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Showing posts with label Henry Holt and Company. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Henry Holt and Company. Show all posts


The Magic Tree (1973)

Retold and Illustrated by Gerald McDermott

Henry Holt and Company

This was a really wonderful read, and hard to come by. I'd somehow missed this one all these years.

It has a much different feel than Anansi the Spider, which is readily apparent just from the cover. Anansi was bright red! Anansi was grinning right us! In The Magic Tree, the colors are muted. The expression on Mavungu's profile is hard to read. This is a downbeat tale.

It begins with brothers - Mavungu and Luemba - one inexplicably favored, and one not. Mavungu leaves his home in shame. McDermott is so sparse with his prose: "One night he left his home," is all we're given, but the dark, highly stylized images show an epic journey through the nighttime rivers of the Congo.

Finally, Mavungu finds a thick tree growing from the water which blocks his path, and from the unfolding of the leaves comes a beautiful woman. These images remind me of the unfolding of a paper snowflake, colorful and mysterious, I could imagine the movement of it. The woman loves Mavungu, and transforms him into a lover worthy of her, with the only caveat that he must never tell of the Magic Tree.

It is hard to keep such a delicious secret, and the maddening dilemma along with his return to his home forms the remainder of the story. I have to say, I was surprised at the ending, and the finality of it.

He forgot those who loved him. And he gave his secret to those who did not love him at all.


Anansi the Spider (1972)

Retold and Illustrated by Gerald McDermott

Henry Holy and Company

Gerald McDermott died on December 26th of last year, just a couple of weeks ago, as I write this. He was 71 years old.

I think back on it, and I think that his books - and especially this particular book, Anansi the Spider - were the most influential in getting me interested in storytelling through picture books.

I always loved picture books since I had been a kid, but it was when I was put in charge of the children's section at the Penn Bookstore that I really came into contact with picture books in a meaningful way, and Anansi the Spider was a book I found right away.

Three of the six: Game Skinner, Stone Thrower and Cushion

I am drawn to the Trickster tales more than any other, and Anansi is the Trickster of all Trickster. I read this book often to groups of children who would come in for storytime. The story is about Anansi and his six sons: See Trouble, Road Builder, River Drinker, Game Skinner, Stone Thrower and Cushion, and how they each use their unique skills to rescue their father from a series of unfortunate events. It's a very fun read for children, and uses elements of puzzle-solving in addition to storytelling.

"He fell into trouble."

Re-reading through it tonight, however, I realize that there isn't very much tricking going on in this particular Anansi story, which makes it stand in contrast to many of the Anansi picturebooks which have followed. Anansi seems strangely passive. Events happen to him, and the story ends with him being unable to make up his mind. I think McDermott became a much more engaging writer as his career unfolded, but there's still a wonderful elegance in this story - its both simple and complex - and the colorful, geometric illustrations are such a standout it feels as though you've read something elemental.

"Mythology transforms, making the ordinary into the magical," he writes in the prologue. "It brings beauty to the ways of man, giving him dignity and expressing his joy in life. Folklore prepares man for adult life. It places him within his culture. With oral traditions, retold through generations, the social group maintains its continuity, handing down it culture."

I like that word, 'continuity,' in this context. It shouldn't come as a great surprise to learn that Gerald McDermott was good friends with Joseph Campbell, and was the first fellow of the Joseph Campbell Foundation. The subject of storytelling is one he took quite seriously, and permeates his entire career, as we shall see.

The God of All Things

The God of All Things,
He took
the beautiful white light
up into the sky.

He keeps it there
for all to see.
It is still there.
It will always be there.

It is there tonight.


The Way Meat Loves Salt (1998)

Retold by Nina Jaffe

Illustrated by Louise August

Linocuts painted in full-color oils on rice paper

Henry Holt and Company

"A Cinderella Tale from the Jewish tradition," reads the subtitle of this one. Having already featured Raisel's Riddle and interviewed its author, I figured I was an old hat when it came to Jewish Cinderellas. Well, shows what I know. In fact, I would say that this was more of a Jewish inversion of the Cinderella story.

