I’ve already addressed what a review looks and smells like in a previous post, but recently I’ve been coming across some ethical conundrums, hurt feelings and other assorted downers that ensnare new reviewers from time to time.

I wondered if maybe I hadn’t gotten too far ahead of myself: what if you’re just starting out and don’t know what to expect? You just signed up for a shiny new blog, you’re dutifully trying to post every day, you attract a few readers, wrangle a few free books.

And then what? I asked around, and in particular, I wanted to hear from experienced bloggers how they faced an empty screen, and what went into their reviewing process.

The people I e-mailed are from the organizing committee over at Cybils, or the Children’s and Young Adult Bloggers’ Literary Awards (http://blog.cybils.com) now underway. They all have solid credentials as bloggers, having been at this for at least a couple days.

Online reviewers’ unique issues

Their problems finding words to describe other people’s words certainly aren’t new, but there are some novel problems in our online instant-reaction land when the white-hot flames of irate fans are always a mere mouse-click away.

There’s also a profound difference in temperament and training. When print critics come under fire, they’re usually bolstered by editors with ice in their veins. Most bloggers only have their spouse’s shoulder to sob on.

And kidlit bloggers, who often come from the ranks of librarians and teachers, are by nature a helpful lot. They aim to please. Send them a few books and they’ll review them. Send them a ton of books and they’ll review those too. Overwhelm them with your entire frontlist, plus everybody else’s frontlist, and they’ll slog through the stack, panicking lest they overlook one.

This is not good for having a balanced life, or getting supper ready on time, or preserving what’s left of your eyesight (not to mention sanity).

Another huge problem seems to be staying original when many people have reviewed the same material, or when the publisher sends out press packets with concise, pithy summaries of the book already. Is that stuff fair game?

I asked what makes for good, basic reviewing habits:

“Keep the audience in mind”

Kelly Herold, Big A little a (http://kidslitinformation.blogspot.com/):

1. I always throw away publisher material. Always. I find it can cloud my judgment if it isn’t completely a waste of time, which it often is. I especially find publisher info on picture books annoying. Why do I want 2 pages of text on a book with fewer words? I don’t.

2. Keep the plot summary to one paragraph.

3. In my case, I like to keep my reviews to 3-5 paragraphs tops.

4. Always quote from the book if possible so readers can get an idea of the author’s style.

5. Keep audience in mind: who is the book for? age range?

6. Anne has taught me that if it is a picture book, you have to learn to think critically about the illustrations as well. This has not been easy for me, but I’m working on it.

Ending? Don’t mention it. No, really. Don’t.

Jackie Parker, Interactive Reader (http://interactivereader.blogspot.com/):

The only thing I look at on the publisher’s accompanying propaganda is the contact information for the publicist. Never know when that will come in handy...

I started to avoid reading jacket flaps or reviews past the first paragraph because I found they often gave way too much information away. My cardinal rule (I have many, but this one hasn’t been mentioned yet) is DON’T FREAKIN’ GIVE AWAY THE ENDING. I don’t know HOW many times I’ve heard people booktalk or whatever a book and give away way too much information. If you are going to have spoilers, say so. As a reader, I’m going to get really irritated if you don’t warn me. As a blogger librarian it’s just bad form. It seems like a no-brainer, but I still run into people who do it.

NEGATIVE REVIEWS: NOT THE ‘KISS OF DEATH.’

Sheila Ruth, Wands And Worlds (http://www.wandsandworlds.com/blog1/):

Just a comment about negative reviews from a publisher perspective. Most of the advice I’ve seen for publishers says that a negative review is still a good review (unless it totally trashes a book). It’s like the old saw that any publicity is good publicity. And a book on amazon with all five-star reviews is suspicious, whereas a book with a lot of reviews, some good, some bad, looks like a genuine thing. The martial arts book I published has mixed reviews from 2 to 5 stars (I’ve discovered that martial artists are very picky people) but it sells well anyway, and most of the sales come from Amazon. So a negative review on Amazon isn’t the kiss of death. I think *publishers* for the most part understand this, but many authors don’t. It’s naturally harder for them to be objective, because it’s their baby.

HAVE A WRITTEN REVIEW POLICY

Jen Robinson, Jen Robinson’s Book Page (http://jkrbooks.typepad.com/):

● Have a written review policy that you can refer to, in which you make clear whether or not you review everything that you receive, and that you don’t guarantee positive reviews. This helps to keep everyone’s expectations in line.

● If possible, notify the author and/or publisher when you do post a review, especially if it’s a mixed review. This increases your level of professionalism, and can help keep the author/publisher from feeling sand-bagged by running across a mixed review unexpectedly.

● If quoting from ARC or galley, make sure to specify that. This protects you and the publisher, should the final book differ from what you quoted. - Indicate the source from which you received the book, and be up-front about any particular ties that you might have with the author. I believe that being up-front about these sorts of things is the best guard against people who question one’s objectivity.

HAVE A BIT OF A THICK SKIN

Liz Burns, A Chair, A Fireplace and a Tea Cozy (http://yzocaet.blogspot.com/):

● Have a bit of a thick skin; yes, easier said than done. But, if we say authors should have a thick skin, we, as writers, should have a thick skin also when someone disagrees with our reviews.

● You won’t convince the author that you’re right; chances are, the author won’t convince you that you’re wrong. (but, if you made a mistake ... That’s another thing entirely. If your review said, “what an odd action for an 12 year old orphan” and the author says, “interesting, except it’s an 10 year old and the parents are divorced,” own your mistake. Even if the change is now, “what an odd action for a 10 year old whose parents are divorced.”)

● Galleys and arcs do change before publication. If you don’t like something based on a galley or arc, you owe it to the author and to your readers to wait for the real book because it is very possible that what you didn’t like was fixed.

AVOID SNARK ATTACKS

Sarah Stevenson, Finding Wonderland (http://writingya.blogspot.com/):

Personally, I think that there’s never a bad time for diplomacy and tact in a review, positive or negative. I learned that very early on when I used to write a weird websites column and I made a snarky comment about a site I wrote up...and they wrote back to me saying they were sorry I thought their site could use improvement but they had a limited budget (it was a site at a university, for a robot arm you could move via the web) and that was all they could do given their means...and I felt soooo bad.

A FEW LAST WORDS

There’s always more advice to give on getting started in book blogging and reviewing. In fact, the most recent Kidlit Blog Carnival was about precisely that compiled by the witty Pam Coughlin at MotherReader (http://www.motherreader.com/2007/11/november-carnival-of-children.html).

There’s plenty there from around the blogosphere.

I’d be remiss if I didn’t add my own $.02 to the discussion. I second everything already said rely on your own voice and not the publisher’s, value diplomacy but be firm and would add a few things I learned the hard way:

Don’t blog your way to a stronger eyeglass prescription (I’ve upped mine three times since starting book buds). It’s very expensive to go blind.

You can ignore all other chores but supper. You family shouldn’t starve for food or your company, even if they must climb over piles of laundry to dine with you.

● If snark is important to you, develop a style that’s at least clever. Try metaphor, exaggeration, new turns of phrase--anything but plain bitchiness, which is so overdone as to be entirely predictable. If I can finish your mean, foul sentence for you, you’re boring me.

● Take advantage of automatic posting, if your blog host has that lifesaving feature. I write all my reviews on Saturdays and let the nice folks at TypePad do the rest. I then resume my regularly scheduled life.

● Get a life. Eat moderately and exercise often. Stop smoking. Be nice to small animals and old people. Say your prayers. Remember that you’re human and not an extension of your keyboard. Of course, I’m terrible about all of the above, so do as I say and not as I do ...

I’ve been thrilled at this opportunity to blog for ForeWord, and am sorry my month ended after the traditional four weeks. I was hoping we could stretch November out until, oh, Memorial Day at least.

I wish you all happy reviewing and/or blogging, and a very Happy Holidays.

Posted by: Anne Boles Levy

You know the kind. They’re from publishers gone astray, who’ve led kidlit authors down the garden path of gimmickry. These books are more tease than text, with doodads pouring out of their shrink wrapping like muffin tops over low-rise jeans.

The Big Houses are the most promiscuous, as you might expect, in fudging the centuries-old definition of “book” with puzzles, blocks, charms, chalk and – lest we forget – stacks of CDs. They arrive unsolicited by the carton, bright and loud and clashing, clamoring for my children’s attention, screeching sour notes with their awkward meter, near-miss rhymes or “activities” that occupy some time but few brain cells.

