Book Review

Just Go to Bed

/ Chelsea Owens / Leave a comment

Bed
Amazon

It’s time, once again, to discuss one of my favorite children’s picture books. For those who’ve been here before, you know I’ve covered King Bidgood, TinTin, and Where the Sidewalk Ends already.

After putting four rambunctious children to bed -and again, then two once more, and now one I need to carry up because he fell asleep on the couch- I somehow felt inspired to talk about Just Go to Bed, by Mercer Mayer.

Some books hit the golden mark for me: perfect word flow, good illustrations, appeal to their audience, and great message. This picture book, published waaay back in 1983, is just such a one for me.

In fact, it’s another nostalgic work because I owned it as a child. I listened to it on audiocassette, with the *ding* to turn the page, and the occasional audio effects that went with each page’s pictures. Reading that same copy (sans cassette) as an adult, I find it even more appealing.

The book begins with Little Critter outside. He’s playing dress-up. “I’m a cowboy and I round up cows,” he says. A calm father, with the toy lasso round his person, says, “It’s time for the cowboy to come inside and get ready for bed.”

Each page spread shows yet another step and/or excuse Little Critter has to get through, with Dad’s help. Dad, meanwhile, is clearly getting less and less playful and patient.

Bed Bath
Kinder Books

By the end, we see poor Daddy in his chair with his newspaper, exasperatingly pointing and saying the book’s title, “Just go to bed!” Mom is opening the door to see what’s up, bearing a look of surprise but understanding -or, maybe I just project myself into her furry critter feet now that I have experience.

It’s a very simple book. I mean, it is a children’s picture book. In a few pages and with a few penciled cartoon expressions, Mayer gives us an entertaining story for both children and adults.

If you’ve ever had to wrestle a cowboy, general, race car driver, bandit, space cadet, zookeeper, and bunny through bedtime routines, this was written for you. And, it was written for your own little critter(s).

Now, I’ve got to pull one of my bunnies off the couch and hoist him up to bed. Good night.

Where the Sidewalk Ends

/ Chelsea Owens / 9 Comments

Sidewalk Ends

On December 27, I was faced with one of the greatest dilemmas for a bibliophile: picking a favorite book. The choice was to be made for my local book group, and had the further condition of being from the children’s category.

My only consolation for narrowing my 17 choices down to just one was that I promised myself to write about each -here, on this blog. I have therefore forgotten entirely about it since writing posts for King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub and The Adventures of TinTin.

Today I drove past an unusual sign. I’d have taken a picture, but that’s rather irresponsible driving while ferrying small children.

That’s why I did the safe thing and dug up this picture I took nearly three years ago.

Sidewalk

At the sight, I couldn’t help but be drawn back to my childhood and to one of the best books of poetry ever: Where The Sidewalk Ends, by Shel Silverstein.

“Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow,
And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go,
For the children, they mark, and the children, they know
The place where the sidewalk ends.”

 

My mother read to us as children. She did so frequently enough that I remember, though not so much that I could say it was every night or even every month. Besides Ramona Quimby, Age 8, All Creatures Great and Small, The Water Babies, and Twig, she read quite a bit of poetry. Her favorites were The Cremation of Sam McGee, Bessie’s Boil, many of Ogden Nash’s shorter quips, A Child’s Garden of Verses, and many Shel Silverstein poems.

My favorite thing about the greatest children’s book authors is their ability to convey deep feelings and ideas in succinct, clever passages -passages even a child can understand. I respect their mastery of language. It is a great talent to funnel grand ideas down to fit neatly in the small spaces of a young mind.

I have acquired all of Shel Silverstein’s books of poetry over time, but Where the Sidewalk Ends is my nostalgic favorite for two reasons:

1. My family of origin owned only this book of his and we read it for years and years. It’s like the first dog we owned, and will always hold a special place in my heart for it.

2. Along with the text, we had an audiocassette of Shel Silverstein himself reading/singing/chanting his prose. When I read them to my children today, I hear his laughing voice and his background guitar strumming.

My children can’t hear him, poor things. Thank heavens for YouTube, in this case:

Peanut-Butter Sandwich
Sarah Cynthia Sylvia Stout Would Not Take the Garbage Out
My Beard (my boys’ favorite)
The Generals
Smart
Boa Constrictor
Crocodile’s Toothache
Sick
Jimmy Jet and His TV Set
Captain Hook
Hug O’War

Not all of them were on the recording we had growing up, and fewer than those are currently on YouTube.

The man clearly had a wonderfully twisted sense of humor, and an amusing way of mixing and churning out rhymes. If you have not heard of Shel Silverstein, or only know of a few of his books, check out some of his others.

Runny Babbit is good. Or, The Missing Piece. Many people also like The Giving Tree. I go for his poetry the most: A Light in the Attic, Falling Up, and Every Thing On It.

