It is with infinite regret that we must announce the indefinite hiatus of the Children’s Literature Supplement. Unlike the rest of the media world, there were no fights or firings. Sarah simply doesn’t have the bandwidth at the moment to continue writing this newsletter and must take a pause. It has been a delight writing these newsletters for the WRB, and Sarah hopes her readers have found them useful—and perhaps even a bit enjoyable. Grace will continue her “What the Kids Are Reading” column over on her Substack, so please give her a follow and continue to read her charming output. Sarah will certainly be taking notes! For our final CLS, here is a roundup from the last few years with some of our favorite literary suggestions, tidbits, and handy hints.

Where we began

Why did we start this newsletter in the first place? Well:

. . . Whether or not you have children, you shouldn’t preclude yourself from reading and enjoying this wonderful collection. Simply put, there is a great deal of lovely, powerful, important children’s literature out there, but it is often choked out by fluff. This collection will bring you ideas about children’s literature, old and new, and why we should preserve and promote the good and the great found in this canon. Furthermore, we want to combat the idea that children’s literature is just for children. If the point of a great (or even simply good) book such as the Inferno or Bleak House is to tell us something about virtue and the universal human experience, why can’t we look at great and good children’s literature in the same manner?

Hot takes

Some of our argumentative posts from bygone times.

October 2022: Sarah, who has a minor [major? all-consuming?] obsession with Louisa May Alcott and her work, did enjoy the 2019 film version of Little Women, but Rebekah Wojtysiak over at Hearth and Field very much didn’t. [I just rewatched the movie in light of her critique and find her point unconvincing, but it is a theme worth reflecting on—and an excuse to reread and rewatch Little Women. —Sarah]

December 2022: Karen Swallow Prior, besides having the most lovely name, is also a wonderfully lyrical writer. This time, she’s taken pen in hand to give us a review of Anna Sewell’s classic tale, Black Beauty. [To my great surprise, I discovered that this wasn’t originally a children’s story. —Sarah] There’s much to be considered in this review (and hopefully it encourages a reading or rereading of the book), but the melodiousness of this particular passage is delightful:

The newly industrialized society in which Sewell lived had, ironically, become increasingly dependent upon horses, which were needed to fill the growing transportation and commerce demands of populous urban centers. Within a modern mindset shaped by metaphors of mechanization, horses were viewed as extensions of trains and valued and treated accordingly. The city environment—with tight spaces, loud noises, and cobblestone roads—itself was inherently inhospitable to such delicate, high strung creatures. Compounding the problem further, the migration of many laborers from the countryside to urban areas put more and more horses into the hands of those unschooled in their care. Sewell wrote her book with this audience in mind, nestling lessons on the care of horses inside an engaging story, one that stable hands, grooms, and drivers could both read and enjoy. She wrote not just for those who owned horses but also for those who labored with them.

[Emphasis added. —Sarah]

May 2023: Speaking of Wind in the Willows, Sarah wrote recently about her least-favorite character from the tale, and about his vital importance to the story:

This seemingly simple tale is thematically rich: What is home? What is hospitality? How does the spirit of adventure affect us? As friendship is another of the book’s important themes, I shall focus here on how it affects Mr. Toad. Some commentaries I’ve read over the years consider Toad to be the darling of young readers. Indeed, his breezy manners and madcap deeds, splendid wealth and self-laudatory songs contrast considerably with the measured, warm, genuine partnership of Rat and Mole. I disliked Toad the moment we met, not because he was an unpleasant character, but because he was just so absurd, and I could not comprehend how Rat, Mole, and Badger (a sort of guardian figure throughout the tale) put up with him.

June 2023: Catholic Vote has compiled some useful booklists for various age groups. Their middle-school list is strong, and Sarah’s only quibble is with their inclusion of Scott O’Dell’s Island of the Blue Dolphins. Besides her strong dislike of anything by O’Dell (she’s also tried both Sarah Bishop and The Spanish Smile), she found this book to be dry and boring. If any reader would like to try and change her mind, however, please send her an email.

As to their elementary-school list, nearly all the options, from Charlotte’s Web and The Toothpaste Millionaire to The Winged Watchman and Little House on the Prairie, are solid suggestions. Sarah does draw the line at their addition of John D. Fitzgerald’s Great Brain series though. Growing up, she enjoyed some of the stories in these books, but on closer reading, virtue is seriously lacking in the tales. The protagonist, Tom, rarely uses his clever mind for good, and often makes his parents look silly and weak. Adding to that, there’s one story in particular, dealing with a young boy who wants to commit suicide, that is inappropriate in a children’s book. As we recommend when choosing any literature, please keep your child’s temperament and age in mind, and trust your gut.

July 2023: Sarah noticed, in the last issue of this supplement, that biological fathers are sadly lacking in most pieces of children’s literature. Those musings turned into a piece for NRO:

First, from a storytelling perspective, bad or absent parents make sense. There needs to be some kind of driving action that starts a protagonist on his way, and often this is a loss. . . .

We love these adventures because they engage our imagination, teach us resourcefulness, and, if they’re done right, exemplify growth in virtue. Interestingly, though, these adventure tales often involve children in tense or perilous situations that most involved parents would have put a stop to. . . .

Wonderful as these books are, this “fend for yourself” can-do attitude has some drawbacks in the real world. I’m certainly not advocating a helicopter-parent mentality, or ignoring the fact that tragic parental losses do happen. This self-sufficient thread running through much of our children’s literature today, however, cuts against one of the greatest treasures our parents can give us: their time-tested wisdom.

August 2023: Janet Manley has a curious essay out over on Lit Hub, praising creative authors who she believes are breaking through the bland, adult-informed children’s books on offer today. Is she right?

We reckon with our shadows in middle-age, according to the literature of psychoanalysis, a time when we may find ourselves ensconced in the children’s literature scene. Picture a middle-aged author wrestling their own existential fear of death while writing a bedtime story about bunnies: Writing good children’s fiction as an adult is hard.

Sarah does think Manley has a point—to an extent. The essay makes a interesting case that sappy, “sanitized books keep peeling off the production line,” and that their content is aimed at what adults will buy for kids, not what kids actually want to read. Startling children’s books, such as Maurice Sendak’s Where the Wild Things Are (1963) and Lois Lowry’s The Willoughbys (2008), are examples of enduringly popular kids’ books which veer sharply for the status quo. Manley’s essay deserves consideration, but it should be remembered that balance is key. Not all books need to shock the reader or include Death as a character—sometimes, it’s important to simply go on a Listening Walk.

October 2023: She can’t find it now, but Sarah read a piece not long ago about Anne of Green Gables (the character specifically). In effect, the essay claimed that Anne wasn’t a good mother, and Sarah felt personally insulted. After a bit more musing, while she still doesn’t agree with the main premise, there is something to be said about the books detailing Anne’s mothering years.

Books one through five, and even a bit of book six, are wonderful because we’re still deep in the life of Anne herself. We read about her thoughts and actions, the people she is meeting, and the stories she’s hearing. Then suddenly, the last few books focus mainly on her children, and we lose sight of Anne. She becomes a shadow of her former self in a way, and we hear more about the housekeeper, Susan Baker, and her interactions with Anne and Gilbert’s children. Yes, her children have funny escapades, but we’re suddenly cut out of Anne’s life almost completely, which is startling after we’ve spent so much time growing up with her.

Regardless, October is the perfect month in which to read or reread this series. Anne is a friend no child should miss out on having, so consider making the first book a read-aloud.

October 2024: This New York Times piece about Tomie dePaola’s beloved book character is . . . odd. Apparently, she’s giving everyone “fall vibes,” and while Sarah is delighted at the well-deserved attention dear Strega Nona is getting, she finds this manifestation disconcerting. First, the timing is off—she’s pretty sure the book is set in early spring, not fall. And this leads to the second complaint: Has anyone actually read the book? The NYT writer says, “Strega Nona, whose name means “Grandmother Witch,” is a healer who enchants the townspeople with her magically refilling pasta pot. When she recruits the help of a young man named Big Anthony, he bungles the spell that is supposed to halt pasta making. The town overflows with noodles.” Some of this is correct, but it gives readers the wrong impression. Strega Nona curies headaches and warts and finds husbands for young women. She doesn’t go around making pasta for everyone, just for herself and her hired help. The townspeople don’t even know about her pot until Big Anthony tells them about it—and they scoff at him! Strega Nona actually spends very little time bending over the pasta pot in this book, leading Sarah to wonder where people are getting these “hunched over a pot” and “fall” vibes. While it’s certainly a more wholesome “vibe” than some of the other ones currently on the loose, Sarah would appreciate it if people picked up the book and enjoyed the story, too.

