more than words: so may ways to say what we mean

Nowhere is the power of visual art over text more evident – for me, at least – than when it comes to selecting a picture book. I know that there are plenty of folks who pick picture books by genre, or “lessons” in the text, or the title, author, and so on. If I like the cover art, that’s it, I’m in! This was the case with Roz Maclean's picture book More than Words: So Many Ways to Say What We Mean. After reading it, I’m happy to report that it contains important messages about communication styles and access in addition to the stunning illustrations. But… it was the art that hooked me, and it will probably hook you (and your little ones) too!

Nathan doesn't say much.
He sure has a lot on his mind, though.

At school, Nathan quietly observes the ways his peers communicate. Even when they’re not talking, they’re expressing themselves in all sorts of ways!

By witnessing the beauty of communication diversity, Nathan learns and shows his classmates the essential lesson: Not only does everyone have something to say, but seeking to understand one another can be the greatest bridge to friendship and belonging.

This tender, stunningly illustrated picture book explores and celebrates the many forms of expression—signing, speaking, singing, smiling, among others—and culminates in a poignant story about connection and understanding.

Includes additional material at the end of the book with vocabulary, an introduction to various forms of communication, and information about communication access, perfect for back-to-school and classroom discussions.

Nathan is quiet at school – he thinks about digging under the trees growing outside and how many puddles there are in the schoolyard while his classmates verbalize their wants and needs. As the book progresses, we learn that talking is just one way to communicate our feelings and thoughts – other ways include facial expressions, writing, braille, typing, spelling, signing, singing and many more. All of Nathan’s classmates use different methods to share themselves, and learning to listen to those different ways is how Nathan and his classmates eventually make friends. 

More Than Words does not follow a traditional picture book narrative; instead it shows various young ones communicating in different ways on each page, before concluding with Nathan’s method on the final pages. That isn’t to say it isn’t unified – it is in theme and ideas, in its art style, and Nathan shows up in the foreground or background on several pages, silently observing his classmates. But it does not have a plot, so to speak. On the final two pages, after the “story” has concluded, there is a two-page spread of text on the definition of communication, communication styles and assistive devices, and a list of ways to help everyone have communication access. While they will likely not feature in storytimes, these pages will help adult readers answer any questions young ones have, and possibly spark an interest in fighting for communication access.

Maclean’s illustrations are totally fabulous, and take the book from an informational text to something transcendent. With gouache, pencil crayon, acrylic ink, and digital tools, they illustrate a whole spectrum of communication methods in bright, appealing colors. In the outside scenes, it’s autumn, with yellow-leaved trees and falling leaves, and indoor scenes feature beautifully-drawn details of the classroom and other school spaces. The communication styles are typically shown in a rainbow of color and draw the eye, but upon rereads there are other things that are fun to track from page to page – birds, toys, and more. Nathan’s world is a full one, and Maclean’s art makes it exciting to explore.

In all, this is a picture book about listening to others, and in doing so, gaining empathy and building friendship. It is for all ages, but especially young ones who struggle to understand the different communication styles of their peers.

Recommended for: children just starting kindergarten or joining new groups, storytimes at libraries, schools, or daycares, and anyone who appreciates colorful and beautiful picture book art.

 

Fine print: I received a digital copy of the text from the publisher at Picture Book Palooza. I did not receive any compensation for this post.

tiger days: a book of feelings

You know that feeling when you read a book at exactly the right time? The sneaking suspicion you then have that it’s speaking directly to you and your problems (or the world’s problems!) and fate must have put it in your path? M.H. Clark and Anna Hurley’s picture book Tiger Days: A Book of Feelings has been that book for me this week. I had originally scheduled it for review on Monday, but the universe knew I needed to read it on Tuesday, and again on Thursday, and again today after hearing about the terrible tragedy in New Zealand. It’s a picture book, but a meaningful book is meaningful no matter the format or audience, and this one is delightful and indispensable.

From tiger fierce to snail slow, there are lots of ways to feel and be. A walk through this colorful, rhyming menagerie helps young readers understand their feelings and the ways those feelings change.

Children will recognize their own emotions on these pages—their enthusiasm, stubbornness, excitement, silliness, sadness, and strength. And they’ll come to see that, no matter how they act or feel each day, they’re always still themselves.

In this vibrant picture book, the first person narrator associates emotions with specific animals in rhyming text. If you’re having a Tiger Day, for example, it means that “…I want to climb. I’M WILD AND I’M FIERCE. I pace around and POUNCE and ROAR…” For me, today is a Fish Day, and I feel watery, just as the text suggests. Feelings are paired with not only animals, but also actions they might take while under the sway of those emotions. With themes of naming and acknowledging emotional states, self-acceptance, and recognizing that shifting feelings are okay (or even positive!), Tiger Days is a simple, accessible guide and/or introduction to complex emotions. It’s also a joy to read.