My favorite independent publishers aren’t immune – and you know who you are. Though when I sat down to make a list of what I’d gotten recently and from whom, I discovered to my pleasant surprise that the most memorable “value addeds” were from the independent houses. There was a Mozart CD and a build-it-yourself-microphone that briefly bobbed to the Top of the Tots list at our home.

But when did reading stop being enough? You have to distract kids from learning actual words with book-like-thingamabobs because the symbol that really matters is the capital S with a vertical line through it, $ee? Sorry to sound cynical. It seems to be a part of a parent’s job description.

Sure, I come across many quaint, traditional stories with such outmoded “features” as character arcs, plots, metaphor, subtext and even big words. Give me Candlewick or Peachtree or Barefoot Books or Kane/Miller or geeky Sylvan Dell. They’re the Bohemian literary types renting a fifth-floor walk-up and subsisting on Ramen Supreme while the Value Addeds make all the money and fret about being properly accessorized.

I have no statistics to back up my assertion the stuff is everywhere. But I can hear it. So much of it pings and rattles, clicks, clacks, rings, purrs and, mostly, breaks. The box should say: Some re-assembly required.

Somebody with marketing credentials could probably pinpoint how much worse it’s getting. I do know that I usually throw away brochures and even whole catalogs from the Big Houses listing licensed characters and movie tie-ins and whatnot. Occasionally, this stuff arrives anyway, and I have to toss it or give it away—quick—before my kids spot it and I’m doomed to plot cliché hell.

But the Value Added stuff is tougher. Some of it’s too clunky to hide, doesn’t fit easily into the trash, or is made of materials too suspect to recycle.

My anecdotal evidence is that, yes, the Value Added books—and I use the term “books” loosely—are becoming more ubiquitous and brazen. I’m not talking your standard lift-the-flap or scratch-n-sniff or touch-n-feel or snort-n-drool or whatever. Those books have been around since, well, I dunno. A long time, I suspect.

A Humongous House once sent a full set of classic books with tiny dangly charms off the spine: Black Beauty, Secret Garden, a few others. We’re talking cheap, easily ingested, vacuum-clogging doodads probably made from lead or spent nuclear fuel rods. The sort of girl who can be lured into reading a book because it dangles a bauble probably has a ton of them already. Baubles, that is, not books. And the sort of girl who loves reading classic children’s books is, I would guess, doing so for rewards other than cheesy graft made by Chinese prison laborers.

I’m talking about boxes of puzzles attached to paperbacks that were drearily written, like the writer was stuck with this stupid ol' Easy Reader while his luckier colleagues got to translate complicated assembly instructions from Japanese into Pidgin.

I’m talking about books with magnets, books with gameboards, books with moving parts or pieces missing—deliberately. As if I need children’s books that come pre-destroyed.

Odd thing is, I don’t spot these books in bookstores, where the printed word still rules, but I do see them in toy stores from time to time. That’s fine for Cranium or Chronicle, with its brilliant, well-designed SmartLab line. But then I see smart parents buying smart toys and dumb books, which seems a pity and winds up wasting space in the landfill.

I can also give a little ground on the subject of CDs, which I see nearly all the publishers doing. For a biography of Mozart from North-South Books, a CD was indispensable, but another publisher sent one of bird songs that was fatally scratched. Now the CDs in my house are subjected to delicate surgery to pry them from skintight sleeves and place them in clearly labeled jewel cases—entirely too much work for one harried Mom.

I’m not a Luddite, truly. I embrace any technology that drives production costs down and makes all kinds of publishing innovations possible. But can I ask on behalf of my kids, their friends, their teachers and other busy parents that there be some motive for the onslaught of Value Addeds other than desperation?

For example, I recently had dinner with Sondra LaBrie, marketing guru for Kane/Miller, which reprints foreign picture books. She proudly described her house’s commitment to its backlist.

“Some of these books have been around longer than I’ve been there,” she said.

For books to hang around several years after their artificially imposed “sell by” date, you can bet their charms are found in their pages, not dangling from their spines.

Posted by: Anne Boles Levy

Try telling a roomful of ardent book lovers that they’re writing reviews all wrong. I’d never given a presentation – ever – yet I had to wean my favorite kidlit bloggers from thinking that reviewing is all about their opinions.

It isn’t. Nor is it necessarily even about individual authors or books.

No, it's about what former Los Angeles Times book review editor Steve Wasserman called "a cultural conversation of critical importance."

I took it to mean that no book exists in a vacuum. It’s part of a genre or it breaks from it; it’s typical of the author’s work or it’s a departure; it’s of the moment or reminiscent of another era. It has its hyper-specific niche or is part of a  movement. There’s always a larger something or other to say about it, and a reviewer’s job is to pin that something, as nebulous and slippery as a jellyfish, to the wall.

I decided to wallop the kidlitosphere with the particulars of this “cultural conversation” at a first-ever conference in early October. Librarians, booksellers, authors and the similarly obsessed emerged from their virtual worlds into the real one for one day in a conference room at a Radisson hotel in Chicago, the  tables arranged so we all faced one another, who’d been avoiding the light of day like those tube worms at the ocean’s bottom, pale and shy and blinking uncertainly. 

When my turn came, I scrambled beneath my table to the center well and faced the writers I admired enough to reprimand.

The review genre

Of course, all these people are ridiculously nice or they'd be blogging about politics or law or other grouchy topics. So I had nothing to fear, right? Except that I was there to tell them that the fun can't go on forever. That to write at a professional level means understanding that reviewing is a genre, with its own tropes and quirks and readers' implicit expectations.

Function follows form in reviewing, and I’ve adopted the mission of teaching those forms to whoever will sit still long enough. It's anathema even to nice bloggers, however, who are accustomed to the freewheeling, unedited, unexpurgated Express Yourself theme park that’s become the blogosphere. It’s tough to be told there are forms to follow, and they make sense, and the wheel doesn't need constant reinventing.

Plus, there was no getting around the fact that my 12-page handout did not fit neatly into the allotted 50 minutes, after I had prepared for a 90-minute workshop.

I raced through the material and there were many salient points that I had to skim or drop altogether. People were slow to get started, perhaps lulled by the easygoing nature of other presentations. Mine was high key, and I think many were startled at the size of the handout and the announcement that there would an editing exercise.

Where we are now

I began with an overview of the print vs. blog reviewers animosity. I stated flatly that print reviewers are gatekeepers, with an impulse to keep the barbarian hordes (that’s us) at bay out of self-preservation.

And one look around the book blogging world does indeed reveal a gap in skills, to put it gently. But the gates to the castle are easily opened; by knowing what a good, meaty book review looks like, you can join that cultural conversation Mr. Wasserman asserts in his excellent, if somewhat bitter personal essay on the subject of reviewing. 

Everything else, to me, is book chatter – also valuable, of course, but it doesn't employ the same analytical thinking or provide the same depth of insight.

Forms vs. Formulas

Before I could launch into the forms of book reviewing, I reminded people that forms aren't formulas. I used a shopping analogy (payback for all those overused sports analogies – I'm not much of a "team player" and I never "hit one out of the park"):

This isn't like going into a department store looking for size-12 sportswear and all you find are size-8 cocktail dresses. This isn't about one-size fits all.

Switching metaphors (you can do this when you're talking a mile a minute), I said imagine the structured review as a dinner plate. Just because everyone uses a dinner plate doesn't mean we're all eating the same meal. What you prepare and how you present it are entirely your own.

Having an Ideal Reader

I spent only a brief time asking bloggers to consider not just readers who routinely visit their blogs, since writing for this immediate circle eventually becomes limiting and self-referential.

You unwittingly erect your own gates, admitting only those who "get" you and your stylistic quirks. To reach a broader audience, you have to imagine who they should be.

I never imagined that Book Buds would draw so many librarians, and while I love every one of them, my ideal reader is still the lost parent in the bookstore, afraid to venture beyond what they loved from their own childhoods into the wilderness of all those new titles. I always write for that parent, imagining him or her anew each time.

The Three Forms of Book Reviewing

I taught that book reviewing – or really, any kind of reviewing – breaks down into three forms based on length: capsule reviews, mid-length or daily reviews (so called because they appear in the daily sections of newspapers instead of Sunday) and long-form essays topped by a billboard (explanation below).

