Wild Things
For the past several decades, when I discovered the joy and beauty of children’s picture books, I’ve loved sharing stories with anyone who would listen to my recommendations. Although I have lost many books to loaning them out (and by not having my own library system), I still have been glad to share what I love, whether they are picture books or chapter books.
Two summers ago, I dreamed up a book of essays about children’s literature. My partners at Square Halo gave me the go ahead, and I recruited my daughter Carey and my editor friend Thea Rosenburg to join me. (What a wonderful team we have made.) My plan was to ask my writer friends who also love children and love books to choose a topic connected to children’s literature and write an essay and offer 5 recommended books connected to that topic. The book has become Wild Things and Castles in the Sky: A Guide to Choosing the Best Books for Children.
Through much prayer and knocking on many metaphorical doors, not only do I have friends who joined me in this project, but I’ve made new connections along the way. (Wonderful stories connected to how I found my writers.) I have loved seeing this book come together. My hope has been to produce a book that ranges from “why read poetry with your children” to “how to talk about race with your children” and as many topics that I could fit in between.
This book is not a list of “all the books your child should read before she leaves your home” - it’s a guide to helping you see and understand more about the wide range of what children’s literature can offer. Many fabulous book recommendations are in this guide (more than 200!). But hopefully this book will not only help you know books better, it will help you love children better, too, by helping them grow their minds, their hearts, … their imagination.
Thea, Carey, and I, with Ned’s helps as graphic designer, are on the homestretch - all the essays are in, book lists are almost all compiled, and the book is about to have its final proofing. The final printed book will have 45 essays written by 40 wonderful folks who love children and also love good books. I’ll share more stories of how this lovely book came to be in the coming months. But here are excerpts from four essays. I don’t have a favorite essay - as I love each one.. . But these four highlight the reason I wanted to do this book.
From Gypsy Martn’s essay on Newberry Award books:
I knew there must be books in those musty stacks that were worth reading, but the librarian didn’t know enough about children’s books to be of any help. I trolled the shelves without guidance and with little hope, squinting at the rows of titles in the glare of the florescent lights. But every once in a while I would pull out a book with a gold or silver seal on the cover, and I would feel a little frisson of possibility. An award-winner! I wasn’t sure exactly which award (I always got the Newbery and Caldecott confused), and I had no idea who gave them, or how often, or how many. To me, that seal meant just one of two things: either the book was going to be very good or, more likely, it was going to be very good for me.
I loved the Newbery winners Island of the Blue Dolphins and From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. A Wrinkle in Time was one of the books of my heart, as I imagine it was for many girls of my generation. But titles like Roller Skates and Strawberry Girl sounded suspiciously sappy. The Matchlock Gun, Daniel Boone, and The Codfish Musket? No way was I reading any of those unless a teacher made me. Bridge to Terabithia? It tells you right on the back cover that a terrible tragedy occurs! No thank you. I was looking for an escape from my own bad feelings, not an escape into someone else’s.
From Corey Latta’s essay about his son with Down Syndrome
“It’s Down Syndrome, isn’t it?”
“He looks a little different,” she repeated. “Let me go get the doctor.”
The rest of the day felt a bit like writing a story that gets out of hand. I was buried in explanations, confusion, questions, tears, momentary serenity, an echocardiogram, more questions. Then, the answer: Trisomy 21, a.k.a Down Syndrome, a chromosomal anomaly resulting in an extra twenty-first chromosome. Down Syndrome presents as an intellectual disability with developmental delays, distinct physical characteristics, and possible physical defects.
Now, that’s a terrible description of how a child with Down Syndrome actually presents. There was nothing in all the scientific literature I was inundated with about how free of malice, full of joy, or prone to the most enviable, unashamed play children with Down Syndrome are.
I’d discover all that about Gus, but I’d have to walk through a lot of fear to get there.
Taking home a child with Down Syndrome felt overwhelming. How or what would I be able to teach him? Would I ever be able to have a conversation with him? Babies with Down Syndrome have floppy muscle tone, so how was I even supposed hold him? Would he be accepted? Would other kids be cruel to him? Would he be happy in the life God’s afforded him? How do I steward this life I’ve been entrusted with?
Some questions have answered themselves. Some will just have to be lived. I still find myself looking for someone to stop and ask how I best parent his differences. But I look for that assurance less and less frequently. I mostly just look at Gus now.
He reminds me of the story Jesus tells about the pearl of great price.
From Shanika Churchville’s essay about conversations about race with children
With Deuteronomy as our guide, I’d like to offer myself to you as a fellow learner on this journey. I am Sri Lankan American and have had the privilege of living in both Sri Lanka and the United States. While I’ve had to navigate life as a person of color in largely white spaces in the United States, I’ve also lived as a member of a privileged family of a majority culture in Sri Lanka.
Two decades ago, I married my husband, who is Black. Over our years together, I have learned much about the history of this country and the beauty and suffering of Black people. I have had to learn the painful realities of historic and systemic racism. I have had to grapple with my own prejudice and ignorance and acknowledge the unearned benefits accorded me by my privileged background. God has blessed us with two sons. In raising them, I have had to become more intentional about learning and teaching them their history and the realities of living in a society that might misunderstand them at best and seek to destroy them at worst. It has been both exhilarating and incredibly painful, and it has been one of the most profound experiences of my life.
I recognize that I have kept my focus very narrow here. I’ve chosen to share how I celebrate Black history and experience with my sons. I haven’t shared about how I communicate Sri Lankan culture to my sons or how a parent could teach their children about the varied ethnic and cultural experiences of Whites, Asians, Latinos, Native, or multi-racial peoples. However, I believe the following principles hold true when making any intentional choice to enrich children’s reading experiences and expand their cultural competence and sensitivity.
From Joy Strawbridge’s essay about books for the middle grades:
There isn’t much time in a child’s life when they can hear and process language, but don’t yet have the developmental skill to return the favor. And so, I pack my two little friends with as many good words as I can—my words, good music, and board books—while they’re still using their voices in symphonic hollers for milk and mattresses. That way, when their words do come, they’ll have good ones to choose from.
Having served as a preschool, elementary, middle, and high school teacher at different points in my life, this is the thing that stands out to me the most: children say what they hear. They make their high notes sound like sparkly ice princesses. They borrow the words that made them laugh from the Friday family superhero movie. My students talk to me the way their parents talk to them. Then once they can read, they spend their lives repeating after their peers. Imitation, I often remind myself, is the highest form of love. Knowing this, how can we—as writers, educators, parents, aunts and uncles who share our favorite stories and hide wrapped books under the tree—put a heart for adventure and the highest caliber of language, beauty, and empathy into the minds and mouths of the little saints we love?
Through some of the best words, worthy of our imitation, middle grade fiction, in particular, has the power to nourish empathy and adventure in readers. Neon squares of distraction, self-obsession disguised as insight, deets dished about our neighbors, news foretelling imminent doom—let’s leave these slices of literature for readers with facial hair and savings accounts. Chapter books that re-invent the possible, carried by kindred spirit characters, should be the entire food pyramid of the snow day that is childhood: fast-accumulating, soon-melting; it twinkles.
Carey, Ned, and I made the cover images by hand… lots of fun planning our little people and cutting them and the clouds and castles out with paper and painting the background. The background pages are words from Winnie the Pooh, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and Alice in Wonderland. .