Some aspects run parallel. The Fairy Godmother is here the bearded Prophet Elijah. The fancy dress ball is a wedding feast in Cracow, and the prince is the handsome son of Rabbi Yitskhok ben Levi of Lublin, with whom our Cinderella is living at the time. Her name is Mireleh, by the way. And how did she come to be destitute, living a life in the margins of society, a poor beggar girl given shelter in the attic of a kindly Rabbi? Well, it is a family tragedy. I can hardly bear to write it down.

You see, not long ago, Mireleh had been the youngest, carefree daughter of a rabbi herself. Even though she had no special gifts, her father held a special place in his heart for her. But then, one dark day, Rabbi Reyzeleh was besieged by a quandary for which not even the Talmud held an answer.

"I know that I love my children," he said to himself, little realizing the horror his line of thinking would soon inflict. "But how much do they love me?"

He decides, in a moment of insight, to actually ask his daughters! A cunning plan, which seems at first to work perfectly:

"As much as diamonds!" answers the first daughter.

"As much as gold and silver!" is the second reply.

But finally, young Mireleh goes and screws things up royally with this enigmatic response:

"Father, I love you the way meat loves salt."

"What?!!" he shrieks. "You love me no more than salt??"

And for this, Mireleh is banished from the house, in shame and in disgrace.

Fortunately, Old Prophet Elijah is on hand with a Magic Stick that will grant her wishes, as a consolation.

So, that's the beginning of the story. Now, into the Cinderella-ness of it. Armed with the magic stick, Mireleh produces for herself, "a dress of satin, embroidered with pearls! A garland of roses for my hair and a pair of satin slippers for my feet!" Then: ZAP! She appears at the wedding feast, and everyone is shocked to see this beautiful stranger, especially the bride and groom who are just trying to get married.

Well, it pays off. The rabbi's son is stricken with love, little realizing that Mireleh is the very same beggar girl he was looking down on just two pages ago! That's what I meant by an inversion. In this story, the handsome prince and the wicked stepsisters are one in the same.

And here's another inversion: The rabbi's son then goes out and decides it would be a good idea to cover the front steps of the house with tar. Why? So that he can hide and wait for the beautiful stranger to leave. When one of her shoes gets stuck in the tar, she runs off without it. All a part of his plan, you see.

Now he goes around, trying the shoes of the lovely Jewish maidens in the village, promising his parents that he will marry whomever the errant shoe belongs to. But when he realizes it belongs to the beggar girl under his own roof, what is he to do? Follow his heart?

"You came to us a poor beggar, covered with mud and dust. We let you stay here for tsedokeh!"
Eh, sort of.

That night, the disembodied spirit of Prophet Elijah appears to the rabbi: "Your son must keep his vow and promise, or misfortune will follow!"

Yikes! I don't recall Cinderella's godmother making such a threat!

"Your son must keep his vow and promise, or misfortune will follow!"

So, it should come as no surprise then that indeed, he does marry Mireleh. A large wedding feast is planned! But, before it starts, Mireleh runs to the cooks and instructs, "Don't put any salt in the food!"

Later, during the ceremony, who is that old man, retching at disgust at the food which is offered? "This food tastes terrible! It has no salt!"

"But, Father, don't you remember? I told you I love you the way meat loves salt and you drove me from your house!"

"You spoke only words of truth to me!" he exclaims, and they are united.

So the next time someone asks you how much you love them, don't use any of your cute metaphors, oy vey!