We spent the most time on capsule reviews, because we find it most often on blogs and it offers the easiest opportunities for freelancing. It's also a pain to get it right, and therefore the most flagrantly abused.

My advice: write tight, eschew too much plot rehash, have a distinct perspective, be authoritative.

I had people edit a short, highly critical review of a Hanukkah book that had been sent to me by a writer looking for editing advice. I was surprised when many people (authors all) stalled on the idea that the writer would even bother with a negative review.

Many authors simply couldn't emotionally grapple with the reality of negative book reviews, of their being a vital part of that "cultural conversation."

Daily Reviews

We moved on to the dailies, which I insisted must have two characteristics: thematic consistency and brisk writing.

My advice:

Simply listing all your likes and dislikes doesn't make for a review, even if you think you're being thorough. Especially if you think you're being thorough!

Ruminate on the book as deeply as time allows. Where does it fit in its genre? Or into the author's body of work? Or in pop culture? If there's one notion in your head that shines brighter, there's your theme, which acts as a thread to pull readers through to the end.

Organize all your quotes, plot details and exposition around that ONE theme. That's all there's room to do in a daily. As with capsule reviews, keep plot rehash to a minimum. Weave in only those details that make sense for the theme you've chosen. If there are plot details that MUST be included that DON'T fit your theme, you may have the wrong theme.

The long form

The long-form essay deals not necessarily with one particular book -- unless it's a seminal work -- but with a writer's career, or a trend or movement in literature, or it paints some much larger picture than is possible in the 500-800 words usually reserved for dailies.

I didn't get to say this, but the long form can go very long -- up to 25,000 words or so, after which it's time to get a book contract!

To keep it manageable, the long form features what's known as a "billboard," basically a signal of what's to come. Its two characteristics are the anecdotal lead of 1 or 2 extremely large paragraphs or 3-6 shorter paragraphs, plus what's called the "nut" paragraphs because they contain the kernel of your arguments.

The opening anecdote -- often but not always drawn from the subject's life -- ends in an "aha" moment when the reader finally learns why he or she's reading this.

That's when biography stops and the hard work of laying out your themes begins. A longer piece needs more than one theme, and EVERY SENTENCE in the nut graphs lays out a different theme, each subsequent sentence building on the one before.

I used an excerpt from a recent piece on Jack Kerouac (his "On the Road" turns 60 soon) and quickly pointed out where we shifted into "nut" mode and labeled the anecdote as "A" followed by themes B, C, D and even E.

Throughout the piece -- indeed, every long piece -- writers will wheel through ABCDE (or however many letters) again and again. To put all the plot rehash or anecdotes or quotes (the "A" stuff) together would make little sense except as a book report; to put all paragraphs on theme B or theme C, etc., together gets wearisome. People like patterns and the mind absorbs them without effort.

If, each time you dip into the well for "A" matter, you then work it through each theme, you create a circular movement that propels readers along, always coming back to A again, and so forth. You build momentum.

(This is tough to explain without showing, but if you want to peek in at Book Forum, any Sunday book review section or the New York Review of Books, you'll find plenty of examples to dissect this way.)

Reactions

The reaction? Most people were gracious and approving. A few were shell-shocked at having to do actual thinking. But that’s exactly my point; jotting down newsy tidbits gleaned from press releases or rounding up links doesn’t require critical analysis. Dashing off comments isn’t a conversation. A thumbs-up, thumbs-down cursory reaction isn’t a review.

All those factoids and quips serve their purpose, but if we’re going to bury beleaguered book review sections, unwittingly or no, we ought not replace them solely with the printed version of a five-minute quickie. Just as a book still requires some luxuriating, even in our haste-addicted society, a sustained argument in a long essay is still a slow, deliberate seduction that engages the senses, lingers in the memory, and satisfies the spirit.

Posted by: Anne Boles Levy

There seems to be a whole mess of bad, awful, terrifying mishaps that can go wrong in cyberspace when all you’re trying to do is pick a favorite book. Sure, it sounds easy. You set up a blog, ask a couple acquaintances to do reviews, chat about likes and dislikes, and ta-dah ... We have a winner! Just like that.

Only it’s not at all like that. We—the other organizers and myself—ventured into unknown territory when we founded the Children’s and Young Adult Bloggers’ Literary Awards (our friends call us Cybils) that recently opened its second season at Cybils.com. But our success was hardly assured, and there are, I think, lessons for anyone believing that the Internet’s newness means that old rules don’t apply.

To start with, if human nature is a constant, as so many philosophers and writing coaches tell us, what to make of all the introverts, dreamers and unrepentant bookworms who make up the core kidlit bloggers? Could we all rouse from our armchairs long enough to hold a contest?

Would we all play fair—ignoring marketing hype to offer a level playing field for independent publishers?

And would it, in the end, have any impact at all, or just dissipate in a wave of self-congratulatory linkfests? Would our tiny craft ever take off?

It all started with a smart-alecky comment I left on someone else’s blog last year, after complaints that the Newbery's were too snooty and the Quills, well, not snooty enough. I said us blogging upstarts should up and start our own contest. Kelly Herold, whose blog it was, turned out to be one of these organized types and took me up on it.

We didn’t need a mission statement; our sense of purpose grew as we hashed out matters in comments and emails. Quality and popularity would both count; literary merit and kid appeal would be weighed equally. We would be democratic and elitist both. Everybody would nominate books, but only bloggers would judge. And the bloggers would be, well, just about anybody.

Our first cosmic obstacle was our name. I couldn’t stand any of the suggestions, like “mad hatters” or the “blogburys.” Hitting this head-on cost us precious momentum – hours, maybe even days, after the idea germinated, when time is measured in nanoseconds in the forget-it-yesterday blogosphere. I decided on Cybils when it seemed to appease both the cutesy and serious types.

I mentioned asteroids and black holes. The asteroids would be the organizational nightmares you don’t know are headed your way. They veered into our path over seemingly small things, like counting six genres until the poetry and graphic novels fans griped. All those genres needed their own chiefs and two sets of judges. Where would we find so many people? With blogs? About kids’ books?

Kelly had a blogroll like nobody’s business, sort of like an electronic rolodex, and she leaned hard on folks to join up instead of crabbing in the comments sections. Once we had a full slate of 80+ volunteers, we needed little things like a domain name and a hub to gather and do all the contest-related stuff, whatever that would mean. And then there were listservs and databases and all kinds of mind-numbing particulars that have gotten all the mention they need.

Even so, we headed straight for a black hole. Setting the contest up on a blog sounded cheap and easy, and it kept us in the blogging spirit. We listed each genre as a separate post and waited for nominations to roll in from the public. And ... then what? I was staring at three months of a dead blog – utterly empty space – until the short lists were announced.

How to fill the void? I wasn’t ready to write yet another blog, and Cybils wasn’t about me. And what was there to say, really?

Meanwhile, we’d gathered all these smart, witty, similarly obsessed people, and they all had opinions. On everything – not just books. People battled about ethics, about whether to keep blogging about the books they were judging, about whether we should solicit review copies from publishers; all big, potentially contest-wrecking issues. More asteroids.

Like many introverts, I like to think I have very little ego, which actually makes leadership tough when you’re determined that everything go all friendly-like. No hurt feelings, no tough talk ... and nothing gets done. And I’m new to awards. I never won any, unless you count a good citizenship certificate for being pretty much the only kid in my high school to never get busted. A dull life suits my bookish self just fine.

So I joked that Kelly and I were benevolent dictators, but the term gave us cover to step in when things veered off course. Sure, you all can blog about these books, just don’t tip your hand, voting-wise. Send me links and I’ll post excerpts at Cybils. Voila! The black hole gets filled and an asteroid avoided. Hey, y’think the publishers will send review copies? Yes! More disaster averted.

Complaints rolled in as often as compliments, but if you’re going to insist you have no ego then you listen and you nod and you keep updating your FAQs and revising the rules and go from there.

On Feb. 14, we announced nine winners and 5,000 people leaped onto our blog to end the suspense. Five of the winning titles came from independent publishers, including a graphic novel from a publisher who never got back to us about review copies. Both rounds of judges had to hunt the book down in comics shops or online.

An organized “buy Cybils” push saw dramatic drops in the Amazon sales ranks (a good thing) for many winning titles. We were written up in the online or newsletter versions of Publisher’s Weekly, School Library Journal and of course ForeWord. Even GalleyCat, a big publishing industry blog, threw us a shout out.

