A well-crafted picture book is a masterpiece in miniature.
A well-crafted picture book is a masterpiece in miniature.
A nalogies are supposed to clarify and shed light, but just try explaining how to write an essay using one to a group of high-school teens. If you had the good (or bad, depending on your view) fortune of learning essay-writing from Jensen’s Format Writing, you’ll remember that in the book there are seven distinct “formats” or types of essays, namely: example, comparison, cause and effect, analogy, definition, classification, and process. Analogy essays are currently stumping my students, but thanks to author-artist Tomie dePaola, I may have the perfect example for them.
In her book The Worlds of Tomie dePaola, Barbara Elleman takes us behind the scenes to view this master storyteller’s process. Right there on page 89 is an essay from Tomie himself, titled “Writing Is Like Cooking,” which claims “that writing a good manuscript is like making a good stock.” He then carefully walks us through the laborious stock-making process, and we eventually see how, as with reducing a stock, “when creating a picture book, you need to get down to the basic essentials.”
DePaola was a marvel at his craft, and there are many others like him in the picture-book world. These talented individuals weave together stories and art in a manner that delights and engages children’s imaginations. Often, though, we think that we can grow out of picture books and that, since they are for children, they must by nature be childish. Elleman’s book, and the examples of these artists, tell a different story.
Leonard Marcus, a giant in the world of children’s-literature scholarship, recently published a book titled “Pictured Worlds: Masterpieces of Children’s Book Art by 101 Essential Illustrators from around the World.” In it, he highlights artists who’ve gifted the world with something exceptional in this genre. An interview he did with Steven Heller shows how easily we dismiss this style of art and storytelling:
Having discovered children’s books as a subject to write about, I began to pay closer attention to the ones I came across in stores. I was especially drawn to the illustrations, some of which I thought amazing. That in turn led me to wonder why art museums never seemed to show or collect them. It took me a while to realize that the art world had a pecking order within which narrative art ranked at or near the bottom of the barrel, especially if the art had been created for children. That discovery made me want to champion children’s book illustration as an artform deserving of greater recognition.
The creativity and variation of style in these books is astounding. I treasure books full of Emily Arnold McCully’s clear watercolors, Marjorie Priceman’s windswept characters, and Kinuko Craft’s glittering fairy tales. My mom and I have smiled over books crafted around crocheted characters, books styled with clay pictures, and books pushing the limitations of paper scraps. And these are only a few examples.
But again, art and word must go hand in hand. Art can do only so much for a weak narrative, and the best story can be ruined in your imagination with ugly or ill-planned art. On this point, Elleman quotes dePaola, who says:
“My first impulse is to begin with the pictures, but I restrain myself: I thoroughly believe that story comes first.” As to what makes a good story for children? DePaola responded quickly: “The same things that make a good story for adults: complexity, plot, character development, suspense, drama, humor, sadness. The only difference is that in a children’s book, you have fewer words and more pictures.”
It seems so simple, but dePaola’s comment about putting story first points to all that must follow. What words do you use to tell your story? How do you make them flow? How do you not use too many or too few? Art placement is equally important and requires you to consider which moments of the story you will capture, what pages they will be on, if you will use the end papers as part of the whole book, and when a picture should encompass a whole page.
Indeed, a well-crafted picture book is a masterpiece in miniature, a short story worthy of O. Henry’s praise. What do you do, though, when, armed with these glowing ideas of story and art, you run to the library and see Walter the Farting Dog leering up at you? And if you push on and see only lame Disney movies in book form and computerized, comic-book-type art, what then?
Remember two things: (1) Unvetted books remain where they are, and (2) don’t despair. For those uninitiated into the picture-book-vetting club, let me introduce you to two incredible people: Leila Lawler and Michael D. O’Brien.
I’ve interviewed Lawler about her recently published book, The Summa Domestica, and I’m an avid reader of her blog. A mother of seven, Lawler dispenses wisdom in the loveliest and clearest manner possible, and her blog is a haven of common sense. Consider reading her posts on literature, and you’ll soon begin to understand the delicate balance that is assessing a book.
O’Brien is the author of one of the most gripping adult books I’ve ever read (Father Elijah) and one of the most poetic (The Fool of New York City). He is most popular in our home, however, for the short nonfiction title A Landscape with Dragons. In it, O’Brien lays out truths about how various types of literature affect your child’s mind and what to do about it. Not only are his insights worth pondering, the booklist he includes in the appendix is superb.
I’ll leave you with one last thought from dePaola, as recounted by Elleman:
He recommended that anyone interested in illustrating children’s books have an “avid love of theater.” As he pointed out, “An illustrator must cast the play, costume the characters, plan their entrances and exits, design the setting, and move the main action forward — all while not losing sight of the overall plot.”
So now you are prepared. Have no fear of this vast and colorful world but, rather, enjoy it. Learn to appreciate these books, and you, no matter your age, will always have rich adventure in which to revel.