Cybils Season

The Cybils are the Children's and Young Adult Bloggers' Literary Awards, and this is the fourth year I'll be a first-round panelist in the Middle Grade Fantasy and Science Fiction category. I love being a panelist: our job is to read widely from among the nominated books and, after lots of discussion, come up with a shortlist (that's last year's) of five to seven titles that combine literary merit and kid appeal. Congratulations to this year's Cybils panelists and judges across all categories, but especially those in mg sff: I"m looking forward to a fantastic fall!

Nominations for the Cybils don't open October 1, but I've already started ramping up my reading--with well over 100 mg sff titles nominated each year, it's the only way to come close to reading them all. I have some favorites, and some fall books I'm eagerly anticipating; for now, I'm keeping track of my reading on Goodreads (please look for me over there).

I'll continue posting about all sorts of books here, though!

Celebrating National Hispanic Heritage Month

September 15 to October 15 is National Hispanic Heritage Month, when the Library of Congress officially recognizes the "histories, cultures and contributions of American citizens whose ancestors came from Spain, Mexico, the Caribbean and Central and South America." The dates are a little awkward: most of us know that February is African-American History Month, and May is Asian-Pacific American Heritage Month, but Hispanic Heritage Month is half-September and half-October. Maybe it's a metaphor?

Anyway, I'll be celebrating National Hispanic Heritage Month(s) here with reviews of children's books by authors and illustrators whose ancestors came from Spain, Mexico, the Caribbean and Central and South America (see above). One book I'm especially looking forward to writing about in this context is Marisol McDonald Doesn't Match/Marisol McDonald no combina by Monica Brown (illustrated by Sara Palacios; Children's Book Press, 2011). Marisol is actually Peruvian-Scottish-American, mismatched and marvelous.

Just like last year, I'll also be hosting a National Hispanic Heritage Month roundup of reviews, author interviews and more on October 3. I'd love to get lots of participation, so please send me your links or leave them in a comment on this post or on the roundup post in October. Recommendations and requests are also most welcome. ¡Muchas gracias!

Princess Academy of Art

Anticipating the August release of Princess Academy: Palace of Stone by Shannon Hale (Bloomsbury, 2012), I recently read the first Princess Academy, a 2006 Newbery Honor book. I wonder why I hadn't read it before, because it's just the sort of book I like, and probably would have loved as a ten-year-old girl: it has a classic feel and an ordinary-girl heroine in Miri Larendaughter, it's set in a village on a snowy mountaintop--beautifully evoked throughout the book as well as on the original cover, shown here--and there's a boarding school. Where you have to study to be a princess. After learning to read (no one in Mount Eskel knew how before the princess academy), the girls study Danlander History, Commerce, Geography, and Kings and Queens. And then there are the "princess-forming" subjects: Diplomacy (which proves useful on more than occasion), Conversation, and Poise. I want to go to princess academy!

I also want to add Princess Academy to the Middle Grade Gallery (where I think about how paintings work in fiction), even though Art isn't one of the subjects the girls have to study. But one winter morning, their tutor Olana shows the girls a painting; like the silver princess dress they've already seen, it's meant to make them work harder at their studies, to remind them of their goal:

Olana removed the cloth and held up a colorful painting much more detailed than the chapel's carved doors. It illustrated a house with a carved wooden door, six glass windows facing front, and a garden of tall trees and bushes bursting with red and yellow flowers.
"This house stands in Asland, the capital, not a long carriage ride from the palace...It will be given to the family of the girl chosen as princess." [87]

And the painting does its job: Miri, for one, spends hours imagining her family inside the house and garden, so different from their mountain home.

At the end of the book, Olana reveals the truth about the painting, and gives it to Miri. Spoiler alert (after seven years, I don't think I'm spoiling anything, but just in case): the house never existed. And Miri doesn't marry the prince (although she is academy princess). It's not until Palace of Stone that she goes to the capital at all. I wonder if she will remember the painting when she gets there?

The Fantastic Jungles of Henri Rousseau

Henri Rousseau was a toll collector for the city of Paris when, at the age of 40, he decided to become an artist--a famous artist. Michelle Markel's picture book biography The Fantastic Jungles of Henri Rousseau (illustrated by Amanda Hall; Eerdmans, 2012) begins with that surprising decision. Her precise and poignant text balances Rousseau's love of nature and growing confidence in his own work (he was self-taught) with his lifelong desire for critical recognition.

Poor Henri! No sooner does he paint something we might consider a masterpiece(The Sleeping Gypsy, The Hungry Lion Throws Itself on the Antelope, and The Dream are referenced in the text or in Hall's illustrations) than the experts say mean things about it: "They say it looks like he closed his eyes and painted with his feet."

But Rousseau keeps painting. Eventually, near the end of his life, younger, more well-known artists befriend him. One of them, Pablo Picasso, even throws a banquet in his honor (that's Picasso with Fernande Olivier on the right; a key at the back of the book identifies the other historical figures in the illustration below).

At last, and over one hundred years later, Rousseau's paintings hang in museums around the world. [There are three on view at the National Gallery; I'm excited to see them after having read the book.]

Amanda Hall's illustrations, rendered in watercolor and acrylics, really capture the feel of Rousseau's work, from the lush foliage and flowers to the faces of people and animals. In an illustrator's note (there's also an author's note, but sadly no sources), Hall writes that she "decided to break the rules of scale and perspective to reflect [Rousseau's] unusual way of seeing the world. For some of the illustrations, I drew directly on his actual paintings, altering them playfully to help tell the story." My favorite example is this image of a tiger literally crawling out of the canvas as Henri paints:

The understated text reads, "Sometimes Henri is so startled by what he paints that he has to open the window to let in some air."

Aside: Kids might be interested to know that the jungle in the computer-animated movie Madagascar was inspired by Rousseau's work. My own kids were also interested to know that I had a cheap print of Sleeping Gypsy in my college dorm room.

It's still my favorite Rousseau.