Some lessons learned: our fancy-schmancy press releases were never picked up by the press. They did better posted at blogs and in online forums. The “viral” marketing that so many business gurus talk about really does work in non-traditional markets like ours, but only when the people spreading your message have something more than hype or buzz or vague promises or stock options to blather about. Keep it real, and people will come.

I keep seeing Cybils mentioned in Amazon or GoodReads reviews – usually footprints left by a supporter. There’s even a Cybils mention on Wikipedia, under Melanie Watt’s page (her picture book, Scaredy Squirrel, from Kids Can Press, was a winner).

Kelly and I learned to keep it simple, stupid: neither of us is judging this year while we’re busily zapping those asteroids. Kelly’s most arduous task is nabbing review copies: after publishers rightfully bellyached about being hit up for free books at every turn, we’re submitting one master list via one person. Nobody assaults authors or pesters publicists; all contacts are via Kelly or her henchwoman in charge of smoothing our relations with the independents, the mercilessly well-organized Sheila Ruth of Wands and Worlds (http://www.wandsandworlds.com/blog1/), herself an independent publisher.

And while chatting with your co-workers seems a fairly basic Management 101 thing to do, it’s tough when it’s all online. So Kelly and I grabbed a chance to meet some of our virtual co-conspirators at a kidlit blogging conference in October; we had no agenda and opened the floor to questions. That could’ve been a disaster!

Instead, we walked away amazed at both the great sense and intense passion of our volunteers, who get paid in nothing but links, a few free books and ample gratitude. Their feedback is gradually being incorporated into every stage of the contest, from the website’s readability to the judging criteria and much, much else.

Yes, we’re back; nominations opened Oct. 1 and close the day before Thanksgiving. We let everybody who can click their way to the Cybils blog nominate a single, solitary, lonely book in each of eight genres, from picture books up to young adult, and of course graphic novels and poetry. We’ve gotten better about enforcing our few rules, and are still coasting on readers’ goodwill and generally honest nature.

We expanded our roster of volunteers up to 90 bloggers, and have made good on promises to include a large percentage of newcomers so we don’t become cliquish.

Once again, New Year’s and Valentine’s Days will be the dates to circle for short lists and winners, respectively.

We’ve added BookSense links to the Amazon ones, with people still using last year’s short lists for early holiday shopping. With those tiny commissions plus a few droplets of ad revenue, we hope to make enough to buy actual awards for this year’s winning authors and illustrators. Right now, our humble thanks are all we have to offer.

Back by popular demand are book reviews of the nominees from our bloggers, with links back to their sites – some of the most impassioned and active voices in the kidlitosphere. And, of course, we’re featuring some of the best books of 2007. We hope yours are among them.

See you at Cybils!

Posted by: Anne Boles Levy

Jules: Well, here we are in our last week this month of guest-writing in ForeWord's "Shelf Space" column, and we've enjoyed every week. At our literary blog, Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast (or "7-Imp"), Eisha and I sometimes like to do what we call co-reviewing. Less like a review and more like a book discussion over cyber-coffee, our co-reviews are pretty much a back-and-forth about a particular title. We've even recently started inviting other bloggers to come join us for guest "tri-reviews."

Here's a co-review of the new novel by Haven Kimmel, an author whose books -- each and every one -- we adore with a devotion that probably verges on stalker-ish. Heh. Friendly caveat: There are plot spoilers below. You have been warned.

In The Used World (Free Press, 9780743247788), Haven Kimmel's final novel in what she has called The Hopwood Trilogy -- a loose trilogy with Kimmel's previous novels, The Solace of Leaving Early and Something Rising (Light and Swift), published in 2002 and 2004, respectively, and all set in small-town Indiana -- we enter Hazel Hunnicutt's Used World Emporium, an antique store that is "the station at the end of the line for objects that sometimes appeared tricked into visiting there." Hazel is tough, but she's also hiding big secrets from her past that, in the end, the reader discovers are linked to her two employees at the Emporium: Claudia Modjeski and Rebekah Shook. Claudia -- freakishly tall, over age forty, often mistaken for a man, and terrifically lonely -- still grieves over the death of her mother. Rebekah, who still lives with her strict Pentacostal father, is pregnant with the child of a failed songwriter/musician who has left her. After Hazel manipulates Claudia into adopting the sickly, newborn child of a meth-addict and Rebekah's father kicks her out, Hazel convinces Rebekah to move in with Claudia. The two women and the baby form a makeshift family. Along the way, Kimmel flashes into the pasts of most of the major characters, revealing layer upon layer of their complicated lives of loneliness and devotion and desperation and faith. In the end, though, it's infused with hope, and Kimmel -- as she has done previously in the trilogy -- provides enlightening commentary about the Christian faith through minister Amos Townsend.

So, Eisha, what did you think of the novel? It almost pains me to say this, 'cause I adore the writing of Haven Kimmel with a blinding intensity, but I think you might actually be the bigger fan, in that you have read every dang book she's written and I'm still a bit behind. So, did the novel meet your expectations, particularly as the final book in the so-called Hopwood Trilogy?

Eisha:  In a word: yes. All I really expected was to be wowed by her writing, and I certainly was, just like I always am by every single book this woman writes. From the very first paragraph, I was captivated:

“Claudia Modjeski stood before a full-length mirror in the bedroom she'd inherited from her mother, pointing the gun in her right hand -- a Colt .44 Single Action Army with a nickel finish and a walnut grip -- at her reflected image. The mirror showed nothing above Claudia's shoulders, because the designation 'full-length' turned out to be as arbitrary as 'one-size.' It may have fit plenty, but it didn't fit her.”

I also fell completely in love with the three main characters: Claudia, Rebekah and Hazel. The, well . . . trinity they form is practically a work of art in itself: each one is so distinct and fully-developed, yet the three are so well-balanced within the story. I thought it was quite an accomplishment.

How about you? Did it meet your expectations?

Jules: Oh lordamercy yes. Is it not like a big gift to be taken into one of Haven's worlds? I hate finishing one of her books. And didn't you say you immediately started re-reading after finishing it the first time?

I also remember you saying when we first started the novel that you were so happy to simply be in the presence of Amos Townsend again, the town's minister ("trying to minister to a congregation that would prefer simple affirmations to his esoteric brand of theology," as the publisher puts it so well for The Solace of Leaving Early). I missed him, too, and probably did actual leaps around the house after I got the book in my hands and knew I'd be reading more of his thoughts and sermons. The Booklist review wrote, "Kimmel's take on spirituality is intriguing, though her more detailed passages about religion slow an otherwise swift plot" to which I want to object heartily. I need to read Amos' words; I think he's one of the top-ten most extraordinary characters in contemporary literature; and, contrary to what that reviewer thinks, I find that his words amplify the plot, bring new insights to the actions and heartbreak of the characters (and, particularly in this novel, his words are a perfect counter-balance to the close-minded, orthodox, and controlling words of Vernon, Rebekah's father).

(I almost typed "Atticus" instead of "Amos"; am I crazy for seeing some Atticus Finch in him?).

It's like this: I'd go to church if Amos could be my minister. I always read and then re-read and then re-read one more time all of his sermons.

Now, I know I've already quoted from one review, but I'm about to quote from another one (you know I'm a review geek, so it's no surprise). I really love this from Donna Rifkind, writing for The Washington Post:

"How to rediscover faith in this used and broken world, during a vacuous holiday season, in a junk shop tricked out to look like home, among the old eggbeaters and heavy black telephones of the dead? Kimmel manages to suggest that hope is possible here, urging her trio of unhappy pilgrims, along with two unanticipated babies, into a peculiar but convincingly loving family. She accomplishes this not by tidying up all the book's odds and ends, as other writers might, but by leaving them loose. The questions her characters ask -- 'Where is the past, exactly?' wonders Hazel -- are always more vital than the answers. In an interview with Powells.com in 2004, Kimmel mentioned why she spent 2 1/2 years studying religion in a Quaker seminary in the early 1990s. 'I realized that if . . . I wanted to be a writer at all, I would have to commit myself to asking the largest questions of life I knew how to ask, and it seemed to me that those were questions about time and death and change.'"

I love that. I love Kimmel's Rilke-esque devotion to trying to love the questions themselves. And I love the loose ends. It would just be wrong if it were all tidied up, don't you think?

