Beth Schmelzer
asked
Julia Glass:
Looking forward to the Q & A on Friday. Julia, What children's fiction did you enjoy? I am writing a reading/writing blog currently and I love to hear inspirational ideas from authors for adult and children readers. Thank you. Beth Schmelzer @ www.BESTBOOKSBYBETH.COM
Julia Glass
Oh Beth, where do I start?! I worry that my house will collapse under the weight of all the children's books I've saved--forget the rest. I have loved books for as long as I can remember. From fifth grade through college, I worked in my town's public library, mostly in the children's room, where I knew just about every volume intimately by the time I was 18. But I grew up in the 1960s and '70s--and so many of the books that I and my peers treasured back then hold no interest for today's children (often understandably so). And many more are out of print. But I'll toss out some titles of early favorites that I know are still around: certainly the Narnia books and the still-beloved "D'Aulaires' Book of Greek Myths" (I read every collection of myths and fairy tales I could get my hands on), but also a fairly cerebral time-travel trilogy by Jane Langton, the first and best of which is "The Diamond in the Window." (Jane Langton was also the first real-live author I ever met; it was like meeting a goddess straight from the D'Aulaires' Mount Olympus.) I loved E. Nesbit's novels, the Lloyd Alexander series beginning with "The Book of Three," the Random House Alfred Hitchcock anthologies. What amazes me is to recall how I thought nothing of reading all these books three or four times or more. (The D'Aulaires' book I snacked on as constantly as Oreos or Pringles.) As I get older--and feel the pressure of "so many books, so little time," I can only be nostalgic about the notion of REreading. (And I'm a very slow reader.) Throughout my teens, I also read volumes of poetry, from "Le Morte d'Arthur" to e.e. cummings, and plays, from Shakespeare to Ionesco. In that respect, I was odd (and embraced the oddness).
My older son, in his early teens, was also an ardent reader of myth and fantasy, but he didn't care for any of the above (with the exception of the Narnia books). He inhaled Phillip Pullman, the Harry Potters, Artemis Fowl, M. T. Anderson, newer anthologies of dragon and ghost stories--and I realized that while we all grow up to love many of the same adult classics, maybe the books we cut our teeth on, once we learn to read to ourselves--to "possess" our reading--are necessarily more idiosyncratic to the sensibilities of our times, even if they're set in the Middle Ages or centuries in the future.
I want to say something about picture books, too--which, as a genre, have blossomed and soared dramatically. (And how heartening to see that the best of the classics--Dr. Seuss, Virginia Lee Burton, Robert McCloskey, William Steig et al.--are still cherished. Parents who love to read aloud, be sure to seek out the exquisitely witty verse of John Ciardi.) But I don't see how children's literature can continue to thrive--and be accessible in an essentially tactile way--if we don't continue to patronize REAL bookstores. When my kids were small and just learning to read, we lived near a children's bookstore where they were welcome to peruse and pillage the lower shelves, sitting contentedly amid piles of splayed books. I spent way too much money there and will never regret it. Browsing (not with a mouse) is a crucial element in creating an adventuresome reader. I continue to visit the children's section of my own local bookshop and to marvel, in particular, at picture books that have no words. As a word person, it took me a while to warm to these books. I started with David Wiesner's books, "reading" them to my sons, who loved them. Recently, I encountered a brand-new one, "The Farmer and the Clown," by Marla Franzee: brilliant, amusing, and touching.
I still own the very first book I asked my parents to buy me (after watching Captain Kangaroo read it on TV). It was the first book published by the late, great Karla Kuskin, "Roar and More." A few years ago, I was delighted to contribute to an anthology called "Bound to Last: Thirty Writers on Their Most Cherished Book." My essay is on "Roar and More" and its important place throughout my entire readerly life. After it was published, close to 50 years after my parents bought me that book, I received a note from Karla Kuskin. How amazing is that?
My older son, in his early teens, was also an ardent reader of myth and fantasy, but he didn't care for any of the above (with the exception of the Narnia books). He inhaled Phillip Pullman, the Harry Potters, Artemis Fowl, M. T. Anderson, newer anthologies of dragon and ghost stories--and I realized that while we all grow up to love many of the same adult classics, maybe the books we cut our teeth on, once we learn to read to ourselves--to "possess" our reading--are necessarily more idiosyncratic to the sensibilities of our times, even if they're set in the Middle Ages or centuries in the future.
I want to say something about picture books, too--which, as a genre, have blossomed and soared dramatically. (And how heartening to see that the best of the classics--Dr. Seuss, Virginia Lee Burton, Robert McCloskey, William Steig et al.--are still cherished. Parents who love to read aloud, be sure to seek out the exquisitely witty verse of John Ciardi.) But I don't see how children's literature can continue to thrive--and be accessible in an essentially tactile way--if we don't continue to patronize REAL bookstores. When my kids were small and just learning to read, we lived near a children's bookstore where they were welcome to peruse and pillage the lower shelves, sitting contentedly amid piles of splayed books. I spent way too much money there and will never regret it. Browsing (not with a mouse) is a crucial element in creating an adventuresome reader. I continue to visit the children's section of my own local bookshop and to marvel, in particular, at picture books that have no words. As a word person, it took me a while to warm to these books. I started with David Wiesner's books, "reading" them to my sons, who loved them. Recently, I encountered a brand-new one, "The Farmer and the Clown," by Marla Franzee: brilliant, amusing, and touching.
I still own the very first book I asked my parents to buy me (after watching Captain Kangaroo read it on TV). It was the first book published by the late, great Karla Kuskin, "Roar and More." A few years ago, I was delighted to contribute to an anthology called "Bound to Last: Thirty Writers on Their Most Cherished Book." My essay is on "Roar and More" and its important place throughout my entire readerly life. After it was published, close to 50 years after my parents bought me that book, I received a note from Karla Kuskin. How amazing is that?
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