October 2025: Abridged books should be avoided at all cost, especially for children. Sarah is firm and unyielding on this point. Why? Well, many reasons, but three which spring to mind are:

1. It diminishes a child’s vocabulary

2. It makes literature something you simply “get through”

3. It robs them of the story’s full delight

In a recent mailing to subscribers, author S. D. Smith (of Green Ember fame) said that we should “explain up, don’t dumb down” when it comes to vocabulary and children. He posits that there are two reasons why we try to simplify language for them, the first being compassion—wanting to be completely clear and understandable; the second being laziness—we’re just too tired to explain yet another meaning. He believes neither of these points should deter us, and invites parents and teachers to take “the fear out of learning new words and new things,” and reminds us how beautiful vocabulary can help widen “our capacity for imagination and, therefore, faith.” He quotes a powerful passage from Clay Clarkson, saying “Vocabulary is critical to an active imagination. A child’s ability to imagine things beyond their own senses is directly related to the depth and breadth of their vocabulary.”

Smith has a number of other excellent thoughts in this email—perhaps if we ask him nicely, he’ll post the full text on his blog? (Unless he’s already done so, and Sarah missed it! Many apologies if so.)

This wonder and imagination discussed by Clarkson and Smith leads us to the second reason against abridged books: Wonder and imagination take time. By handing a child an abridged tale, you’re telling them, in part, that this is a box they need to check, something they should know just to know, and this is a quick way to get through it. This is insulting to both the child and the author, the latter of whom spent time crafting words and plot in very particular ways. If a child isn’t ready for certain stories and vocabulary, then just wait until they are, rather than shortchanging them.

Which leads to the final point, that giving a child an abridged book, especially if it’s already a children’s book, takes something away from the child. They are led to believe they’ve read the full tale, when in fact, they’ve been given but a shadow. Some stories certainly need to be saved for later, but others can be introduced fully, perhaps through read-aloud, to even young children. Take the time to introduce them to beautiful stories, words, and ideas which they will hopefully return to again and again, both in thought and through rereading.

Sarah realizes she’s going to get annoyed or even angry emails about this topic, and knows that there are more distinctions to be made. What about retellings? What about Charles and Mary Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare? What about story Bibles? All fair points, but for now, Sarah will leave the conversation here and muse for another month. Another installment, after more thought, is necessary. Until then, she welcomes your responses, irate or otherwise.

Book beauty

January 2023: Chris sent Sarah a NYT link detailing the interesting specimens that are picture book endpapers, which prompted a trip down the rabbit hole. Apparently, Atlas Obscura covered a bit of this topic a few years ago, and a whole book has even been written on this very subject.

February 2023: There are many different book awards, but two annual ones which are sometimes confused are the Caldecott Medal and the Newbery Award. While the Newbery focuses on “the most distinguished contribution to American literature for children,” the Caldecott concerns “the artist of the most distinguished American picture book for children.”

Named for nineteenth-century children’s literature illustrator Randolph Caldecott, the award has been around since 1937. But why look to a British artist for the name of this American award? Well, consider his contributions to the field. Also, if you’re doing a literary tour of America, check out Caldecott’s grave in St. Augustine.

In Sarah’s top seven Christmas picture-books list is The Year of the Perfect Christmas Tree (1988), written by Gloria Houston and illustrated by Barbara Cooney. Ever since reading Miss Rumphius (1982) and Roxaboxen (1991), Sarah has been enthralled with the charming images put forward by Cooney. Imagine her delight when she discovered a whole world of Cooney’s work, ranging from the fantastical (Chanticleer and the Fox, 1958) to the biographical (Eleanor, 1996) to the heartwarming (The Story of Holly and Ivy, 1958)

Cooney is not to be confused with Tasha Tudor, an equally lovely artist whose pictures have drawn readers into the world of Frances Hodgson Burnett for years. Oh, and into Sarah’s favorite, the world of Corgiville Fair.

Rounding out our trio is Kay Nielsen, a Danish author of the 20th century. Sarah loves his work on her favorite fairytale, East of the Sun and West of the Moon (1914), but his catalog of works doesn’t end there. As Bethany Kern from Goldberry Arts says:

Nielsen’s use of negative space combined with elegant, patterned line work make for dramatic moments of narrative that pair well with the sorts of stories told by those who believe that children combat their fears by imagining themselves up against the monsters in exciting tales.

December 2024: Still on the art theme, perhaps you’ve already seen Alice and Martin Provensen’s art but didn’t know the lovely story of these two giants in children’s literature illustration. The duo was active in the mid-1900s, collaborating on many titles and even won a Caldecott Award for A Visit to William Blake’s Inn (1982) (Nancy Willard, the author, won a Newbery for the work). Sarah’s personal favorite of theirs is The Glorious Flight (1983) about the feats of aviator Louis Blériot, and this book also took home the 1984 Caldecott.

Humor

September 2024: A few months ago, Sarah’s mom discovered a local Catholic school that had been recently shut down. Management hadn’t decided what to do about the school’s library books yet, so Sarah’s mom was allowed to take as many as she wanted. Except for Sarah’s dad (who has no idea where they could possibly fit another bookshelf in the house) all the Schuttes were ecstatic over this literary haul. The books were divvied up among the seven siblings, and were picked up as each returned home for various reasons. Among her stack (read: three boxes), Sarah discovered a slim volume titled Mr. Yowder and the Train Robbers (1981) by Glen Rounds, and she was immediately hooked. Since then, she’s been scouring advanced library searches for other Mr. Yowder adventures and has stumbled upon more Rounds titles. She’s inundated her local library with requests for the books, and she can’t wait to pick them up.

Our garden era

April 2023

• The Complete Book of the Flower Fairies (2002) by Cicely Mary Barker

• Flower Fables (1854) by Louisa May Alcott

• Miss Rumphius (1982) by Barbara Cooney

• Elsa Beskow’s charming tales

• Planting a Rainbow (1988) by Lois Ehlert

• From Seed to Plant (1991) by Gail Gibbons

• The Gardner (1997) by Sarah Stewart

• A Beatrix Potter Treasury

• The Burgess Flower Book (1923)

Our construction era

September 2023:

• The Way Things Work by David Macaulay (1988, updated and revised 1998 and 2016)

• Cathedral by David Macaulay (1973)

• Angelo by David Macaulay (2002) [Are you sensing a theme? I’ve always been entranced by Macaulay’s works, and plan to have a longer piece about him over on NRO next week.—Sarah]

• Richard Scarry’s What Do People Do All Day? by Richard Scarry (1968)

• Mike Mulligan and His Steam Shovel by Virginia Lee Burton (1939)

• Stephen Biesty’s Incredible Cross-Sections by Stephen Biesty (1992)

• Sky Boys: How They Built the Empire State Building by Deborah Hopkinson (2006)

Our history era

July 2025: Literary history never ceases to amaze Sarah. Just last week, she discovered that the character of Paddington is based on the author’s memories of children arrive at British train stations during the Kindertransport program:

During Bond’s childhood, several stations around Britain had become the receiving points for the roughly 10,000 Jewish children who escaped Nazi-occupied Europe through the Kindertransport, traveling ahead of the Holocaust—many of whom would never see their families again. Soon, Bond created a storyline for the bear, basing Paddington’s temporary state of homelessness around his memories of seeing hundreds of these evacuees arriving at Reading station from London, each carrying their possessions in a single suitcase with labels bearing their names and addresses.

Moment magazine also wrote about this literary tidbit:

Although Bond did not create Paddington Bear until two decades after he was confronted by the image of the Kindertransport children, they remained in his mind. One morning in 1958, he was searching for writing inspiration and simply wrote the words: “Mr. and. Mrs Brown first met Paddington on a railway platform. . . .”

“When I wrote those few words, I had no idea quite what a change they would eventually make to my life,” Bond recounted, as recorded on his website. “It was really a case of putting something down on paper in order to get my brain working that morning.”

The images of the children arriving in the train station soon inspired the words that would bring Paddington Bear’s world to life. Known for his royal blue overcoat, striking red hat and tag that says “Please look after this bear. Thank you,” Paddington embodies the appearance of many Kindertransport children. His suitcase is an emblem of his refugee status.

Sarah’s favorite snippet from this essay? “Paddington Bear, however, hails from Peru. Bond originally wanted the bear to come from Africa, but his agent was opposed, claiming there were no bears in Africa.”