Eisha:  Oh, absolutely. The excerpts from Amos's (Yes! Amos/Atticus! I see it!) sermons are all about the questions, and I love him, or I guess Haven, for it. They are definitely an integral part of this novel, and as for the reviewer who complained that they slow down the plot -- well, who reads Haven Kimmel for the plot?

You're so right -- the characters line up like a spectrum of organized religion, with Vernon's harsh, hypocritical, judgmental fire-and-brimstone version on one side; and Amos's intellectual, earnest, no-easy-answers on the other. You could even say that Claudia's memories of her parents' gentle, unquestioning faith falls somewhere in the middle. And Rebekah, struggling to define herself when the religion that defined her for the first twenty-five years of her life is stripped away, kind of transcends the spectrum -- she just basically is faith and hope and goodness, and the dogma was really just getting in her way.

But then there's Hazel -- psychic, astrologist Hazel. And funnily enough, she does have some of the answers, and uses that knowledge in righting some of the wrongs of the past and lining up all the players for the happy-ish ending. Were you as surprised as I was at this inclusion of decidedly non-Christian spirituality and the supernatural?

Jules: Yeah, regarding those various faiths on the spectrum you mention, I loved this (about Claudia): "From Nativity to Crucifixion, Christianity was a club into which Claudia had been born; she hadn't needed to apply or beg entry."

As for the supernatural, nah, it didn't surprise me. It certainly is another point on the spectrum (though I suppose that doesn't get categorized/labelled as "organized religion"; it's almost like Hazel's beliefs were a counter-balance to that entire spectrum). But, sure, I suppose it's the first time in one of Haven's novels we've read about such beliefs, huh? I thought it was (mostly – see below!) gripping, reading about Hazel's past and putting all the pieces together.

But what I loved the most was the growth in Claudia's character (particularly, her honest conversations about her sexuality with Amos toward the close of the book). I love love LOVED this excerpt and it also momentarily snapped my heart in two:

“What infuriated her was simply that she had, out of the blue and surely against the wishes of all the Millies everywhere, been given what everyone else expected as a birthright. The world belonged to other people; it belonged to the Death's-heads in their SUVs, to frat boys, to the fat women in the gas stations who stared at Claudia as if she carried a plague. It belonged to evangelicals and morbidly narcissistic politicians. No one had ever said to her . . . no one had told her that the brand-new, perfect, everyday world was hers, was Claudia's as much as it was anyone's.”

And, while I'm flipping through the book finding great Haven lines, here's the best of all: "Rebekah never would have guessed -- it didn't occur to her until she was fully grown -- that not everyone shared her belief that God had spared humanity its relentless fate in a single way: by making a good portion of every day hilarious." Rebekah certainly had a lot of growth, too, needless to say.

And I know I'm supposed to lead off with another question for you, but oh Eisha, there is just so much Haven-glory here that I am having trouble focusing. Here are two big 'ol themes I loved, and then I suppose you could tell me, if you're so inclined, what -- of all the goodness -- stood out for you the most:

I loved the juxtaposition (I promise I don't just feel like I have to throw the word "juxtaposition" into a lengthy book discussion; I really mean it) . . . as I was saying, I loved the juxtaposition between the Used World, "filled with the castoffs of countless lives," and the cluttered, disposable Wal-Martian world of the contemporary suburban life (such as, the night Rebekah is in the mall, trying to figure out where to sleep after having been kicked out of her home: "The lighting was aggressive, and everyone looked older than they were, and defeated").

And, secondly, I loved the women-doing-it-for-themselves-snap-snap empowerment in the book and all the, well, father-commentary, such as when we get the first description of Hazel's mother's clinic ("a world without men . . . {Hazel} knew for certain that women free of fathers speak one way and they make a world that tastes of summer every day, and when the men come home after winning the war -- or even if they don't come -- the shutters close, the lipstick goes on, and it is winter, again"); when Claudia is getting rude stares for being so mannish ("when the toothless women in sweatshirts, their bodies and hair reeking of cigarette smoke and fast food, stared at her cruelly or even went so far as to make a comment, she no longer thought, They hate me. Now she tried to remind herself that if we don't feel the weight of the human condition, we must not be fully human. She thought instead, They hate themselves. They hate being alive. They hate their Fathers"); and the moment in which Rebekah is remembering her mother, wanting to perhaps leave a note to tuck in a drawer, should her father ever get re-married:

“The note could say: My mother sprinkled cinnamon in her vegetable soup. She cooked rice in chicken broth, not water. She touched everything as if it were fragile. She listened when you talked and she didn't judge and she had an easy laugh, for a woman in her time and place. Resting her head on the table, Rebekah cried and cried.”

Sorry I'm all over the place, Eisha. You know how it is with Our Haven. Did those themes strike you, too, in one way or another?

Eisha:  No apologies necessary, J. You're spot-on -- I'd say the whole female-empowerment theme is definitely key, as is the complicated father-wife-daughter (hey, another trinity!) relationship. And the "juxtaposition" you mention between the Used World Emporium and the Wal-Mart/strip-mall culture is also huge. The contrast between the past and the present is brought up again and again, usually with the present looking rather shoddy in comparison. True, with the female empowerment theme, you do see progress in the role of women: the fact that an abortion is a legal (however distastefully offered) option for Rebekah, for example, rather than something she would have had to have done at Hazel's mother's secret clinic in the 1960s, could be seen as progress in a good way. The fact that Claudia does have options regarding her sexuality -- although she's hampered by the small town environment in which she lives -- that weren't available to Hazel is another example. But more often, the architecture and culture of the town, and particularly its residents, are held up to the spectacle of the past and found wanting. This theme of decline and decay is pretty well summed up in this passage from Claudia, reminiscing about her mother as she visits her sister:

“How could it be that everything had changed so much so quickly? There was no such world as had Ludie in it. She was the last mother to put up vegetables every year; the last fat mother who didn't dye her hair or wear pants to church; the last to sing the old hymns and maintain a flourishing garden. Claudia couldn't think of one other soul in the world who had a pawpaw tree in the yard, one that bore fruit, and that was because of Ludie. But Millie was the New Mother, no doubt about it, driving her SUV and buying everything in her life (her clothes, her furniture, her food, her pictures in frames) at the Wal-Mart. Sitting in Millie's country kitchen with her seven thousand unnecessary pieces of plastic, Claudia sometimes expected to hear a voice call out for a manager in aisle nine. Ludie had worked all day from the time she got up until she went to bed. She cooked and cleaned and visited the sick. In the summer she gardened and hung the washing on the line; in the autumn she raked leaves and baked; in the winter she shoveled snow and made candy. All spring she drummed her fingers on the windowsills, waiting for the time to put in annuals. She was never too sick or too tired for church or to take care of her own elderly parents. But it was Millie, who did none of those things and had no other job besides, who treasured time-saving devices like nacho cheese you could heat up right in the jar.”

I'm glad you also included that great Rebekah quote, because it applies to the book as a whole, too. Sometimes the story verges on tragedy, and there are some unconscionable scenes that are going to stay with me for a long time (like the scene where Claudia and Hazel find the baby). But peppered throughout are these utterly hilarious bits of dialogue and description that sometimes had me hooting out loud. Like this one between Hazel and Claudia, on their way to visit Hazel's sister at the motorcycle gang/meth lab compound where she stays:

“’Hazel, are you carrying a gun?’
‘Of course I am. I always carry it when I visit Edie, wherever she's living.’
Claudia pressed her thumbs against her temples.‘Do you have a permit? A license to carry? A license to conceal it?’
'Well, yes, Claudia, I do. But if I didn't that wouldn't stop me.’
 . . .’What kind of gun is it?’
Hazel unsnapped the holster. ‘It's a Derringer.’

The gun was no bigger than a deck of cards. Claudia reached out and took it, admired the mother-of-pearl handle. ‘Forgive me, Hazel, but if we find ourselves in danger, are you going to ask one of those fat, tattooed psychopaths to lift his shirt and point to his kidneys? Are you going to say, “This barrel might feel a little cold, Porky, but I need you to stand still?"’

Hazel took the gun back, narrowed her eyes at Claudia. ‘You're right. Good thing I have the nine-millimeter in my coat pocket.’”

So, I've got a question for you. Lest we sound like Haven is paying us for this review . . . is there anything about this novel that struck you as less-than-perfect? I have a couple.

