an ode to picture books
I was a pretty lucky kid to have parents who read to me every night from the time I was a baby. I still remember many of those books fondly and I do think the ones I liked most each had their own peculiar impact on me, or maybe resonated with dormant aspects of myself that would blossom as I grew (who knows?) Isn't it interesting that a child has some prototype of "taste" from the get-go?
No matter how old I get, I will always love picture books and sing their praises as an art form. I think it's such a delightful thing that sharing stories and art with children is such a ubiquitous part of human culture and childrearing practices, and picture books are, to me, like these little talismans which contain all of that love, care, hope, play, and joy. Sometimes I get emotional shelving in the kid's section at work, because there is simply no end to the ways in which we seek to teach children about beautiful things like generosity and imagination; and prepare them for hard things like change and fear. Isn't that remarkable? Isn't it a testament to how, deep down, we all just want to be good, and for each other to be good? Gahhhhhhh it's so beautiful!!! ヽ༼ಥ_ಥ༽ﾉ
beloved books
(Note: you can click on the title of each book to visit a video of a read-aloud!)
A book about a bat who is raised as a bird and feels like a failure when judging herself against bird standards, but then realizes she's had unrealistic expectations of herself all along and simply had to start living like a bat in order to accomplish what she needs to do... hmmm... I wonder why that would have resonated with me??/s
I think this, along with The Stinky Cheese Man, greatly informed my taste in art in a way that still hasn't changed. I guess I always loved monsters of various kinds! To this day, I'd love to visit the land where the wild things are...
Such a sweet and simple little story. I remember associating Harold and the Purple Crayon with the feeling of dreaming. It was very soothing to me.
I'm still obsessed with the art in this book, and how it effortlessly introduces kids to metafiction and playing with narrative form. There's a lot of fairy tales that I mostly remember as their stinky cheese versions instead of their regular tellings.
Don't get mad, but I grew up reading from the Donna Green version instead of the original! While the original is beautiful, I do also love Green's illustrations and will always think of them first.
I'm not sure which came first - my belief that all of my stuffed animals were sentient, emotional entities, or reading The Velveteen Rabbit... My ascription of emotion to my stuffed animals wasn't an entirely cute affair. I refused to part with any of them for years, resulting in there being hardly any space for me in my bed. The thought of giving any of them away - even if it was one I didn't really want - sent me into hysterics, thinking about how hurt any of my animals would be if I "abandoned" them. I guess I missed the part where the rabbit, though sad, ultimately transforms into a real rabbit and gets to experience freedom and a whole new kind of life, which is a very positive thing and should have theoretically made me feel better about change. Ah, well. I still liked it.
dishonorable mentions
I always hated Love You Forever as a kid and honestly I still hate it!!! While I have a certain affection for Arnie the Doughnut now, despite how unsettling it was to my childhood self, this book can never redeem itself to me. Of course, I was always creeped out by all of the things in this book that creep out everyone else (an aging mom breaking into her adult son's house through the window in order to crawl into his bed and cradle him in his sleep... if you haven't read this book, yes, that actually happens, and it's supposed to be seen as sweet). But I also hated the images of her watching him in his sleep when he's still a child/teenager, as well. I was always so disappointed when my mom chose to read this book to us each night instead of the countless other stories that I actually liked. I think this is a prime example of a "children's" book that's actually made mostly for the parent instead of the child. What seems heartwarming (I guess?) to a mother strikes in the child - well, at least me - a fear of never being alone, never being independent, a near-Freudian sense of being unable to detach from the mother... not to mention, the first brush with the realization that one day your parent will grow old and fucking die, which yes, is true, but it doesn't make for a great bedtime story.
Arnie the Doughnut is a book that personifies baked goods only to show them being purchased from the bakery and eaten. The titular Arnie is excited to be purchased because he doesn't actually realize that he's meant to be eaten (he basically thinks he's being adopted). He's shocked when the man who takes him home tries to eat him, and he calls the bakery for confirmation that this was the purpose he was made for. The bakery and all of the pastries left behind are like, "yeah, what did you think we were doing??" I don't really remember how it ends, but I'm sure Arnie survives. The thing is, the implication is that all of the other pastries have simply accepted the fate of being eaten... and are even content with it for some reason?? I found this book very upsetting as a child, partially because the idea of your food being scared to be eaten is quite disturbing, but also because it's equally disturbing to think there is an entire class of sentient entities who are happy to be consumed, whose entire purpose is to be eaten and they're okay with it... this is a horror story and I can't be convinced otherwise.
