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Lives of the The Great Artists by Charlie Ayres
Brilliantly laid out, beautifully printed, brightly written, and augmented with activities, web resources, and fun facts, this book will hook young readers of every type.
Twenty European artists are profiled, arranged in chronological order. Each entry begins with a summary and a portrait, and then the reader is dropped into the artist's life. We accompany J.M.W. Turner as he sells a painting, and wait with Goya for the Spanish royal family, who are coming for a portrait sitting. Facts about each artist's life, technique, and importance are skillfully blended into these present-tense vignettes.
The narrative is written in the present tense, which gives it a fictionalized "feel," but the bulk of the events and feelings described are based on correspondence or other documentation (although such support is not cited in the book).
The works of art chosen to represent each artist are heavy on the drama and detail, resulting in high kid appeal and interesting captions. In some cases, sketches are included. The book's design merits special mention: each artist's entry has its own color palette, drawn from the works of art used as illustrations, and despite the multitude of sidebars, layout is clean and clear.
Back matter includes chronologies of the artists, locations of major collections of each artist's works, a glossary, and catalog entries for each work of art.
Unfortunately, this graceful, thoughtful book is badly marred by a garish cover that not only fails to represent the rich content within, but also fails to acknowledge the author's stated scope - European artists of the past seven hundred years. There is no such qualifying language on the cover, leading to the unpleasant - and offensive - impression that the book is declaring that the only important artists are European.
Antony Mason's A History of Western Art: From Prehistory to the Twentieth Century
takes a more encyclopedic approach to this subject and would make a good companion volume.
Snow Falling in Spring by Moying Li
I have to say, I always found the story of Mao's War on Sparrows to be a little far-fetched. Leader of one of the world's largest countries, and he takes aim at... sparrows? Seems a little petty. On the other hand, commanding every man, woman, and child in China to go outside, 24 hours a day, for weeks, and frighten off millions of tiny birds so that they have nowhere to land and drop dead out of sheer exhaustion? Inconceivably arrogant. Almost an arbitrary exercise of power. Also, I know it was 1958, but surely somebody must have realized that eliminating such a widespread species might have complicated consequences.
All in all, it sounds exactly like the kind of thing some short-sighted, delusional monarch might decree in a fairy tale.
I recently read about it in Sparrow Girl
, a picture book set during the Cultural Revolution, written by The Talented Sara Pennypacker (the Clementine
books, Pierre In Love
) and illustrated by the likewise talented Yoko Tanaka. A little girl rescues a few sparrows from the Sparrow War and keeps them in her family's barn. In spring, when it becomes apparent that the absence of sparrows has caused a proportional increase in the insect population, and crops all across China are being ravaged because of this, she releases the last sparrows in all of China, and there is hope.
It's a lovely book and a sweet story, but it reinforced my "Naw... really? Oh come on," attitude about this event.
But I think Moying Li's memoir (the book I'm actually reviewing), subtitled "Coming of age in China during the Cultural Revolution," finally has me convinced.
And so, day after day we watched the battle unfold as vigilant Beijingers stood their ground. Then, suddenly, sparrows started to fall from the sky, utterly exhausted. Soon there were hardly any left. At dinner one evening, flushed with pride as he waved a copy of the People's Daily, Baba announced that in our city alone we had eradicated over 400,000 sparrows!
Moying Li takes us along as, step by step, her country moves from the excitement and hope that accompanied The Great Leap Forward to the paranoia, zealotry and despair of the Cultural Revolution. Her family goes hungry, is split up, endures denunciation, but ultimately survives and moves forward. The kindness and loyalty that she encountered during these years brought tears to my eyes as I read.
The pace never falters in this gripping memoir. Not too demanding, the book includes some photographs and a helpful glossary (which would have been enhanced by pronunciations - my favorite axe to grind), and would be a spectacular class read, in addition to being a great leisure read.
National Geographic Investigates: The Ancient Celts by Jen Brown
In beautiful photographs and well-written text, this entry in the very readable National Geographic Investigates series makes a thorough presentation of the most up-to-date knowledge about this ancient European culture, from its origins in 800 BC through 500 AD, and the echoes of Celtic traditions in our lives today.
Aerial photos, timelines, informative sidebars, and National Geographic's famous maps augment text that asks and answers interesting questions ("Why did the Celts make human sacrifices?" "What happened when the Romans came?"). Rigorous in its distinction between theory, supposition, and proven fact, the book features a minimum of illustration, in favor of photos of artifacts, sites, and physical remains - including close-ups of Celtic "bog people" showing details such as manicured fingernails and hairdos. Scale is scrupulously noted for all objects and structures in both English and metric units.