Firstly, I sometimes felt that references to Rebekah's backstory got a little repetitive. I do get that to grow up under those cult-like circumstances, and then to suddenly be cut off from everyone you've ever known and forced to make your way in an unfamiliar world, is a big deal. But I didn't necessarily feel that I needed to be told that as often as I was.

Secondly (and this is tiny, really) -- how did Vernon know when Rebekah would go into labor? I know, he threatened in his letter that he knew when she'd be due, but didn't she go into labor early? Yet he showed up anyway. Maybe he's psychic too?

And one more thing: I'm not sure how well the whole Claudia/Amos relationship plays out if you haven't already read The Solace of Leaving Early. It's not crucial to the plot or anything, but I think to get why Amos is such an important character it would be helpful.

But I want to be clear: these are minor quibbles. On the whole, I loved this novel, and I think Haven broke new ground for herself here. The plot plays a much more significant role in this novel (as compared to character and theme) than in previous ones, and the tone covers a wider spectrum of emotion than I think her earlier novels do. Consistent throughout Haven's writing, though, are solidly realistic characters that completely steal your heart; a powerful philosophical depth to her themes; and the pure poetry of her writing. Those elements are in full effect here, as always.

Jules: Interesting question about Vernon showing up early. I didn't even catch that. Good one, Inspector Gadget.

I suppose I would say the less-than-perfect for me, as you put it, would be that the backstory on Hazel was a bit, well . . . that aforementioned Washington Post review also said that the narrative in this novel is "overcrowded" (though the reviewer goes on to say that "Kimmel pulls off an unexpectedly affecting novelistic coup . . . That so messy a book forms such a satisfying whole is a bit of a miracle"). I don’t agree that the dramatic action as a whole was crowded, but to me, the Hazel backstory got a bit cramped at times. Also, compared to her other novels, it took a bit more time for me to get invested in these characters. I don't know why. And I'm not saying I failed to ever invest, 'cause boy howdy and howdy boy did the opposite happen. I loved them, Haven's "trio of unhappy pilgrims," as Rifkind put it so well. As I said, I didn't want to close the book when I reached its end. But with Solace, for instance, she had me at hello, but it took maybe a chapter or two for me to really get with this novel's flow.

But this is a minor complaint, like yours are. I mean, this is Our Haven we're talking about, the best contemporary American author there is.

Thanks for talking The Used World with me, E-dawg. 'Twas fun. And, as always forever and ever amen, I look forward to what Haven Kimmel brings us next.

Posted by: Julie Danielson and Eisha Prather

There’s a lot going on in Blogistan, what my husband calls the world of kidlit blogging of which I am a part. There’s the Robert’s Snow multi-blog 2007 snowflake and illustrator features, entitled “Blogging for a Cure”; we at 7-Imp recently attended the 1st Annual Kidlitosphere Conference; and the Winter Blog Blast Tour, a multi-blog, cross-posting series of interviews with children’s and YA authors at approximately fifteen blogs, is about to be launched. However, I find myself yet again, when given the opportunity in a new spot in cyberspace, wanting to talk books, books, and more books.

And lately, in particular, I’ve had my mind on picture books whose illustrators, in one way or another, play around with the notions of size and perspective, as well as the abundant number of books out and about now which focus on one’s community and circle of friends. I chose a handful of them to review today, so let’s get right to it, shall we? There’s never enough time to talk about books.

Oh yes, size matters . . .

Monster Hug! by David Ezra Stein; Putnam Juvenile; September 2007

I think an up-and-coming picture book illustrator we all can get most excited about this year, other than the obscenely talented Jonathan Bean, is David Ezra Stein. He hasn’t made a misstep yet; even the one title of his -- out of four thus far in his career -- that I think is least exciting is still a good one. And then he had to go and create Leaves, released this August. It is a quiet, unassuming, and introspective title, not unlike a poem, and it instantly sealed with a fix-all-super-glue-adhesive-type strength my budding adoration for him. Monster Hug!, his latest title, features the same heavy black outlining – even heavier – that he used in Cowboy Ned & Andy (2006) and even more of an intentionally unpolished, flat-out messy style (disheveled has never looked so good) that sings with spontaneity, fitting for a book about the rambunctious, untidy play of friends. In this case, those friends are two mammoth monsters – that’s Scaly Monster and Hairy Monster if you don’t zoom past the title page spread – and they are having some BIG fun playing Monster Ball (with the sun and the nearest tree), Monster Splash and Monster Squirt (with the ocean and an octopus, respectively), and breaking for a Monster Feast (on some ocean liners, airplanes, mountains, and semis, no less). It’s all fun and games, Stein reveling in and paying tribute to the raucous, imaginative play of children, and all spread out on the hugest scale possible. They climb over buildings and even use them as props in their play. But wait! Stein has a surprise up his sleeve in the way of playing with size and perspective: Their even huger parents show up, thus suddenly dwarfing them in size and ordering them home – but not ‘til after Scaly and Hairy get in a super-sized hug, ‘cause they’re tight, y’all: Even though they’re happy to return to their safe and snug homes (a volcano and an ocean bed), they needed to seal the deal with that Monster Hug. It’s one of the most visually striking, child-magnet picture books I’ve seen this year, and I can’t wait to see what Stein brings us next.

Big and Little by John Stadler; Robin Corey Books/Random House; August 2007

Don’t let your eyes deceive you: When it comes to size, things are simply not what they seem in this flap book by funny man John Stadler. Welcome to the Big Top, as Ellie the elephant is nervously climbing a very tall ladder, prepping herself for a high dive into a tiny glass of water down below. Our mouse emcee on the stage floor builds the excitement and tension as he instructs Ellie with as much enthusiasm as he can muster. After she slips and unwillingly takes the dive . . . well, whew! She lands in the cup of water after all. “Ladies and gentlemen! TA-DAH! Well done, little Ellie!” our rodent emcee exclaims. And it’s at this point we see that what seemed big was, indeed, little and vice versa – and that it’s all about perspective: It’s not until the close of the book that we see the duo side-by-side and realize that the miniscule glass of water was just the size for the pocket-sized Ellie, who can fit in the mouse’s hand. The story literally unfolds before you with the book’s gatefold flaps and works well as an easy reader with its short sentences and simple vocabulary. And let me say, for the record, I hate to provide such a huge spoiler for the book’s ending, but in order to point out the book’s all-around goodness as a not-to-be-missed size-matters picture book, I had no choice. Just make sure you share this playful title with your favorite wee children and watch their surprise as they discover how easily an artist can deceive by playing with size and scope and one’s point of view.

Where the Giant Sleeps by Mem Fox and illustrated by Vladimir Radunsky; Harcourt; October 2007

Where does the dragon lay his head? Where does the fairy doze? Why, on an archipelago, which Radunsky -- previous winner of a New York Times Book Review Best Illustrated Book of the Year -- shows us on each spread is the home for a dreaming wizard, an ogre, a goblin, and much more. But it’s on the book’s opening spread that we see from an aerial perspective that this chain of islands is more than what it seems: It’s a sleeping giant, whose hair is the forest and eyes are the nearby houses and whose left foot is topped off with a lighthouse. A child, who we discover at the book’s close is dreaming, is rowing his boat in the waters and taking in the wonders of the night with his spyglass: He spots the dozing fairy in the forest; a sleeping pirate near the houses (a dog trying his best to slumber); sleeping pixies “in petals soft and round”; and the seven dwarfs “in caves beneath the ground.” Only the elves are awake “to make a quilt of moons and stars to wrap you in . . . tonight.” Radunsky’s dreamy, soft-focus illustrations, many seen through the clouds drifting through the sky, are well-matched to the simple, rhythmic bed-time rhymes of acclaimed author Mem Fox. And if that’s not enough of a captivating peek into the wonders of playing with size for you, then enjoy the final spread of the sleeping child, whose room is scattered with the toy versions of what is seen on the sleeping archipelago giant: a toy lighthouse here, a wizard puppet there -- and a dreaming boy, covered up by his stars-and-moon quilt in the quiet of the night.