Alas, Sarah didn’t grow up reading Paddington, so she isn’t as enamored of him as she probably could be. She is, however, a devoted Winnie the Pooh fan, and recently discovered that he has his roots in the Canadian wild:

The story begins over 80 years ago in the northern town of White River, Ontario when a young black bear cub suddenly became an orphan. A man by the name of Harry Colebourn was traveling across Canada to embark on overseas duty to England during the First World War. He purchased the little black bear cub from the trapper who had come across the orphaned cub. Lieutenant Colebourn named the bear from his hometown of Winnipeg, Manitoba, and she would become an unofficial mascot of The Fort Garry Horse, a Militia cavalry regiment. Winnie would sleep under Colebourn’s cot.

In 1914, the now Captain Harry Colebourn learned he would be shipped to France. He decided to settle Winnie into the London Zoo because she would not be able to go with him. She eventually became the fan-favorite attraction at the zoo. It is said that visitors would knock on her door and she would come out to greet them. . . .

But how did he come to the attention of A. A. Milne? You’ll just have to click through and find out.

Christmas once again

To round everything out, here, once again, is Sarah’s list of top Christmas picture books (originally from November 2022).

• Mr. Willowby’s Christmas Tree by Robert Barry (1963)

• Mortimer’s Christmas Manger by Karma Wilson (2005)

• Great Joy by Kate DiCamillo (2007)

• The Year of the Perfect Christmas Tree: An Appalachian Story by Gloria Houston [Illustrated by the legendary Barbara Cooney!] (1988)

• A Small Miracle by Peter Collington (1997)

• The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey by Susan Wojciechowski (1995)

• Petunia’s Christmas by Roger Duvoisin (1952)

• An Orange for Frankie by Patricia Polacco (2004)

Thanksgiving fast approaches, and Sarah is obsessively stocking up on cranberries. She adores cranberry sauce, but her family has developed a devotion to it as well, causing a shortage of jellied goodness the past few years. Not so this November 27th. Cranberries shall pour from every corner of the table, and all shall rejoice in its abundance.

Speaking of cranberries, Sarah would like to take this opportunity to remind readers of that classic seasonal book, Cranberry Thanksgiving, by Wende and Harry Devlin. Now, or over the next few weeks, is the perfect time to pull out this delightful tale. For another Thanksgiving read, a continuation of last month’s tirade against abridged books, a lovely November poem, and more, read on.

Literary Thanksgiving

Obviously, snag Cranberry Thanksgiving (1971) in paperback or hardcover. Or if you’re pressed for time and can’t get the physical book, there are good YouTube read-alouds at your fingertips. Whether you listen to it or read it yourself, set the mood with a tea party and provide cranberry bread for all attendees.

Second, if you can find a copy of Laurie Halse Anderson’s Thank You, Sarah, (2002) obtain it posthaste. The history of Thanksgiving is fascinating, and this picture book is a wonderful introduction to the woman behind our beloved national holiday.

Louisa May Alcott

If you need a lovely “old-fashioned” story, full of warmth, cheer, and pure Americana, you can’t go wrong with the inestimable Ms. Alcott’s “An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving.” A quick teaser:

Sixty years ago, up among the New Hampshire hills, lived Farmer Bassett, with a house full of sturdy sons and daughters growing up about him. They were poor in money, but rich in land and love, for the wide acres of wood, corn, and pasture land fed, warmed, and clothed the flock, while mutual patience, affection, and courage made the old farm-house a very happy home.

November had come; the crops were in, and barn, buttery, and bin were overflowing with the harvest that rewarded the summer’s hard work. The big kitchen was a jolly place just now, for in the great fire-place roared a cheerful fire; on the walls hung garlands of dried apples, onions, and corn; up aloft from the beams shone crook-necked squashes, juicy hams, and dried venison--for in those days deer still haunted the deep forests, and hunters flourished. Savory smells were in the air; on the crane hung steaming kettles, and down among the red embers copper sauce-pans simmered, all suggestive of some approaching feast.

Read it aloud, read it to yourself, do a dramatic reading with others—this is a tale worth your attention, particularly this time of year.

What the kids are reading

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Sarah has been completely and utterly charmed by Beth Brower’s Emma M. Lion series the past month, and while it’s not a children’s series (though she heartily recommends it to every adult she meets), it has inspired thoughts of Shakespeare and a renewed devotion to beautiful phrases. This Shakespeare inspiration has spilled over into Sarah’s teaching, and a few weeks ago, her 4-6 grade class took a break from poetry to memorize some of the Bard’s work. Each student was randomly assigned 14 lines of a famous soliloquy and told that, if they memorized it in a week, they’d receive a candy bar. Chocolate is a strong motivator, and Sarah handed out a bar to each student in the class the following week. When she tried to get them back to poetry, however, the unexpected happened: They wanted more Shakespeare. Delightful, but also tricky, since 1) Sarah is a neophyte when it comes to both understanding and teaching Shakespeare and 2) Most Shakespeare plays aren’t suitable for children in 4-6 grade. How is she going to manage? For that, as well as a short tirade against abridged books and an ode to Ox-Cart Man, read on.

Beautiful routines

has the perfect October read over on her Substack, focusing on the 1980 Caldecott winner Ox-Cart Man by Donald Hall and illustrated by Barbara Cooney. Bradford invites us into the story, giving us perspective on both the writing (the text is an adaptation of an earlier poem by Hall) and the art. This comment about time caught Sarah’s attention:

For young readers, Ox-Cart Man can serve as a gentle introduction to newer concepts that may be difficult to grasp: the passage of time, the relationship between seasons and human activity, the way communities depend on each other. Children see how the ox-cart man’s wool becomes someone else’s clothing, how his maple sugar sweetens another family’s food, how what he brings back helps to enable another year of production.

Shakespeare in the classroom

As Sarah mentioned before, she’s still very new to teaching Shakespeare, especially to younger students. To remedy this, she’s diving back into Shakespeare plays herself (her current favorite quote is from Julius Caesar:

Casius: Will you sup with me tonight, Casca?
Casca: No, I am promised forth.
Casius: Will you dine with me tomorrow?
Casca: Ay, if I be alive, and your mind hold, and your dinner worth the eating.
Casius: Good; I will expect you.

She intends to start answering all dinner invitations in like manner.) She’s also reading outside commentaries such as Bill Bryson’s Shakespeare: The World as Stage (2007) and Norrie Epstein’s The Friendly Shakespeare (1993). But what has been absolutely instrumental is Ken Ludwig’s How to Teach Your Children Shakespeare (2013). This is an excellent introduction for children of almost any age (and their parents) to this pillar of Western literature, and it leads you thoughtfully through understanding and memorizing some of the Bard’s greatest lines. His method is simple, requiring repetition, time, and togetherness (and perhaps a printer), and Sarah is already walking around reciting “I know a bank where the wild thyme blows.” She was also thrilled to finally have a clear explanation of iambic pentameter, as well as a better understanding of how Shakespeare uses poetry in his plays.

Sarah is devouring her borrowed copy of this book as she saves for her own hardcover—which she intends to thoroughly annotate. If you have even the slightest interest in Shakespeare or desire for your children to memorize some of his lines, this is the perfect place to begin.

What the kids are reading

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It’s still much too hot in Sarah’s neck of the woods for her to even think about putting on a fall Spotify playlist. She’s dutifully holding off, because, as we all know, fall doesn’t officially begin until the 22nd, but it is difficult at times. And her desire for apple pie grows more intense each day. These desires and digressions are neither here nor there, however. You, dear reader, came for the books, not the forecast. Read on for a little-known picture book suggestion from Patience Bradford, biblical stories retold as fairytales, and proof that a doll can be a girl’s best friend.

Beautiful routines

, over on her Substack, has a lovely reflection on the pictures-only books of Jan Ormerod. Sarah hadn’t heard of these charming tales, and appreciated the way Bradford carefully laid out why these books were important to her and how they can engage readers:

These aren’t books about dramatic adventures or fantastical journeys. These are about the texture of daily life—how it feels to transition from sleep to wakefulness, from private play to public engagement, from the energy of day to the quietude of night. This is a recurring theme in books I find myself drawn to: while fantastical stories certainly have their place, children often delight most in seeing their own daily experiences reflected and honored. The normal is extraordinary to them—getting dressed is an accomplishment, bath time is an adventure, bedtime stories create entire worlds. Ormerod understands that these transitions deserve careful attention, that the rhythms we often take for granted contain their own beauty.

Apple pie time

Okay, maybe it isn’t quite apple pie time, but surely we’re close, right? If you’re like Sarah and absolutely can’t wait for the weather to match her desired menu, take a deep breath and pull out Marjorie Priceman’s How to Make an Apple Pie and See the World (1994). Once you read it . . . you’ll still want to make an apple pie. Lucky for you, she included a recipe. Bon appetit!

