laini Taylor (Little, Brown)
Karou lives with part-human, part-animal chimaera in Prague. When she meets a deadly angel in Marrakech, she’s powerfully drawn to him. 422 pages.
Code Name Verity by Elizabeth Wein (Hyperion)
During World War II, Queenie, a spy captured by the SS, bargains to write what she knows about the British war effort in order to postpone her execution. Her report tells the story of Maddie, the pilot who dropped her over France, then crashed. 337 pages.

The Isle of Blood [The Monstrumologist] by Rick Yancey (Simon)
This third (and darkest) adventure takes monstrumologist Pellinore Warthrop and his apprentice Will Henry to the Socotra, the Isle of Blood. Along the way they dodge spies, befriend literary icons, and test the boundaries of their complex relationship. 538 pages.