Tailypo! (1991)

Retold by Jan Wahl

Illustrated by Wil Clay


Twenty years later, the story of the fearsome Tailypo gets told again. If you recall, in my last entry, I reviewed the fearsome beast with the bushy tail as imagined by Joanna and Paul Galdone. The book mentioned that, in researching the story, Joanna had discovered that it had originated in Tennessee. I love details like that, and in this version by Jan Wahl and Wil Clay, we really delve deeper into that origin. This book seems firmly rooted in the lore of the Tennessee woods.

“Once way down in the big woods of Tennessee lived an old man all by himself in a cabin with one room and that was his parlor, his sitting room, his bedroom, his dining room, and his kitchen, too,” and there it all is, spread out before us, a hundred details showng us the life this man lives, in rich, warm tones. A roaring firplace casts warm shadows throughout, as the man enjoys his stew and the company of his hunting dogs.
“…and one night after he ate his supper there crept through the cracks in the logs a Creature with a great, big, long tail.” Although it is not a hairy tail, as Galdone imagined, but seems more reptilian in nature, as though this is some prehistoric monster haunting the Tennessee woods.

One bloody swing of the hatchet later, a little salt and a little pepper, an old man with a full stomach dozing contentedly, and we are able to enter the heart of the matter.

“Tailypo, tailypo. All I want is my tailypo.”

What I found most interesting about this version of the story was actually something I found on the back jacket flap.

“Here’s what the critics have said about Tailypo!” it announces clearly. This is a pretty standard element for picture books to have.

School Library Journal says, “…a scary and highly graphic accompaniment to his succinctly retold African-American tale.”

Kirkus infoms us that “…Clay provides dramatic double-spread painting for Wahl’s retelling of this scariest of African-American tales.”

The common element there, I couldn’t help but notice, is “African-American.”

In Galdone’s version, the unfortunate hunter is an old white man. In Wahl and Clay’s version here, he is an old black man.

Was Paul Galdone being disingenuous? Was he trying to whitewash a folktale from a particular group of people?

I tried to do a bit of research myself, and couldn’t find any mention of the Tailypo ever being specifically African-American in origin. So how then, could School Library Journal and Kirkus be so in-the-know? What do they know that I do not? And then it occurred to me, perhaps they ain’t. Maybe they’re just assuming that its an African-American folktale because… the main character in the story happens to be black?

If it had been a Chinese woman living in a cabin in the woods, would they have heaped praise on such a wonderful retelling of that old piece of Chinese mythology?

Race aside, this one does have a bit more grisly ending.

“I DON’T HAVE YOUR TAILYPO!” hollers the old man, running off in terror as the… thing… grabs him by the shirt tails of his longjohns. It now seems to resemble a Hoth wampa. The man’s limbs disappear in a tangle of white fur and claws.

“Yes, you have,” it says, and that is that.

Part of the power of this story is that we are so used to children’s picture books ending in some level of understanding. Like, it should turn out that the Tailypo  was really just misunderstood. Or, at the very least, the old man should escape and live to tell the tale.

Not so, sweet children. Not so.


The Christmas Story (1998)

Illustrated by Gennady Spirin

Designed by Martha Rago

Tempera, watercolor and pencil on watercolor paper

This is an absolutely gorgeous book which, on first glance, does not appear to be a picture book at all, but is surely a reproduction of classical paintings centered around the birth of the Christ. But this is not the case.

We are told only that Spirin is drawing on his "classical training and his Orthodox Christian faith." Some of the images are in a small box accompanied by a corresponding reading from one of the Gospels, whereas others are a full, double-page spread, the detail and the beauty of which is overwhelming.

My favorite illustration is of the angel visiting the shepherds. It appears as a huge, golden figure, luminous, slowly touching down with outstretched wings. The rest of the picture, by contrast, seems dark and obscure, but a closer look reveals the tiny figures of the shepherds as they cower their eyes and run for cover. The true scale becomes apparent.

For Spirin, the Christmas story is a cosmic one, in which the human players are tiny in comparison with the supernatural.

This review is linked from Tales and Their Tellers 7: "The Prayer of Saint Nicholas."
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