What the kids are reading

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The earth is drenched in butterflies. Sarah’s knowledge extends to monarchs and swallowtails, but myriad other types seem to be crossing her path these days—dancing outside her windows and spinning across the sky as she zips down the highway. ’Tis August, and the butterflies know it. Sarah knows its August because of the cicadas, perched here, there, and everywhere, rasping away, reminding us that summer is winding to a close. It’s funny that bugs and insects are on her mind—it should be horses, because of a curriculum she’s teaching this fall—and some of today’s book suggestions fit nicely into this train of thought. Even though so many children are already back in school, consider this your final summer hurrah from us at the CLS, and we’ll bring you a back-to-school edition in a month. (Or, at least, valiantly attempt one.)

Famished insects

Eric Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar (1969) is ubiquitous in the children’s picture book world. Its status as a dearly loved book is well-deserved, but did you know that without the help of the Japanese children’s book culture, this book might not have made it out into the world? Back in March (we here at the CLS are slow readers), the esteemed Leonard S. Marcus wrote about this fascinating connection for the New York Times:

Japan’s influence was felt in the United States in other meaningful ways as well. In 1968, when the art director turned picture book creator Eric Carle presented his editor, Ann Beneduce, with the concept for an alluring design-forward novelty book for preschoolers called The Very Hungry Caterpillar, she was instantly intrigued but recognized the unfeasibility of manufacturing it domestically (the standard practice then). Fortunately, Beneduce had a global outlook. That summer, she hand-delivered Carle’s idiosyncratic dummy, with its array of die-cut holes and different-sized pages, to Hiroshi Imamura, then president of Kaiseisha Publishing in Tokyo, and returned home with an on-budget plan. If not for the determined efforts of Beneduce and her Japanese colleagues, Carle’s caterpillar book, which has now reached readers in more than 65 foreign-language editions, might never have happened. Beneduce later introduced Americans to the work of modern-day Japan’s greatest picture book creator, Mitsumasa Anno, whose Anno’s Journey and other wordless, scroll-like books cunningly blend Eastern and Western narrative art elements for the stated goal of “bridging” national and cultural divides.

The whole piece is well worth your time, and it made Sarah even more determined to visit the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art someday.

Also, while she’s fairly certain that most readers of this newsletter have a cherished copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar lying around, Sarah was delighted by this animated video of the tale.

Allan Ahlberg, R.I.P.

Over at The Telegraph, Amanda Craig mourns the passing of another beloved children’s book author and writes about the impact he (and his first wife, Janet) had on the genre:

Ahlberg’s gentle wit mixed the mundane with the fantastical. His ebullient child heroes and resourceful underdogs are incarnations of a strong moral core that has become lost or confused today. For instance, one of the better picture-books this year is Bethan Woollvin’s gender-switched Robin Hood, whose girl protagonist (wearing a black bob strangely similar to that of Rachel Reeves) is justified in stealing from the Sheriff because he’s stealing from the poor.

A few years ago, Sarah couldn’t believe her luck when she found Each Peach, Pear, Plum (1978) and The Jolly Postman (1986) at a barn sale, and she hopes you will check out these, as well as other Ahlberg titles.

A sweet fairytale

Poking around on the Atlas Obscura website is always an adventure, and it a few weeks ago, it yielded a lovely treat in the form of a new fairytale for Sarah. A few years ago, it seems Atlas Obscura organized a “Children’s Literature Week,” and ran all manner of pieces for it. One that caught Sarah’s eye was “What Children’s Book Do You Remember That No One Else Does?” She didn’t recognize much on the list, but one title caught her attention: The Ordinary Princess (1980) by M. M. Kaye. As a lover of George MacDonald’s The Light Princess (1864), Ford Madox Ford’s The Queen Who Flew (1894), and A. A. Milne’s Once on a Time (1917), she’s always on the lookout for short little fairytales. Kaye’s offering did not disappoint.

What the kids are reading

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July has been a month of discovery for Sarah. From new information about Paddington and Winnie the Pooh to a different perspective on The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear, she’s trying to catch her breath after all the shocking developments. She hopes you’ll enjoy these essay excerpts on everything from Clarice Lispector’s work to a lovely essay by LuElla D’Amico on What Katy Did. Enjoy!

Teachable moments

This essay by Miyako Pleines over at Ploughshares is a few years old, but it’s a fascinating read and reminded Sarah of a recent musing after reading The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear by Don and Audrey Wood (1984). It’s an old family favorite, but after numerous re-reads, you might start to squirm, wondering if the narrator (you as the reader) isn’t being a little manipulative of the mouse. After all, no bear ever makes an appearance—is he even real? Or is it just a way to get half a red ripe strawberry from a mouse? It’s amusing to consider, and made Sarah wonder what larger lesson the authors could be hoping to impart. Pleines asks something similar when exploring the works of Clarice Lispector and Jon Klassen:

Children’s books are supposed to be an experience for young readers. They employ conversational tones and ask questions of the reader to draw them in and make them feel like a part of the story. In short, they come to life on the page. Lispector’s work in The Woman Who Killed the Fish operates with these same mechanics, just like Klassen’s books. What sets these stories apart, however, is their unique approach to their subjects. Neither Klassen nor Lispector seem to believe that subjects need to be softened for children to understand them. In Klassen’s world, animals die for their sins—albeit off the page—and Lispector’s children learn that their mother may not be exactly as guilt free in the death of their fish as she wants to appear. Suddenly, instead of existing in a world of right and wrong, things become tinged with gray. Stealing is wrong, yes. But so is devouring another animal whole.

The whole essay is fascinating and well worth your time.

Bear bombshells

Literary history never ceases to amaze Sarah. Just last week, she discovered that the character of Paddington is based on the author’s memories of children arrive at British train stations during the Kindertransport program:

During Bond’s childhood, several stations around Britain had become the receiving points for the roughly 10,000 Jewish children who escaped Nazi-occupied Europe through the Kindertransport, traveling ahead of the Holocaust—many of whom would never see their families again. Soon, Bond created a storyline for the bear, basing Paddington’s temporary state of homelessness around his memories of seeing hundreds of these evacuees arriving at Reading station from London, each carrying their possessions in a single suitcase with labels bearing their names and addresses.

Moment magazine also wrote about this literary tidbit:

Although Bond did not create Paddington Bear until two decades after he was confronted by the image of the Kindertransport children, they remained in his mind. One morning in 1958, he was searching for writing inspiration and simply wrote the words: “Mr. and. Mrs Brown first met Paddington on a railway platform. . . .”

“When I wrote those few words, I had no idea quite what a change they would eventually make to my life,” Bond recounted, as recorded on his website. “It was really a case of putting something down on paper in order to get my brain working that morning.”

The images of the children arriving in the train station soon inspired the words that would bring Paddington Bear’s world to life. Known for his royal blue overcoat, striking red hat and tag that says “Please look after this bear. Thank you,” Paddington embodies the appearance of many Kindertransport children. His suitcase is an emblem of his refugee status.

Sarah’s favorite snippet from this essay? “Paddington Bear, however, hails from Peru. Bond originally wanted the bear to come from Africa, but his agent was opposed, claiming there were no bears in Africa.”

Alas, Sarah didn’t grow up reading Paddington, so she isn’t as enamored of him as she probably could be. She is, however, a devoted Winnie the Pooh fan, and recently discovered that he has his roots in the Canadian wild:

The story begins over 80 years ago in the northern town of White River, Ontario when a young black bear cub suddenly became an orphan. A man by the name of Harry Colebourn was traveling across Canada to embark on overseas duty to England during the First World War. He purchased the little black bear cub from the trapper who had come across the orphaned cub. Lieutenant Colebourn named the bear from his hometown of Winnipeg, Manitoba, and she would become an unofficial mascot of The Fort Garry Horse, a Militia cavalry regiment. Winnie would sleep under Colebourn’s cot.

In 1914, the now Captain Harry Colebourn learned he would be shipped to France. He decided to settle Winnie into the London Zoo because she would not be able to go with him. She eventually became the fan-favorite attraction at the zoo. It is said that visitors would knock on her door and she would come out to greet them. . . .

But how did he come to the attention of A. A. Milne? You’ll just have to click through and find out.

More picture books of summer

Sarah included a summer-themed book list last month’s CLS, and she just discovered a similar list from LuElla D’Amico over at the Wonderous Reading Substack. Their lists only overlap on one book (Robert McCloskey’s Time of Wonder), and Sarah hopes you’ll check out D’Amico’s delightful suggestions.