. . . and so do one’s friends and neighbors:

Bobbie Dazzler by Margaret Wild and illustrated by Janine Dawson; Kane/Miller; September 2007

You know how young children delight (and delight again. And then delight a few more times) in the smallest of achievements? Well, here’s a title for them from, arguably, the kidlitosphere’s favorite (and, not arguably, most blogger-friendly) independent publisher, Kane/Miller. Bobbie, a Red-necked Wallaby of eastern Australia (I love the short note on the CIP page  – Author’s? Illustrator’s? I don’t know, but I’m glad it’s there -- describing the animal on which Bobbie is based), can jump and bounce and skip and whirl ‘n’ twirl and somersault – and even hop on one leg. Her devoted friends at their coastal forest home are impressed. Bobbie can’t do the splits, though, and she’s bothered – a lot. “Never mind,” say her friends. After some help from her mates, she reaches her goal and her friends give those splits a shot as well. There’s much humor here for wee children, what with all Bobbie’s determined friends and their stumbles as they try to both aid her and do their own gymnastics. The final illustration will damn near make you tear up: Group Hug! Dawson’s illustrations, well-ventilated in ample white space, also bring observant readers the native vegetation of the Australian landscape – bottlebrushes, eucalyptus, banksias, and kangaroo paw. It’s a picture book brimming with joy.

Rabbit’s Gift: A Fable from China by George Shannon and illustrated by Laura Dronzek; Harcourt; Release date: November 2007

Turnip potluck, anyone? If you treat yourself to any one snowy, winter-time book this year, let it be this sparkly gem of a book, an adaptation of a centuries-old Chinese folktale. Snow is coming, and Rabbit is prepared with two turnips for the winter. But, remembering Donkey alone on the hill, he “gently butted his extra turnip to Donkey’s house,” thus beginning a pay-it-forward, domino-like wave of generosity as each animal then does the same for his neighbor. In the end, when everything comes full-circle and Rabbit stumbles upon that very turnip at his door, all the animals have a cozy meal together in the forest at night. Shannon does the folktale justice – plus some – with his reverent, uncluttered re-telling. Dronzek treats us to spreads that bleed to the very edges, bringing this vibrant wood to life, but also frames each animal in its own portrait as he stumbles upon the gift at his door. Shannon includes an Author’s Note, which traces the story’s source, making lovers of folktale adaptations everywhere happy (we get twitchy if source notes are not included). Best of all? The Chinese symbols for each animal are included in this heartening tale of true friendship.

The Baby Shower by Eve Bunting and illustrated by Judy Love; Charlesbridge; July 2007

Bunting’s characters from her 2003 Charlesbridge picture book, The Wedding, are back – this time they’re celebrating the impending arrival of Ms. Brindle Cow’s firstborn child. Told in rhyming couplets, the brisk narrative takes us to the home of each excited animal in this tight-knit community: Chipmunk, Rabbit, Duck, Pig, and more. Then they’re on their way, singing a joyful song all the while, to deliver gifts to Brindle and Bull. They delight in the unexpected arrival of twins, once they make it to Brindle. Judy Love’s ornate illustrations amuse with details, and her palette doesn’t shy from a bold use of color. There’s a touch of the old-skool, conservative bygone and time-worn here with things like a big, pink bow atop the female calf’s head, a blue bonnet for the boy, and Duck ready to launch the newborn-baby prayer. Taking in Love’s night-time spread, the animals silhouetted and marching to Brindle, is a like giving yourself a little gift. In the end, the animals suggest that, since baby showers are so much fun, Brindle spawn again. Ouch! Let’s give her a bit of a rest first, shall we? Needless to say, here’s a fitting baby shower gift. You do give books at baby showers, don’t you? Do we need to have a talk?

And don’t forget Bunting’s exuberant Hurry! Hurry!, illustrated by Jeff Mack and released by Harcourt in March.

Waking Up Wendell by April Stevens and illustrated by Tad Hills; Schwartz & Wade Books (Random House); September 2007

Here’s not only a picture book focusing on a neighborhood – the fictional Fish Street of suburbia-world – but it’s a perfect title for the cause-and-effect units of study for the elementary teachers and librarians of the world. How can a chain of events wake up every inhabitant of Fish Street, and what starts it all off? Well, it’s a little yellow bird, hopping out of her nest and taking a deep breath, singing “a very loud and whistley song: TWEEET-TWEEET-TA-TA-TA-TWEEEEET . . .” Mr. Krudwig, owner of Krudwig’s Bicycle Shop and dreaming of pancakes as he sleeps at #2 Fish Street, is awakened: “Oh, for crying out loud!” He gets his day started by letting his dog out, who wakes up Mrs. Musky at #3 Fish Street with an enthusiastic “Rappity-rappity-rap!” And so on. In the end, the puddin’ cute newborn, Wendell Willamore at the last house on Fish Street, is awake, his mother lifting him up in the air while singing “my little bird . . .” and bringing us full circle with this lively community of folks starting their day. There’s an entertaining dose of humor -- Mrs. Depolo, kindergarten teacher at #4 Fish Street, oversleeping, throwing her clothes on, “SCREEEECH!”ing and “GLEEEEEEP!”ing in her car, and then flying down Fish Street to work. Not to mention the Darjeeling family in house #6 who can’t put their foot down when it comes to co-sleeping children. Tad Hills, illustrator of the beloved Duck & Goose dramas, scores again with his sunny oil and colored pencil illustrations.  

A Box Full of Kittens by Sonia Manzano and illustrated by Matt Phelan; Atheneum Books for Young Readers (Simon & Schuster); June 2007

Want to wrap up with the book most energetically capturing “the rhythms and period details of a bustling, friendly community” (Publishers Weekly)? In this case, it’s an intimate Hispanic community in this title by “Maria”-of-Sesame-Street by day and author by night, Sonia Manzano, and illustrated by Matt Phelan, another one of my favorite new illustrators. Our protagonist, Ruthie, loves Superman -- and kittens. In fact, she wants to be Superman and thinks she’s actually been given her chance to be such a hero when she’s asked to go sit with her aunt Juanita, due to give birth any second. Off she goes, leaping up steps at a single bound, to retrieve snacks from the piraquero and the coquito vendor for her aunt, each time interacting with another member of her community. But, after getting distracted by the titular container of kittens, she misses the beginning of her aunt’s labor, feeling less like Superman and more like a failure. In the end, Juanita has a confession for Ruthie that makes her feel like a winner after all. This one – with Phelan’s graceful, glowing illustrations – celebrates family as well as community. Manzano’s inclusion of Spanish words in the text never feels forced, and an Author’s note in the beginning explains a few of the terms.

Coquito? Mmm. I don’t think I have any coconut cream on hand, but I do have some eggnog (yes, no matter the month, one must always have eggnog nearby). Picture books? Huh? What was I saying? My refrigerator is calling.

Enjoy these playful titles. Until next time . . .

Posted by: Julie Danielson and Eisha Prather

This "Shelf Space" column is, as you see above, devoted to booksellers and librarians discussing "what's in their reading room and what's on the horizon." Both Eisha and I have brainstormed topics for this column which focus on said horizon and current trends in children's literature, but this week I find myself my usual hopeless Book-Nerd-self who can't help but talk books, books, books -- as Eisha did last week. So, on that note, here are four middle-grade/early Young Adult novels I've read recently, which -- for one reason or another -- are worthy of mention in my . . . . well, book!

I Am Not Joey Pigza by Jack Gantos; Farrar, Straus & Giroux; July 2007

I probably have the most to say about this one, my favorite middle-grade title of the year thus far.

Carter Pigza, Joey's "no-good squinty-eyed bad dad," is back. He's had a small stroke of luck with playing the lottery, and he's back to take up his post as father and all-around family man, going so far as to insist that each member of the family changes his or her name. Carter -- rather, Charles Heinz -- also moves the entire Pigza clan past the city and into the tiny apartment adjoined to a neglected, old roadside diner, which he plans to renovate into the brand-spankin'-new diner called The Beehive -- this after Charles and Maria's "rewedding." But this is the Pigza clan we're talking about here, so nothing goes as planned, of course.

There are hysterical moments balanced with heartrending moments in this particular chapter, so to speak, of the Joey saga; the chapter entitled "Granny's Comet" is a moment of Gantos-genius, as Joey visits his grandmother's grave, having collected cigarette butts for her tombstone and planning to spray paint it silver ("'I have to go now,' I said to her. I leaned forward and gave the stone a kiss. It was as cold as the last time I kissed her cheek. 'I miss you,' I said quietly. 'I'm sorry all that smoking did you in. But I guess we have that in common, too, because now I have to send Joey up in smoke and become that other kid.'"). Joey must come to his own understanding of -- and even a forgiveness for -- the wrongs done to him, even realizing at one point that Carter “always seemed to be two people at once and I wasn't sure why. But maybe it was like Mom had said, with forgiveness you can breathe easy inside your own skin. Without it, you are always trying to be someone else." And all along the way, we get those signature Gantos Joey-metaphors ("I felt tired just trying to imagine where that goodness might be in my dad. And I felt that trying to find it was going to be like crawling down one of those old dark coal mines around here that were gated shut because they were dangerous") that bring Joey to vivid life.

