Tag: children’s book

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kid pick: pig will and pig won’t

One of Percy’s favorite reads lately is the Richard Scarry classic book on manners: Pig Will and Pig Won’t. So therefore, I should write about it.

Like most Richard Scarry books, this little volume’s illustrations are crammed with little details that make each page interesting. But the force of it, unlike the meandering but oh-so-fun-to-look-at Cars and Trucks and Things That Go (another favorite) is felt in the storyline. At first I wasn’t sure why, so I sat down to do some hardcore literary criticism on this knee-high book.

a study in contrasts

Like the ever-entertaining Goofus and Gallant of Highlights, or any number of compare-and-contrast character sets, Pig Will and Pig Won’t are immediately understandable by their polar opposition to each other. For a boy Percy’s age, they are very easy to understand, from Pig Will’s bright smile and wide eyes to Pig Won’t’s sour expression and punky pig-ears overshadowing his eyes. Before they even do anything, you know the difference visually.

But the biggest difference is also clear in their names: their attitudes are diametrically opposed. One will, one won’t. And this willingness (or lack thereof) actually strikes at the heart of the matter, in a book that could easily devolve into a behavior-based ethic. Scarry touches on what actually drives obedience – a willing heart. By contrast, a recalcitrant heart drives disobedience.

The first question on most of our minds when we encounter characters like this is: what’s going to happen to them? Richard Scarry does not disappoint.

reaping what you sow

In one of the clearest depictions of “reaping what you sow” that we have on our shelf, Scarry puts the opposing paradigms of Pig Will and Pig Won’t through the ringer. As you may have guessed, Pig Won’t reaps the whirlwind. He won’t help out with the shopping, he won’t obey his parents, he won’t do the work required. So, from the rather alarming spanking he receives in only the first few pages, to landing sick in bed after not listening to his mother’s petition to wear a raincoat, Pig Won’t is duly punished, both by his circumstances and by his parents.

Ultimately, he’s learning how the world works – and Percy is picking it up right along with him.

Now, one of my duties and privileges as a parent is to help my children to understand how the world works, and this involves both punishing them when they intentionally disobey and allowing the consequences of their actions to occur. Of course we do not give them what they truly deserve (God doesn’t give us what we truly deserve!), but if I were to withhold consequences for their actions they would be ill-prepared for a world in which actions have consequences. It’s one of my jobs to help my adorable little terrors to understand and experience this.

The fact of the matter is that willingness yields actual rewards, while unwillingness yields actual difficulty. When we don’t see these things happen, we know that justice is failing in some respect. It’s built into us.

And Richard Scarry is hammering this fact into our heads. If Pig Won’t decides he doesn’t want to do the work of helping plant, water, harvest, and cook the corn… He won’t get an ear to gnaw on.

I have a good guess as to what most of you are thinking right now. Of course this isn’t always the case. The wicked sometimes get away with their crimes. The righteous suffer. Of course this understanding is only part of the picture of a gracious God, a Father Who loves us so much that He withholds judgment from we who deserve it. But we can’t forget that this is the way God designed the world to work. Scarry won’t let us forget.

Which is why the turn of the story is so effective.

(un)just desserts

Pig Won’t is lying alone, sick in bed, having disobeyed his mother’s warnings to wear a raincoat. He’s listening to the happy sounds of Pig Will’s birthday party downstairs. And he is feeling sad.

And who should come to the door but Lowly Worm.

“Although Pig Won’t doesn’t deserve it, Lowly Worm brings him a piece of birthday cake to go with his cough medicine. “It’s too bad you couldn’t have been at the party,” says Lowly.”

I love that this act is totally unexpected, and totally disconnected from any expectation that Pig Won’t will change. I love that it is tied so closely to receiving medicine. And because it’s backed up by myriad examples of Pig Won’t’s total depravity, it shines all the more brightly. My children know very well that Pig Won’t doesn’t deserve that cake. But the kindness of Lowly Worm (what a perfect character to give this act to, right?) proves to be the catalyst Pig Won’t needs to reassess his heart.

This is, in part, how the grace of God works. It’s surprising, because it is undeserved and disconnected from our actions in the past or future. It’s a sheer act of love. And a sheer act of love is what it takes to change a heart.

The final vignette in the book is another study in contrasts: Pig Won’t thanks Lowly Worm (something he would never have done before), and Lowly responds with this: “It’s nice to be nice. You should try it sometimes. Then you will have many friends.”

And Pig Won’t does a complete u-turn, exemplifying total change accompanied by a new name: Pig Me Too. I love that his change of heart and name is so closely related to gaining a new community as well.