Consider Katy

What Katy Did by Susan Coolidge (1872) has been on Sarah’s reading list for a while now, and another essay by D’Amico pushed her to finally snag a copy (Update: Sarah listened to the whole book on audio over the weekend). She was grateful to have D’Amico’s insights in mind as she jumped into this new (to her) tale:

After Katy’s accident, she gradually begins to live that love differently. Slowly, she starts aligning her actions with her intentions. As my children and I read it together, I found myself asking: how often do I do the same as Katy did when she was well—and what does her transformation have to teach me? How often do we all put off making a call, checking in, offering our presence to our friends and family? How often do we save our love for a time when things feel calmer or more convenient?

For a children’s book, it asked me some very adult questions—questions that, quite frankly, made me feel a little uncomfortable. But they also helped me understand why that student loved the book so much. And they made me want to be a better human being. That’s the mark of a lasting book, children’s fiction or not.

What the kids are reading

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Poets have surely remarked on this phenomenon, but it is delightful how one day, all your local woods and parks are a hazy green, and then the next, they’re covered in full-blown leaves. Sarah has been reveling in this dramatic shift, along with all the attendant birds sounds and even the occasional croaking frog. Her love for birds, however, does not extend to the starling couple who decided to take up residence in her microwave exhaust vent. A nest is one thing. Bird droppings covering porch, plants, and walls alike is another though, and maintenance was contacted posthaste. Alas, even the ablest of maintenance personnel was no match for these squabbling avians. They were back the next day, intent on rebuilding. Armed with a 40-foot ladder and a plastic screen, in swooped the local wildlife control company to save the day. Sarah is still visited by the unlucky starling pair now and again, but her vent is safe.

Whether you’re dealing with your own pesky nesters or dashing from final soccer games to grad parties to ballet recitals, do take a moment to stop and admire the lilacs. They truly are stunning this time of year. And if you do find a brief moment to read, here are some books about storms (’tis the season, after all) and parties (since we’re all attending so many right now), and a special announcement from Grace.

Party time

Tea parties, caroling parties, going-away parties, retirement parties, birthday parties, First Communion parties—we are often blessed with numerous reasons to celebrate throughout each month. Authors love parties, too, and Sarah has collected a list of her favorite literary parties. Which one do you want an invitation to?

• The Fellowship of the Ring by J. R. R. Tolkien: Bilbo’s Farewell Party.

• Little Women: The March sisters’ post-theatrical dinner party.

• Any of Brian Jacques’s Redwall books—those mice, hares, and hedgehogs know how to do it right.

• First Farm in the Valley: Anna’s Story by Anne Pellowski—chapter 13, “Name Day.”

• Maud Hart Lovelace’s Betsy from the Betsy-Tacy books is always up for a good time, especially in her high school years.

• A Year Down Yonder by Richard Peck contains a few wildly amusing shindigs.

Don’t forget Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle! (The old, original stories, mind you.) This wonderful woman is always throwing the perfect party.

Storm season

May can be a wild card when it comes to weather. In Sarah’s neck of the woods, it’s been windy as all get out, with some impressive thunderstorms to boot. It put her in mind of Patricia Polacco’s charming book Thundercake. Enjoy!

Audio enjoyment

We’re closing in on summer, which means adventures and vacations for many families. To while away the long hours in cars or airports, Sarah often recommends a good audio book. Of course, it’s hard to go wrong with the Redwall series, or certain Richard Peck titles (A Long Way from Chicago, Here Lies the Librarian, The Teacher’s Funeral), or even some Hardy Boys mysteries—in moderation. Chitty Chitty Bang Bang is a fun listen, as are any of Beverly Cleary’s Ramona books—and Henry Huggins! And if you’re ambitious, work your way through all the Little House books. You and your children will be entranced, even if you’ve read them before.

Newbery fever

Sarah did get around to that Newbery book writeup, presenting some reviews of various winners and Honor books.

Newbery winners (and honors books) are a fascinating genre. Well, actually, they’re quite the mix of genres, and winners have included everything from historical fiction to poetry to a nonfiction work on the making of the atomic bomb. Many of the winners on this list (and plenty in the honors section, too) deal with tough topics and do so with varying levels of skill. Johnny Tremain, the 1944 winner by Esther Forbes, covers disability, pride, rejection, and even death. Katherine Paterson’s 1978 winner, Bridge to Terabithia, also focuses on death, as well as bullying and poverty. There are some books that I believe shouldn’t even be in the honors section, such as Stephanie S. Tolan’s Surviving the Applewhites, and I just generally have an aversion to everything written by Scott O’Dell (four of his books appear on this list). For those wondering, I wrote about Tolan’s book in the July 2024 edition of the Washington Review of Books. You can read my whole tirade there, but suffice it to say, “It was a serious letdown from the beginning, unfortunately, as weak characters and absurd plotlines poured across the page.” As for Scott O’Dell, well, I’ve had it out for him ever since I read The Spanish Smile as a teen; it’s ostensibly your typical coming-of-age story — if typical coming-of-age stories involve luxurious private islands, controlling fathers, and gruesome murders. Fair or not, I’ve loathed his books ever since.

What were her least and most favorites? Read to find out!

What the kids are reading

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Christ has risen! He has risen indeed! A very happy Easter Monday to all, and we hope you had a delightful holiday celebration. Now that Lent is over, Sarah is thrilled to be eating gluten again, and she has grand plans for all sorts of delicious meals she wants to cook. Actually, all she really wants to eat is Mediterranean food, thanks to a recent trip she took, and she even bought a falafel maker in anticipation of the great event.

The full force of spring is nearly upon us, and you’ll probably be spending more time outside in parks and gardens, enjoying the sunshine and fresh breezes. But when you’re all tuckered out, the sun is sinking low, and the evening birds are chirping softly, sit by and open window, grab a book, call your children, and read.

Uri Shulevitz, R.I.P.

Author/illustrator Uri Shulevitz passed away in February, leaving behind a treasure-trove of books and pictures. Sarah is partial to his funny tale, What Is a Wise Bird Like You Doing in a Silly Tale Like This? (2000), but he’s also known for masterpieces such as The Treasure (1978) and How I Learned Geography (2008). The Wall Street Journal honored the Caldecott winner with an obituary, and pointed out just how important Shulevitz’s role the picture book world was:

“Uri’s greatest contribution to picture-book-making was his realization that illustrations do not simply accompany the text but illuminate its meaning,” the author and illustrator Eugene Yelchin said. “He found that text and pictures were in a kind of dialogue which turned the child from a passive reader or a listener to a child who was actively putting the two together to understand the meaning of the narrative. That’s what makes a picture book a work of art.”

More mermaids

Sarah is on a fairy tale kick, working her way through Grimm’s Fairy Tales while occasionally jumping into stories of Hans Christian Andersen and Oscar Wilde. She even, on the recommendation of a WRB colleague, picked up Ford Madox Ford’s The Queen Who Flew [As discussed in WRB—Mar. 8, 2025.] and found it charming. Another WRB colleague suggested she read “The Tale of Lí Ban, the Mermaid Saint of Ireland,” as recounted over on Medium by E. Ardincaple, and now she’s sharing it with all of you. Enjoy!

Probably too many cats

Though this post is from October of 2024, Sarah was so intrigued by it she wanted to include it here. From the same Substack who brought you the in-depth look at Goodnight, Moon comes a deep dive into Wanda Gág’s Millions of Cats (1928). This was a Schutte favorite for many years, and Sarah also grew up reading a wonderful version of Snow White (1938) illustrated by Gág.

Mac and Jon look at everything from layout to lettering (did you know Gág’s brother hand-lettered the whole book??) in this insightful Substack post.

Hidden treasures

Bethlehem Books is a fabulous resource for those looking for lesser-known but no less delightful children’s books. Sarah bought quite a few volumes from them a few years ago, and every time she visits the site, she finds new titles which call her name. The first batch included They Loved to Laugh by Katherine Worth (1942)hand The Forgotten Daughter by Caroline Dale Snedeker (1933). Sarah is mildly obsessed with the quiet love story the blossoms in They Loved to Laugh (which is set in 1830s America), and will often reread parts of the book on a whim. The Forgotten Daughter is another treasure, this time set in Italy, and follows the fortunes of a young slave girl. Snedeker also wrote Downright Dencey (1927), which Sarah is eagerly reading right now. She’ll report back next month, but so far, it’s been enjoyable.