Illustrator Anna Hurley has created lovely art to go along with M.H. Clark’s delightful text, and it is here that I think the book takes a step up from good to excellent. The animals are rendered in cut paper-like blocks, with ink detailing and some shadowing, against lively colored spreads – one color for each kind of day. And there are a few intervening “day” pages without a signature animal that are turquoise with white crayon-effect illustrations that are a lot of fun for the eye and remind the reader that different types of feelings (and complex feelings!) are okay. Tiger Days’ text and illustrations are seamlessly integrated, entertaining, and poignant, and will be popular read after read.

I would be remiss if I didn’t also take a moment to talk about the book design! This colorful title will pulled off the shelf time and again for its striped, multicolored binding. ALSO the dust jacket has a velvet touch effect for the title shadows and the tiger’s stripes! In other words, it begs to be petted! I can’t stop running my fingers over the texture, even now… so you KNOW it will be a hit with kids! Altogether, Tiger Days is a feast for the senses, and also a way to get in touch with them. A true book of feelings!

All in all, Tiger Days will be a hit with both kids and adults, and I can’t wait to recommend it to all of the parents I know!

Recommended for: anyone who is struggling to find the words to talk about complex emotions, and especially children ages 2-6. Perfect for story time, bedtime reading, and anytime reading if you like bright, fun books that encourage interaction and movement and have extra helpings of heart.

Fine print: I received a finished copy of this book from the publisher for review consideration. I did not receive any compensation for this post.

bookworm devours public library

Today's title doesn’t actually fit the content of this post, but it sounded too good in my head this morning to discard it completely.  So, welcome to a post on books (but not on long invertebrates without appendages, whether book-loving or not).

I told a friend the other day that I’d cried in Starbucks last week.  She looked at me with concern and said, “What’s the matter?”  The funny thing is, nothing’s the matter.  I was sitting there, drinking my coffee and reading a library book.  It was the book I cried over.  I have a tendency to do this.  I can even name you several books that I’ve read multiple times, and cry buckets over with each re-read.  They tend to be my favorites (no guesses as to why: they draw on my emotions!), and I own most of them.  Last week’s particular novel, The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins, will be added to the collection when it comes out in paperback. 

The Hunger Games is set in the post-apocalyptic former United States, now called Panem.  Katniss, the sixteen year-old narrator, struggles to support her family by poaching and entering herself for the yearly Hunger Games (in which contestants from the ‘Districts’ of Panem fight to the death in a huge outdoor arena) in order to receive an extra food subsidy.  This is the story of her reality, her survival, and the morality and conflict inherent in humanity’s choices.  It’s on the American Library Association’s list of the ten best books for young adults, and although I wouldn’t recommend it for readers younger than 10, is suitable for all ages.  The book is full of lessons in honesty, bravery, sacrifice, anger and helplessness.  It’s a masterfully written, gripping tale of endurance, and I can’t wait until the sequel comes out in October.

But, back to the theme of crying and books.  It happens.  Laughter also happens.  I’ve been known to startle fellow patrons in a coffee shop (or anywhere, really) while reading something funny.  It used to drive my college roommate absolutely batty.  We’d both be in the room, but while she was studying quietly, I was usually reading recreationally.  And I’d burst out with my loud cackle, and scare the dickens out of her.  Just one of the idiosyncrasies that she put up with (thank you for such an amazing/understanding roommate, God!), along with my inability to study IN our room (I had to go somewhere else…preferably the student union).  I don’t know if it’s a quirk of my upbringing or just genetics, but reality is that I respond in an emotional and physical way to the stories I read.  My mother used to read aloud to my siblings and me, and would cry over the sad parts too, until we begged her to ‘just keep on reading.’  Now I see how similar we really are.

A few books that make me cry: Rilla of Ingleside by L.M. Montgomery, The Girl of the Limberlost by Gene Stratton Porter, Phoenix and Ashes by Mercedes Lackey, Hattie Big Sky by Kirby Larson, Suzanne’s Diary for Nicholas by James Patterson, and Three Weeks With My Brother by Nicholas Sparks.  And those are just the ones on my shelves at the moment.  I think a lot of the classics I read back from age 10-15 were tear-jerkers, too.  It’s probably a rule of good literature that along with being enduring, a classic work must evoke emotion.  I wouldn’t know, though, because I passed on being an English major in college when my 11th grade English teacher told me that I probably wouldn’t enjoy reading anymore after four years of literature analysis.  That scared me into entering college as a Biology and Spanish major, which morphed into Spanish and Communication Studies.  And in the end to History, where we read all the time, don’t get fancy with the writing styles, and there’s sometimes such a lack of emotion that the absence of it is palpable.  The good news being that I can keep my emotional and expressive reading on the “I do this for fun” side of things.

For books that make me laugh out loud:  there are many, but a good start would include Good Omens by Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett, The Screwtape Letters by C.S. Lewis, and anything by Diana Wynne Jones, although I especially love The Merlin Conspiracy, Howl’s Moving Castle, The House of Many Ways and the first five of the Chrestomanci Chronicles.

Whew!  Definitely too many book recommendations and mentions.  And I haven’t even gotten to the list of recommended YA fantasy that I put together for a friend’s daughter.  THAT is four pages long (single-spaced, too).  Puts a new complexion on the term ‘bookworm,’ doesn’t it?