I heard the always-entertaining Gantos speak about Joey this past weekend at the Southern Festival of Books, sponsored by Humanities Tennessee, in Nashville, Tennessee. (Hearing him talk about the very first draft of his first Joey book be an issue book with the "disease du jour" -- in other words, a Book About ADHD and not a good story that happens to have a character with ADHD -- and how he figured he was "contributing to the worst part of children's literature" was a kick, indeed). "I thought I had unduly burdened Joey," he said about this unexpected fourth Joey title, having decided earlier he would stop at a trilogy. "I brought him out of retirement and had to put him back in jeopardy, but I guided him through that to get to the forgiveness theme." Could there be a more sympathetic, lovable character in middle-grade fiction today, I dare say? As the School Library Journal review of this title points out, Joey is really on his own now; that is now clearer than ever. And, though that does make it one of the darker Joey books, as they also pointed out, it still makes me root for him even more.

Someone give Gantos a Newbery already. I’m just sayin’ . . .

Camel Rider by Prue Mason; Charlesbridge; June 2007

A very short war, measured in merely days, breaks out in Abudai, a fictional town in the oil-rich Arabian Gulf. Adam is Australian and lives comfortably with his family and beloved dog in a compound there. Walid -- a young camel rider, who was sold into slavery and whose mother had once called him Emir Saheer, or little prince, but now is heartlessly called only "boy" -- is bound and dumped in the desert by his two abusive owners, or dalals. After the war begins, Adam escapes the compound with his neighbors, who are heading toward the border, but flees from them in order to retrieve his dog. Adam never makes it back to the compound but does stumble upon Walid, alone and left to die in the desert. The novel recounts their journey to safety, battling extreme heat, hunger, fatigue, language difficulties, prejudice toward one another's cultures, and the two cruel slave traders who once owned Walil. The chapters are initially told from the boys' alternating points-of-view, even distinguished typographically, and eventually we are privy to their alternating voices within single chapters. It took some time for me to swallow the notion that Adam would escape those trying to guide him to safety in the midst of bombs falling, no matter how reckless he normally is and no matter how much he loved his pet dog, and, to be sure, the novel sags in spots with its less-than-fully-realized characters. But young fans of action-adventure novels will likely enjoy the almost constant cliff-hanging, edge-of-your-seat moments, and to boot, readers will learn something about Muslims and the war-torn area in which they live during the process. The ending is not only tidy, but it's almost as if I heard a sitcom laugh track and could see one of those sitcom freeze-frames in my head at the novel's final paragraph. But it's still a promising debut from Mason, paced well and possessing well-placed, refreshing moments of comic relief in an otherwise mostly suspenseful and nail-biting tale.

Into the Wild by Sarah Beth Durst; Razorbill/Penguin Young Readers; June 2007

I've been slightly burnt out on novel adaptations of fairy tales and fairy tale retellings of late, but this one -- which goes way beyond and much deeper than merely the rewriting of a Grimm tale or two -- I found wildly original. Welcome to the dangerous world of fairy tales, "The Wild," which is normally contained under the bed of twelve-year-old Julie Marchen but which breaks free, much to the dismay of Julie's mom, Rapunzel. Yeah, that Rapunzel, who had previously (make that approximately 500 years ago) escaped The Wild and was doing her best to save the world from it. Now that The Wild is loose and taking over contemporary Northboro, Massachusetts, the fairy tale characters who were happy in their modern suburban worlds are stuck once again in the repeated retellings of their dreaded tales -- and The Wild is dragging in others as well. And beware: The very persistent Wild wants its characters back, and once you complete the dramatic retelling of a tale, you're stuck in it for all eternity. It's up to Julie to save . . . well, everyone. This is Durst's debut novel, a fantasy adventure both smart and, at times, irreverently funny. Best of all, Durst knows her fairy tales, even the minor ones, and she manages to embrace the darker elements of these tales while at the same time not scaring the pants off the junior high readers at which the novel is aimed. My one minor gripe would be that I sometimes had difficulty following the rules for and logic of The Wild's inner world. But Julie is such a well-developed character; Durst did such a fine job of making me care about her journey from moment one; and the "existential story," as Kirkus Reviews put it, that this novel is (discussions of free will, anyone?) was so well laid-out that I eagerly anticipate the return of this brave new heroine of children's lit in another once-upon-a-time in next year’s Out of the Wild.

Louisiana’s Song by Kerry Madden; Viking Juvenile; May 2007

I think the rest of the world of children’s-lit-blogging has covered this gem of a book already. I suppose I was a bit late in getting to it, but I'm glad I found it. And, to be honest, I haven't read the first book, Gentle's Holler, in this planned trilogy of Madden's, but no matter. I was never once lost, not having read the opening tale.

It's Appalachia in the historically monumental year of 1963. Livy Two and her nine brothers and sisters -- who live in Maggie Valley, a small mountain holler in North Carolina, with Mama and Grandma Horace -- have welcomed their Daddy home after he wakes from a coma as the result of an unfortunate car accident. And he is not who he used to be: He can't remember his children's names; he's generally befuddled and bothered; and he can't even bear to pick up his beloved banjo. Since he's unable to support the family, the children must help keep the family financially secure and help avoid a move to Grandma's house in town, away from their beautiful, wild mountain home. Livy's brother, Emmett, is working away from home at Ghost Town in the Sky; her mother knits sweaters; and Livy herself takes a job at the bookmobile, all the time penning country music lyrics she hopes to one day sell and perform in Nashville ("I sing like I'll never quit, because it's only when I'm singing that I can quit hurting for Daddy and start loving him again the way I used to"). It's her younger sister, the terribly shy, gentle Louisiana, who steps up to the plate, the child who can best take care of Daddy and whose talent for painting eventually aids the family as well. And it's up to Livy and Louisiana to save their father after a terrifying turn of events while they hike up Waterrock Knock -- a six-thousand-foot-tall mountain. This is a beautifully, tenderly crafted novel with moments of humor, warmth, and genuine poignancy. Not a single word of this novel rings untrue; Madden nails the Appalachian setting and way of talk, and you immediately feel comfortable in the midst of it all, as if you have known the Weems family all your life. You can bet I'll be backtracking to read Gentle's Holler, and lucky for me I have an advanced copy of Jessie's Mountain, the final novel in the Weems family saga: I'm not quite ready to leave the unforgettable Weems family behind.

Posted by: Julie Danielson and Eisha Prather

by Eisha Prather

Mental illness has been one of the favorite topics of YA novelists ever since the genre was created. Well, actually, since some date the emergence of young adult literature with the publication of The Catcher in the Rye in 1951, one could argue that it was the topic that inspired the genre. But I still found it interesting to see how many novels published over the past year or so have depicted depressed teens. I also continue to be surprised at myself for seeking out and reading so many variations on the theme. What can I say? I find mental illness to be a compelling topic in its own right, and it seems like the more studies and research reveal about it, even more is revealed about how much the doctors don't know yet. And in fiction, it can be used to great effect as a metaphor for the greater teen condition.

Here are my impressions of a few recent titles that feature clinically depressed characters.

It's Kind of a Funny Story by Ned Vizzini (Hyperion, 2006).

Craig thought that once he passed the entrance exam to get into Manhattan's Executive Pre-Professional High School, his future success would be ensured. But actually attending such a rigorous school is much harder than he expected. He falls behind in his homework, obsesses over his best friend's girlfriend, and tries to self-medicate himself out of his funk with pot and alcohol. He also tries therapy and antidepressants. But he still can't eat, can't sleep, and can't escape the feedback-loop of anxiety and self-criticism that's in constant play in his mind. When he hits rock bottom, he checks himself into the hospital.

Based on Vizzini's own experiences in a mental hospital in 2004, the strength of this novel is in Craig's voice. He's an utterly believable and likable guy with a sharp, snarky sense of humor, and the reader can't help but root for him as he works his way toward a future he can live with. Providing additional doses of drama and comic relief are a well-drawn supporting cast of fellow inmates - including a love interest, whose complicated