What the kids are reading

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If you live anywhere north of the Mason-Dixon Line or not in California, February is the pits. Because of this, and inspired by her recent trip to Florida, Sarah has included some summer-y recommendations in today’s newsletter. Additionally, she muses on a Katherine Rundell piece making the rounds, and Sam Leith’s words and work make a few appearances.

Children’s lit meets academia

Not everyone loves a dragon. There are many attacks you can level at fantasy (often with justice): escapist, ridiculous, indulgent, coy, repetitive. One of the Inklings—nobody agrees which—is supposed to have groaned at Tolkien’s reading: “By god, not another bloody elf!” Fantasy, with its limitless possibilities, has lured some of the worst writing around. There are books that give you nothing except relentless battles, didactic hectoring or crass sentimentalism—but then there are many very bad songs, and it does not turn us off the concept of music. There are many bad dinners, but it does not turn us off the concept of feasting.

So says a tidbit of author Katherine Rundell’s lengthy essay “Why children’s books?” The essay covers a lot of ground, with everything from fantasy to capitalism to the author’s own work making an appearance. Sarah confesses she’s yet to read Rundell’s literature, but finds the titles interesting. As for the piece, it could probably make its point in fewer words, but it had some excellent moments, such as Rundell’s observations and quotations from other writers on fantasy novels. This line near her ending though, left Sarah pondering: It will always be worth showing them how to build an internal blueprint for happiness. Nothing about being alive demands joy.” [Emphasis added.]

This seems to be a wildly sweeping generalization—and evidence of a too-confident sense of one’s own line of work. Really? Literature is all there is in life that demands joy? If so, this is a strange and stunted worldview, a historically illiterate one, and a Godless one. Nature can only bring you joy if you read about it in a book?

Additionally, Sarah has said it before and will say it again, but whatever Rundell thinks, Philip Pullman’s books have no place in a child’s library.

So, read the essay (if you have time for 5,500-plus words), but Sarah recommends that when you do so, take it with quite a few grains of salt.

Dreaming of summer

If you’ve forgotten what the sun’s rays feel like, here are a few chapter books and picture books to help you while away these chilly hours:

• Strega Nona Takes a Vacation by Tomie dePaola (2000)

• Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White (1952)

• Strawberry Girl by Lois Lenski (1945)

• Gone-Away Lake by Elizabeth Enright (1957)

• Swallows and Amazons by Arthur Ransom (1930)

• Blueberries for Sal by Robert McCloskey (1948)

• Summer Story by Jill Barklem (1980)

• The Relatives Came by Cynthia Rylant (1986)

• The Gardner by Sarah Stewart (1997)

• Corgiville Fair by Tasha Tudor (1971)

• A Summertime Song by Irene Haas (1997)

The haunt continues

Sam Leith recently wrote a history of children’s reading titled The Haunted Wood (2024), and it’s been mentioned in this newsletter, as well as excerpted for The Walrus and reviewed in The Literary Review of Canada. When her local library obtains a copy, Sarah hopes to read it, but until then, reviews are all she has. And they make her continually less enthusiastic about the actual book. Her fears aren’t concrete at the moment, and she will need to read the book before passing much judgement on it. There seems to be a strange academitization (a word Sarah is inventing) of children’s literature going on at the moment, and what Sarah’s read of it so far hasn’t been encouraging.

[The Haunted Wood was an Upcoming book in WRB—Oct. 19, 2024, and we linked to an earlier review in WRB—Children’s Literature Supplement, Sept. 2024.]

American Girl of the past

One of Sarah’s favorite second-hand finds are American Girl publications from the 1990s. These range from cookbooks to paper dolls to craft books, and are easy to miss on the shelves of your local Half-Price Books or hidden amongst smell shoes and torn scarves at the near-by Goodwill. But when you do discover one, don’t let it out of your sight. These are treasures—and ones worth having and using.

Also, if you can get your hands on any of the American Girl Magazine editions from the early 2000s, do so. They are charming—a throwback to a sweeter era. Sarah and her sisters adored this magazine, appreciating the stories, advice, and games which came in each issue.

If you ever do find some, perhaps you could surprise your own daughter by having them show up in the mailbox for her each month! Though she may catch on that the dates don’t quite line up. . . .

What the kids are reading

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Happy New Year! Many publications will give you, in December, a nice “year in review” list of books, chronicling their favorite reads from the past twelve months. Not so the CLS. Sarah has a bone to pick with some specific titles, so to open the new year, she’s giving readers three categories full of (in her humble opinion) dreadful titles. These are books which scared her, frustrated her, bored her, or angered her. Will you agree with her selections? Probably not, but what better way to begin the new year than with rigorous debate and disagreement? Will she also give suggestions for better reads? We shall see. . . .

List of Dislikes

We all have books we loath for various reasons, some of them reasonable, others not so much. The following children’s literature titles are divided into three categories, and Sarah hopes readers and authors alike will hear her out and not be (too) offended.

Books Sarah Dislikes for Good Reasons

1. Anything by Scott O’Dell, especially The Spanish Smile (1982). Perhaps she just read it at too young an age, but Sarah found this book absolutely horrifying. Perhaps it was the multiple murders that turned her off, or perhaps it was simply O’Dell’s writing style. Sarah has always found his style off-putting, even though she’s tried to read both Sarah Bishop (1980) and Island of the Blue Dolphins (1960). No matter what the ALA, the Hans Christian Andersen Award committee, or the Newbery committee says, Sarah is firmly against this author and his work.

2. The Penderwicks (2005) by Jeanne Birdsall. Sarah couldn’t put her finger on it when she first read this book, but something bugged her (and it wasn’t just that the characters weren’t very compelling). Then she read Leila Lawler’s post on why you should avoid The Penderwicks, and it helped clarify so much about the story.

3. The Willoughbys Return (2020), by Lois Lowry. Sarah generally enjoys Lowry’s work, having read and deeply appreciated both The Giver (1993) and Number the Stars (1989). She was also a fan of Lowry’s darkly hilarious book, The Willoughbys (2008), in which four children plot to get rid of their dreadful parents. The Willoughbys Return is a sequel to that, and it was an immense letdown after the cleverness of its predecessor. Whatever Lowry was trying to do here, the book felt ham-fisted, awkward, and downright ridiculous.

4. Surviving the Applewhites (2002), by Stephanie S. Tolan. See the July 2024 CLS for Sarah’s tirade against this badly written book.

Books Sarah Dislikes for Lame Reasons

1. The Boggart (1993), by Susan Cooper. Sarah enjoyed Cooper’s Over Sea, Under Stone (1965) series, but on rereading them recently, she found that the characters lacks some kind of spark to make them lovable (or even hateable). This short story suffered from the same problem, and left Sarah feeling uninspired. It was a promising premise, but the execution felt bland.

2. Daddy Long-Legs (1912) by Jean Webster. Sarah’s best friend growing up loved this book, and for a while, Sarah did, too. But then she reread it and found it rather sappy and manipulative.

3. Where the Wild Things Are (1963) by Maurice Sendak. Perhaps it’s the pictures. Or maybe it’s the little boy. Whatever it is, Sarah has always found this book—beloved by so many people for so long—dreadfully annoying.

4. Sylvester and the Magic Pebble (1969) by William Steig. The only book by Steig that Sarah likes is Brave Irene, and even that book has the oddest sinister undertones. She really does enjoy creative tales, and she even grew up reading the gruesome Grimm’s Fairy Tales (1812), but Sylvester and his pebble were just a bridge too far for her apparently.

One Book Sarah Simply Dislikes

1. Call of the Wild (1903), by Jack London. Sarah was forced to read this book as a young child (a move her mother regrets to this day), and absolutely refuses to even touch the book ever again. She honestly can’t remember anything about it now, but there’s a wonderful picture in the Schutte archives of her slouched on the couch with scowl on her face, reading this book.

Are Sarah’s takes really, truly terrible? Do you agree with any of them? What would you add to the sections?

A CLS “Read This, Not That”

If the above list riled you up, perhaps these suggestions, antidotes to the aforementioned disliked titles, will calm the soul.

1. Instead of Scott O’Dell, try the Dear America series, A Lantern in Her Hand (1928) by Bess Streeter Aldrich, or Lois Lenski’s American Regional series.

2. Instead of The Penderwicks, try the Melendy series by Elizabeth Enright.

3. Instead of The Willoughbys Return, read the original Willoughbys novel.

4. Instead of Surviving the Applewhites, try Meet the Austins (1960) by Madeleine L’Engle or The Good Master (1935) by Kate Seredy.