This isn’t a perfect story by any means. I take the time to clarify things for Percy when I read it to him. And you know, Pig Will’s incessant goodness and consequent blessings irk me. I kind of wish Richard Scarry had written a sequel where Pig Will cracks and reveals a psychopathic dark side, and Pig Me Too has to drag him back from the brink of destruction with a selfless act. But there are other stories for that.

For now I will be happy with the fact that, even in a book on manners, truth and grace can shine through.

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kid pick: room on the broom

I periodically write reviews of some of my kid’s favorite stories in book or movie form (you can check out my take on Miss Rumphius here). Room on the Broom is a favorite of all three older kids, so it kind of begged to have its own review…

I was first introduced to the delight that is Magic Light one Saturday morning while my children were choosing a show to watch on Netflix. Nadia spotted a gruff-looking creature with purple prickles all over its back in the lower corner, and immediately asked if we could watch the monster one. I knew that The Gruffalo was probably good, somewhere deep in the recesses of my mind (I think I’d read it at a bookstore once for fun in my teens?) and so we clicked through and tried it out. I was blown away.

If there’s one thing consistent about very young children’s programming, it’s that most of it is grade-A crap. You have to sift through bucketloads of mindless, unimaginative drivel to get one decent show. And the excellent ones are truly few and far between. These are the ones that combine curiosity, gentleness, great art, and well-written story into something I want my children to see — and something that I enjoy watching as well. 

I say I was blown away by Magic Light in general, rather than by The Gruffalo in particular, because shortly after enjoying The Gruffalo we discovered their other offerings available on Netflix — The Gruffalo’s Child, Room on the Broom, and Stick Man. All of these come recommended for compelling stories, interesting animation and scores, and child-like pacing. One of my favorite things about them is that they are faithful to the author’s intent, while gently expanding the story ideas in the source material for the better. But the one that all of my kid’s pick again and again is Room on the Broom.

the importance of character

Room on the Broom begins by establishing the relationship between the witch and the cat. The witch is a joyful, empathetic type (if a bit clumsy) and very kind toward everyone she meets, perhaps to a fault. The cat, on the other hand, is not so much unkind as possessive. He feels it is his duty to protect the witch and her best interests. He doesn’t want anyone taking advantage of her kindness, or (on a deeper level) getting in the way of their special friendship. In his mind, there is room on the broom for one and only one: him.

You may wonder how I know so much about these characters. It’s because Magic Light goes out of their way to translate the 2D characters from the book into 3D characterizations in simple and subtle ways, through both expression and action. When ants begin carrying the witch’s potion ingredients off, the cat anxiously brushes them away. But the witch stops him with a smile, then drops a single leaf into each ant’s waiting jaws. The cat, in response, rolls his eyes.

This interaction is seconds long, but establishes key ingredients of each of their character’s personalities. And every character from here on out receives the same treatment, with later actions reinforcing every character’s moment in the spotlight. I can’t help but admire the careful, clever handling of the characters. And you know what? My kids get these nuances, because kids are sharp and they pick up more than we give them credit for.

Side note: every time I watch this thing, and it has been many times, there’s something new I notice about the characters or the background. Like the moment when the dog’s flapping tongue hits the cat in the cheek, or how the witch finds the snake from the Gruffalo story hiding in a woodpile. All children’s programming should be this detailed and intentional.

establishing conflict

Then the witch (as she is wont to do) loses her hat. The primary conflict appears when an overly-enthusiastic dog finds it and brings it back. The cat is obviously not a fan of sharing space or friendship, and unequivocally rejects the dog. But the witch is too kind, and offers the dog space on the broom.

As they travel along, the witch invites more characters onto the broom and the cat becomes more angry with them all. It’s a very personal conflict for me as an introvert. I value my close friends dearly, and sharing them with others is not easy for me. The more people we add to the equation, the worse the situation.

And yet, in short order, the group adds a melancholic green bird and a neat-freak frog. The witch is consistently kind toward all of these outcasts and builds a little family of her own as a result. Of course, her cat becomes more and more frustrated. He sees what’s coming and knows that all this kindness will eventually cause disaster. And finally, what he has predicted all along happens, and the broom snaps in two. The weight of the witch’s kind decisions has finally broken her ability to support this odd little family.

But that’s not the end of their troubles.

use of growing tension

Unbeknownst to the group, they have been tracked from the beginning of the story by a witch-eating dragon. Of course, we know the beast is coming, because the creators dropped hint after hint of the impending dragon attack from the very beginning. 

This was the icing on the cake for my kids (3, 4, and 6, respectively). The moment they saw the dragon’s yellow eyes open in the shadows at the very beginning, they were hooked. They knew the dragon was coming, and every time it showed up it got closer and fiercer to a yummy witch meal. This is the type of tension and danger that we all crave.