He was an adult, of course, so don’t let any audio program just run wild with everything he’s ever written and performed. That’s your parental advisory right there. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Wikipedia just told me he wrote a few things for Playboy. 😉

The Adventures of TinTin

/ Chelsea Owens / 7 Comments

Tin Tin
(From Beyond the Marquee)

About exactly a month ago, I listed seventeen children’s picture books I was fond of.

Today, I wish to journey across Egypt, the ocean, America, and even the moon -with TinTin.

First, I must have you young ‘uns travel back to a time before graphic novels were so prevalent; back when Americans just didn’t get it, though other countries did. Picture a world without so much variety, but still with motorized transportation and microwave ovens.

The world of my childhood.

Occasionally, my mother would bravely venture into The City with all three of us rambunctious children. After finding parking, we’d pile out of our station wagon and walk up the steps to the Salt Lake Public Library.

This was also before they’d built the big, fancy building there now. Ours was a more modest setup -a large, square structure with odd exterior walls of cement.

Never you mind how long ago that actually was. (If you ask my six-year-old, my childhood was around the time electricity was invented.)

The point of all this rambling nostalgia is that Hergés’ TinTin was a very special treat.

We didn’t live in Salt Lake County, so the library card for my mother was an extra cost. We didn’t own that many books. I’m certain we had no comic books or graphic novels around the house.

So, we each felt a mounting excitement as we literally mounted the stairs up to the children’s section, ran quietly through the main area, and turned left into the section of special, out-of-country books.

There, on the wall, the librarian would have set out all the TinTin books they had. It was like a candy store of literature.

My mother would finally catch up to us, note us sprawling on furniture with a book each, and sneak off to the adult section. We were good for a solid ten minutes.

What was The Adventures of TinTin to us?

As I said, those books were a special treat. They were also adventure, expression, art, and European humour. We were enamored with these silent cartoons we controlled.

Later, I would discover Astérix. That’s a story for another time. These days, graphic novels are everywhere. I pick up a few for my children from our own public library whenever we go.

Heck, they even have some with action-packed tales like The Laws of Motion: the story of Isaac Newton.

This old hipster says that’s all well and good, but classics like TinTin need to be read. If you haven’t ever, look into getting a copy. They’re still around, and they’re worth the time.

“Help! Help!” Cried the Page…

/ Chelsea Owens / Leave a comment

King Bidgood(From Amazon)

A full three posts ago, I mentioned favorite children’s picture books. I had a list of seventeen titles.

Although in near-anguish over which one to select for sharing, I found an inner-child delight during the process. Young Chelsea skipped happily through the bookshelf of her mind, one of the most satisfying places a bibliophile may visit.

I also realized a great need: to share why each of these books made my favorites list.

In true personal fashion of impatience, I will begin sharing tonight by discussing King Bidgood’s in the Bathtub, by Audrey and Don Wood.

First, if I may, this author and illustrator couple is GENIUS. I find myself disappointed in many current authors and illustrators (looking at you, Mo Willems) because their artistry sucks (still looking at you, Mo).

Before the story of King Bidgood actually begins, on the page of acknowledgements and printing date that everyone usually skips, there’s a beautiful picture of a young boy hefting a dripping barrel up very small, stone steps. The load is clearly heavy, the boy is pulling a sort of amused/resigned expression, and steam and a bathing silhouette can be seen in the background tower.

What a setup.

My mother read us this story as children and we LOVED IT. I don’t even own it (yet), and can recite it by heart.

“Help! Help!” Cried the Page, when the sun came up. “King Bidgood’s in the bathtub and he won’t get out! Oh, who knows what to do?”

 

Beginning at sunrise, the Page begs the court with the same plea. Each time, someone comes forward with a new suggestion. And, in response, the king beckons that person to come and do that activity IN THE BATHTUB.

This sounds oddly erotic for a children’s book, you may think. It’s not. The proposed activities are: to battle, lunch, fish, and join a masquerade ball. The king does each of these in his half of the bathtub, with only his upper half exposed, with his poor court members getting soaked (and, out-battled and out-fished).

The illustrations -oh! The illustrations! I remember poring over the pictures as a child. Just as you think you’ve seen everything, you find: the knight’s toy soldiers wandering in opposite directions, the entire court on the lunchtime cake, and the duke’s bait crawling away down the side of the tub.

Each page is an exquisite, well-drawn, hilarious game of I Spy -with the quality of a Classical-era Norman Rockwell.

This book, of course, is not complete without its narrative. Here steps the literary magic of Audrey Wood. I also find myself continually disappointed in the text of current picture books (here’s where you shine, Laura Joffe Numeroff’s publishing house). Audrey, however, weaves a simple, funny, repetitive, ridiculous tale even young children can follow.

But, how does the king finally leave? You wonder. Who knows what to do?

I do! (I type, as the day grows late.) Read it, and find out for yourself!