5. Instead of The Boggart, try Five Children and It (1902) by E. Nesbit.

6. Instead of Daddy Long-Legs, try The Blue Castle (1926) by L. M. Montgomery.

7. Instead of Where the Wild Things Are, try My Rotten Redheaded Older Brother (1994) by Patricia Polacco.

8. Instead of Sylvester and the Magic Pebble, try this version of The Nightingale by Hans Christian Andersen.

9. Instead of Call of the Wild, try The Black Stallion (1941) by Walter Farley.

It’s for the kids

Over in the New York Times, Jon Klassen has an amusing look at the art of the board book:

When your job is to write picture books for children, an imaginary child sits in front of you as you work and yells “TOO LONG” pretty often. (They can yell this in real life, too.) So you put your head back down and cut, reading shorter and shorter drafts to them until they yell “TOO LONG” fewer times, and eventually not at all. . . .

You start out with something you think you want to impart to them—some kind of lesson or message, or at least a clever idea. And by the time they’re through yelling “TOO LONG,” you’ve cut everything you set out to tell them.

The result might still be a story, with a beginning, middle and end, or some kind of conflict that’s been resolved. But it’s clean and spare and maybe even abstract. . . .

Now imagine that just as you’ve found your speed in this format—by conjuring the murkily-aged yelling child who forces from you the best that you’ve got—your imaginary child is taken away. In their place, someone puts a more specific imaginary audience member. This one is clearly a baby.

The baby has a note taped to them. The note says, “I can’t read. I can’t talk. I don’t care about stories or plots, classically speaking, or characters as they’re usually defined. What do you have for me?”

Klassen mentions that fabulous author/illustrator, Sandra Boynton. Many of us have read her books (to children and to ourselves, let’s be honest), but if you haven’t ever listened to music from her Philadelphia Chickens album, Sarah recommends your check it out pronto.

What the kids are reading

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Beavers that fly? Mysterious pizza? A rubber-ball-obsessed king ? All of these topics (and possibly a few more) found their way into this December CLS, and once you’ve made it through all 1,695 Christmas parties, 2,473 holiday concerts, and 3,210 repetitions of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” you’ll have some delightful books for your well-deserved leisure hours.

Beavers in the sky

Thanks to her mom, Sarah recently learned about Idaho’s mid-century beaver issues, and even tracked down an old newsreel highlighting the problem and its solution. She was delighted to discover that someone wrote a picture book on the topic. Over in the Wall Street Journal, Priscilla M. Jensen reviews Kristen Tracy’s new book, When Beavers Flew (illustrated by Luisa Uribe, July):

McCall, Idaho, had a big problem in the late 1940s: More people were moving into the area, but beaver activity was flooding their newly planted orchards and farmland. Luckily, a local fish-and-game warden named Elmo Heter was unusually imaginative and practical. In When Beavers Flew, Kristen Tracy describes Heter’s solution: “to relocate the most troublesome” beavers to the backcountry more than 80 miles away.

This fascinating historical tidbit is perfect as a picture book tale, and showcases the cleverness and creativity brought to a difficult ecological situation.

Sampling the sampler

Tomie dePaola is very dear to Sarah (and many others the world over). As one of his bios—from Sarah’s edition of Jingle, the Christmas Clown (1992)—says, “Tomie isn’t kidding when he says that Christmas is his favorite time of the year. Every Christmas he decorates four Christmas trees with 10,000 lights and invites over 200 people to his Christmas party. (Once he even had a Christmas party in August!)”

This love of Christmas is evident in the numerous books dePaola authored or illustrated which involve the season. Sarah recently rediscovered one of these when planning activities for a class she teaches: Hark! A Christmas Sampler (1991) by Jane Yolen, illustrated by dePaola. Though she’s seen it on her mom’s bookshelf for years, she’d never paged through it carefully. Now, she discovered what riches lay between those covers—from carols and short stories to histories to legends to even a little play.

Imitating the artists

It’s been a joy for Sarah to use Mother of Divine Grace’s Second Grade Art book in her co-op class this semester. Since her eager students have worked through almost the entire book already, she’s been plotting and planning for next semester. Thanks to her mother, a woman of abundant resources, Sarah was introduced to Storybook Art (2003), by MaryAnn F. Kohl and Jean Potter. This clever book both introduces users to new authors and illustrators, or helps them interact with their favorites in different ways. Each chapter is focused on a different medium, ranging from painting to cut/collage, and various children’s books using those art forms are presented in those chapters. It includes activities for the children so they can learn the illustrators’ processes and dig deeper into the tales being depicted. As the introduction says, “Storybook Art allows children to become more aware of book illustration by experiencing hands-on art techniques as part of easy art projects. Children are thereby encouraged to read—and re-read—their favorite books with new awareness and enjoyment.” Remarkable!

Picture perfect

Still on the art theme, perhaps you’ve already seen Alice and Martin Provensen’s art but didn’t know the lovely story of these two giants in children’s literature illustration. The duo was active in the mid-1900s, collaborating on many titles and even won a Caldecott Award for A Visit to William Blake’s Inn (1982) (Nancy Willard, the author, won a Newbery for the work). Sarah’s personal favorite of theirs is The Glorious Flight (1983) about the feats of aviator Louis Blériot, and this book also took home the 1984 Caldecott.

What the kids are reading

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For once, Sarah is planning ahead. Not only does she have exciting Thanksgiving children’s book recommendations ready before Thanksgiving, she even has an Advent section prepared. She hopes you’ll be charmed with these books and find the resources useful. It’s always particularly difficult to focus on school during December, so when all else fails, simply pull out the always delightful Tomie dePaola and read your way through the season. You also find a lovely chapter book suggestion, a seasonal poem by Louisa May Alcott, a cookbook about which Sarah is deeply excited, and much more.

Giving thanks

This most American of all holidays (yes, we’re sure Groundhog Day or National Queso Day could be in the running, but let’s not quibble right now) brings with it countless traditions and tales. But whether you call it “stuffing” or “dressing,” eat cranberry sauce from a can or cook your own, it all just goes to show there’s no one correct way to celebrate this holiday. Unless we’re talking about books, and then it simply isn’t Thanksgiving unless you’ve read Wende and Harry Devlin’s Cranberry Thanksgiving (1971)—a book Sarah mentions every year in this newsletter. 

Also, if it wasn’t for Sarah Josepha Hale, we might not have this holiday. Learn about her and what she did to put this celebration on our calendars by checking out Thank You, Sarah: The Woman Who Saved Thanksgiving (2002) by Laurie Halse Anderson.

Finally, if you have a moment on Thanksgiving Day or Black Friday, take the time to read Louisa May Alcott’s amusing short story, An Old-Fashioned Thanksgiving.

Up and over yonder

There are some book characters is does your soul good to know, and Ida Early is one of them. Good either as a read-aloud or for eager middle-grade readers, Ida Early Comes over the Mountain (1980) by Robert Burch is a light-hearted tale with many meaningful moments. 

“Potter-mania”

Before there was Harry Potter, there was Beatrix Potter. Her stories are beloved the world over, and Sarah loves to tell listeners—interested or not—that Potter should also be remembered for her conservation of the famous Lake District. Hannah Stamler has captured the important moments of this famous women in a well-considered essay here.  

Strega Nona (again)

Last month, Sarah complained about the “Strega Nona Fall” trend sweeping social media, and she was pleased to find that another writer agreed with her—and gave pushback in a thoughtful, meaningful way. Over in the local Post, Jennifer Reese writes:

Long before the advent of Strega Nona Fall, I was a fan of Nonna Fina, a droll and fiery Italian woman in her 70s who, filmed by her granddaughter, shares ragù recipes and tart opinions about Taylor Swift’s outfits with some 750,000 followers on Instagram. Then there’s Diane Shiffer, the self-described “chubby vintage nana” who lovingly attends to her slow cooker and stray cats in Upstate New York. I have found immense peace entering Shiffer’s orbit, watching her toddle about her house, lighting the ritualistic morning candle (Real Simple might be on to something), sipping coffee from her jadeite cup, confiding about the struggles in her younger life. I do not believe Shiffer can cure a headache with oil and water and a hairpin, but she does cast a spell.

Shiffer, Nonna Fina and Strega Nona are all women who, vitality fully intact, have aged out of more youthful preoccupations with getting and spending, dating, toning their abs. Spending time with them is amusing, edifying and deeply restful. They embody what we love about grandmothers.

She goes on to muse about grandmothers and the beauty of aging in a poignant way that Sarah hopes readers will take to heart.

Also in the Tomie dePaola vein, here is an article from 2014 which walks readers through his light and airy home. 