The brilliance of Magic Light’s choice to do this is that in the midst of drawing us into caring for the characters, they take time to ratchet up the danger these characters are in, and it pulls us deeper into the story. The stakes are high here. Not only might the cat blow a blood vessel, the witch we all know and love might get eaten by a dragon. 

the payoff

At the height of the story, all hope is lost. The cat and the other recipients of the witch’s kindness have all been unceremoniously dropped into a muddy bog. The cat is at his wit’s end, and clearly indicates to the others that all of this is their fault. And then the hungry dragon catches their beloved witch. 

Despite the absence of a side of fries, the dragon settles down to a witchy feast. And that’s when every story element that’s been built-up before pays off in spades. The cat and all the others are brought together by their shared care for the witch to defeat the dragon. The sum of their distinct personalities, when directed by love, is truly greater than the parts.

There’s only one problem left to solve. The broom is broken, and there’s only room for the witch and the cat. What is to be done? I won’t spoil it for you, but it is such a satisfying ending that you absolutely must watch it. Since when do I worry about spoiling a kid’s movie? When it makes me cry every time, that’s when.

so why do we love it?

When I asked my kids to share why they love this film, they gave me various reasons. The witch is pretty. The dragon is scary. The cat learns his lesson. But Nadia summed it up: “How beautifully they flew!” 

When creators pay attention to craft, character, and whimsy, they create something wondrous that will stick in a child’s mind. Sure, Room on the Broom has great lessons for kids about kindness, sacrifice, and friendship. But my kids will remember it because those things were presented as not only true, but beautiful and important.

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kid pick: miss rumphius

My children have books they return to, over and over. This one is brought to you by Nadia.

As a creative dad, I’m a big fan of any story that uplifts beauty, but this one is way more than just uplifting. Miss Rumphius, by Barbara Cooney, is the story of a life well-lived.  

Seeing with a Child’s Eyes

As with the best children’s books, our entry point is through the eyes of a child — specifically, the great-niece of Miss Alice Rumphius, a.k.a. “The Lupine Lady.” She has grown up hearing her great-aunt’s stories, and now she tells them to us.

“The Lupine Lady is little and old. But she has not always been that way. I know. She is my great-aunt, and she told me so.

Once upon a time she was a little girl named Alice, who lived in a city by the sea.”

The author uses straightforward, simple language (you believe that a young person is telling the story), and this clear voice continues from start to finish. But that doesn’t mean that the vocabulary isn’t strong and vivid; just that it’s a natural extension of how one tells a story to child, and how that child might repeat it.

Another way Cooney accomplishes this is through simplicity of motivation and decision. Miss Rumphius does something, and then she does something else. Simple as that. When she hurts her back getting off a camel, she reasons that it might be time for her to find a home by the sea. And the storyteller affirms this:

“And it was, and she did.”

This is very much like how a child views life, moving from activity to activity. There is nothing swashbuckling about this, just the practical nature of making a decision and following through, and what beauty comes of it. It’s a gentle way to tell a story.

Even though Alice is the center of the story, we get our first glimpse into her life with a series of reference points. She grew up by the sea. She lived with her grandfather, who made things because he was an artist. He let her help him sometimes.

Affirmation of a Larger World

And it is her grandfather who provides little Alice with three values upon which to build her life: exploration (going to faraway places), home (a place by the sea) and lastly…

“You must do something to make the world more beautiful.”

Miss Rumphius receives her grandfather’s wisdom and embraces it. She is rooted in something larger then herself, that extends back into the past. And the reason she is rooted is because she saw her grandfather reaching into the future by making the world more beautiful, for others to enjoy after him — for her.

When she grows up, Alice sets out to do these three things.

Keeping a Promise Is Beautiful

When I asked Nadia for her opinion on the story, she said that she liked that Miss Rumphius kept her three promises, even after falling off a camel.

To me, this gets at the heart of this story.

Even though it takes time and you might fall off a camel and people might call you That Crazy Old Lady, you can keep a promise you make. And the culmination of keeping that promise is richly imagined on full spreads in the final pages, a satisfying payoff to the long-range setup of the story. The stunning beauty of the finale actually means something because it took Miss Rumphius an entire lifetime to achieve “the most difficult thing of all” — to make the world more beautiful.

Miss Rumphius is not profound, and it’s not all-encompassing. It merely suggests that by exploring our world, finding rest in it, and cultivating beauty in it for others to enjoy, we are fulfilling a deep and true human vocation — one that originated in Eden, and resonates within us to this day. And, incidentally, one that a child can understand.

At the end of the story, we are back with the grand-niece. She is sitting and listening to her great-aunt tell the stories, and making the same promises to explore the world, to make a home, and of course, to do something to make the world more beautiful. And the last line lingers, opening us to the possibilities…

“…but I do not know yet what that can be.”