Numerous explanations of techniques and processes - both those of the Celts and those employed by archaeologists - inject an element of how-to, a canny addition that will hook the attention of the reader fascinated by how things work and how we figure things out.
Previous books about the Celts for this age group have concentrated on the Celtic presence in the British Isles, or have focused on Celtic myths or daily life. In sixty-plus pages, Ancient Celts is a balanced, scientific account that doesn't stint on the mummified remains. Sure to appeal to a broad range of learners.
Manjiro: The boy who risked his life for two countries, by Emily Arnold McCully
Beautifully illustrated. Packed with detail. A suspenseful story. I'm not too sure what else to say, except that it's a shame all of the preceding phrases have been completely leached of meaning by overuse, like a beautiful cotton kimono that has grown faded and fragile after six months on the back of a teenage Japanese fisherman stranded on a rocky island eating albatross eggs and drinking rainwater to stay alive.
Detail. Suspense. Beautiful illustrations. More information. I'm gonna find something to nominate it for. Wow.
The Lindbergh Child (A Treasury of XXth Century Murder) by Rick Geary
It's tough not to love Rick Geary. That fussy, old-fashioned style: all those millions of parallel contour lines, his little crenellated edge lines, the beautiful hand lettering... all of it making everything he illustrates look so elegant and classy and clean. Which is so great, because, by and large, lately, Rick Geary illustrates crime.
This contrast nets the most tee-hees in the truly grisly stories - I think I remember reading The Borden Tragedy
when it came out, and I seem to recall he does a nice job with severed limbs - but even absent any gore, The Lindbergh Child is an engrossing read.
I am very pleased to have it as an addition to the True Crime nonfiction shelves, and even more pleased that the lack of nudity or profanity gives me carte blanche to recommend it to anyone who can hack the history. About grade 4 and up.
Tin Lizzie by Allan Drummond - review
Allan Drummond has succeeded in making a book that simultaneously celebrates the invention of the Ford Model T - the Tin Lizzie - and addresses the environmental problems that are the result of our increased reliance on automobiles.
Quite a feat!
Grandpa restores a Tin Lizzie and takes his four grandkids, all of whom have inherited his mania for anything on wheels, out for a ride. Along the way, the kids notice the congestion and the pollution, and start asking questions: "Someday, won't there be just too many cars?" "What will happen if the world runs out of oil?" Grandpa checks out for a little nap, having created all these problems that his grandchildren will inherit (ha ha, just pokin' fun there), and the kids talk out some solutions: they reject ideas such as more roads and more fuel-efficient cars, and suggest carpooling, public transit, and bicycles.
The front endpapers show milestones in automobile history; the rear endpapers show problems caused by car culture and possible solutions.
Neatly done. And the sketchy pen-and-ink and watercolor illustrations make me think of all kinds of fifties magazine and cookbook illustrations. I've seen Allan Drummond's stuff in The New Yorker. And I sure hope my niece Ali is taking his classes at SCAD!
Lest anyone think that Pink Me opinion is one-sided, here is evidence that I make my friends read books I like, so that I can get my opinions validated. Of course, if they don't agree with me, I cut them off forever. No beer for you!
So, my friend Aimee here (and to a certain extent, Juicy Boy on her lap, who is really too young for this book), as well as a whole Friday porch-load of other readers, fully endorse Close to the Wind: The Beaufort Scale
as one spectacular work of juvenile non-fiction.
I have something of a bias toward non-fiction, it's true. That's partly why I made Aimee, Molly, and Bob all read this book. But come on! Close to the Wind has it all: a gripping plot! Factual information presented in a way that is easy to grasp! Characters! Beautiful, detailed illustration! A map! A glossary! References! A biographical note! And all of it interesting!
The nominal purpose of this book is to illustrate the Beaufort Scale, a standardized way to measure the force of the wind. Developed in 1805, before the invention of instruments to measure wind speed, Beaufort's scale is based on observation, and therefore can be explained easily to almost anyone. At Beaufort 2, leaves rustle. Got it.
But Malone goes much further. He invents a 12-year-old midshipman, William, aboard a British Navy ship in 1805. Using William's letters home to his sister and gorgeous illustrations that employ unexpected points of view, (much like Brian Floca's Lightship
, recently reviewed here) he gives the Beaufort Scale context and consequence. When the ship survives a hurricane (Beaufort 12) and hobbles into harbor at the end of the book, we all breathe a sigh of relief for William and the rest of the crew.
Recommended for any reader.
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