Advent nears

We’ve come again to Sarah’s favorite time of year: Advent. There are many, many wonderful ways to live out this season, and a popular one in the Schutte home during their homeschooling years was to use Tomie dePaola’s various books as inspiration for going deeper in the meaning of that time. Elizabeth Foss, over on In the Heart of My Home, has a helpful curriculum guide if this path strikes your fancy.

Since Advent is coming so quickly, don’t forget that St. Nicholas’ Day is right at the beginning of it. Celebrating this saint’s feast on December 6th can involve all sorts of activities, and the wonderful St. Nicholas Center is an indispensable resource for these. 

What the kids are reading

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It is with great regret that Sarah would like to offer her apologies to CLS readers. Last month, she recommended Giselle Potter’s Lucy’s Eyes and Margaret’s Dragon before having read it herself. While she loves Potter’s other illustrated work, Mr. Semolina-Semolinus, this offering was not at all what she expected. For being a book about female saints, it would’ve been nice if it had mentioned God a bit more. And many of the pictures were particularly violent (yes, most of these women were martyrs, but it was excessive). Sarah is sorry she put the book in this newsletter and hopes her readers will forgive her—and know that while she generally vets the books mentioned here, she’ll be doing even more close reads now. 

Hopefully, you can forgive her, dear readers, and will continue on for some much lovelier saint book suggestions, praise of a delightful goose, some spooky reads, and much more. 

October thrills

Growing up, Sarah was always down for a good mystery story. She’s suggested various titles for different ages in the CLS before, but for your October reading pleasure, here are some reminders.

1. David A. Adler’s Cam Jansen series inspired a very young Sarah to wander around, blinking her eyes, and saying “click.” 

2. Kidnap at the Catfish Café by Patricia Reilly Giff (1998) is wonderful on audio book.

3. It’s been many years, but Sarah remembers enjoying John Bibee’s The Homeschool Detectives series.

4. A good Boxcar Children book never goes amiss. Try The Pizza Mystery (1993).

5. Need a good picture book or easy reader mystery? Meet Robert Quackenbush’s charming Detective Mole. (Don’t forget Miss Mallard, too!)

Bonus: Check out Jim Weiss’s Spooky Classics for Children. “The Canterville Ghost” has stuck with Sarah for a long time.  

Bookish history

If you can read French, these books might just be for you (and Sarah may have to learn French just to read them). Hélène de Lauzun, in the European Conservative, takes a moment to tell readers of stories that delighted her childhood and continue to enrich the minds and hearts of her own family: 

This year, French literature celebrates the 150th anniversary of the death of the Comtesse de Ségur, author of children’s books that have been classics for generations of French boys and girls. But the venerable countess now gets bad press: she is criticized for being Catholic, reactionary, and confined to a backward-looking vision of an idealized paternalistic society. And yet she has much that ought to appeal to the modern world—a woman of letters who made her living from her pen in a century of men. Her inexhaustibly rich works are among those treasures that must be saved from contemporary savagery, which would dream of burning them in the fire or emptying them of their substance.

A spooky fairytale

Now is the perfect time to read Hans Christian Andersen’s The Red Shoes, especially if you can get your hands on the version retold and illustrated by Barbara Bazilian.

Strega Nona

This New York Times piece about Tomie dePaola’s beloved book character is . . . odd. Apparently, she’s giving everyone “fall vibes,” and while Sarah is delighted at the well-deserved attention dear Strega Nona is getting, she finds this manifestation disconcerting. First, the timing is off—she’s pretty sure the book is set in early spring, not fall. And this leads to the second complaint: Has anyone actually read the book? The NYT writer says, “Strega Nona, whose name means “Grandmother Witch,” is a healer who enchants the townspeople with her magically refilling pasta pot. When she recruits the help of a young man named Big Anthony, he bungles the spell that is supposed to halt pasta making. The town overflows with noodles.” Some of this is correct, but it gives readers the wrong impression. Strega Nona curies headaches and warts and finds husbands for young women. She doesn’t go around making pasta for everyone, just for herself and her hired help. The townspeople don’t even know about her pot until Big Anthony tells them about it—and they scoff at him! Strega Nona actually spends very little time bending over the pasta pot in this book, leading Sarah to wonder where people are getting these “hunched over a pot” and “fall” vibes. While it’s certainly a more wholesome “vibe” than some of the other ones currently on the loose, Sarah would appreciate it if people picked up the book and enjoyed the story, too. 

What the kids are reading

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There’s nothing quite like having a library card. On the practical side, it saves you money (Sarah’s apparently saved $1,567.35 this year by borrowing rather than buying). More than that, however, it gives you a way to explore almost any subject you could want. Sarah’s request list is always a study in contrasts, from books on sleight of hand to epic Italian novels (which were not in Italian and she didn’t end up reading). Recently, she used the advanced search tool on the library site to collect books by Glen Rounds (more on whom later), and find a picture book about Barbara Cooney. While it’s not advisable to give your children free rein in the library, let the rest of the system work for you, and you’ll be amazed at the results. 

Portrait of a mouse

Speaking of amazed, Sarah often marvels at what wonders a little curiosity will turn up. While preparing for this CLS edition, she was reading various articles and decided to look up books, authors, and institutions mentioned therein as she came upon them. This plan of action yielded many a charming find, and some of her discoveries made their way into this newsletter. 

One is this illustration exhibit at a library in Maine. If you live in Maine (and if the exhibit is still running), please go and then send Sarah pictures. A full exhibit on famous rodents in literature? Inspired. 

Bookish history

Over in Literary Review, Philip Womack tells readers about Sam Leith’s new book, The Haunted Wood: A History of Childhood Reading (October 22):

Sam Leith, in The Haunted Wood, plots a clear course through the thickets, in what he dubs a study of “childhood reading” rather than of children’s books per se. He employs a (generally) chronological structure, identifying the links that connect the British canon (including one or two Americans whose influence on our shores is undeniable). He begins with oral storytelling, and canters right up to the present day and the works of Malorie Blackman et alia, emphasizing the continued kinship of children’s stories with the earliest forms, and the role of the “haunted wood,” with its wonders and mysteries, in so many of them (although he eschews an explicitly Freudian reading). 

Leith manages all this in a supremely engaging style (“Nuts to the Mr. Men”), dotting the survey with lively vignettes. When E. Nesbit’s philandering husband, Hubert, intercepted H. G. Wells as he was about to elope with Hubert’s daughter, he “offered to punch the author of The Time Machine’s lights out.” And it is pleasing to discover that, as a child, P. L. Travers coped with loneliness “by pretending to be a chicken.”

There is a massive amount of history to be covered on this topic, and Womack believes Leith handles the task well. If you’re looking for more direction in what your child should read, however, Sarah can’t recommend Cheri Blomquist’s Before Austen Comes Aesop (2021) enough. 

Fall fiction

Four Friends in Autumn by Tomie de Paola (2004)

The Apple Cake by Nienke van Hichtum, illustrated by Marjan van Zeyl (1996)

In ancient days . . .

Henryk Sienkiewicz’s epic novel, Quo Vadis (1896), is decidedly not child-friendly reading. Returning to this tale, however, reminded Sarah of The Forgotten Daughter by Caroline Dale Snedeker (1933). This poignant historical novel isn’t well-known, but is excellent supplemental reading for a child doing a year of Roman history. If your child needs a story with a bit more action though, try Word to Caesar by Geoffrey Trease (1955) (it sometimes goes under the title of Message to Hadrian).

Taking a trip to Maine

The New Yorker has published a piece on children’s book authors and illustrators who live in Maine and whose work was inspired by their surroundings: 

Among the most loved children’s-book illustrators from Maine is Dahlov Ipcar, whom Margaret Wise Brown chose, when Ipcar was in her late twenties, to collaborate on Brown’s The Little Fisherman (1945). I was not familiar with Ipcar until my adulthood, and though much of her work doesn’t depict Maine—One Horse Farm (1950) and Lobsterman (1962) are exceptions—it celebrates a certain fierceness and expressiveness, especially with regard to animals and nature. Her books are populated by flora and fauna, and some don’t contain human beings at all. One illustration, “Lonesome Loon,” from Maine Alphabet, imparts a strong sense of melancholy. The bird floats on blue-green waves, with its head craned skyward and its bright-red eyes taking in the appearance of a crescent moon.

If this piece doesn’t make you want to move to New England immediately, Sarah suggests reading some of Gary D. Schmidt’s books. She’s been laughing and crying over two of them the past two months, and recently finished up Just Like That (2021). It was The Labors of Hercules Beal (2023) that found its way into a piece for NRO:

Until I read your recent book The Labors of Hercules Beal, I’d only really cried at one other story (Katherine Paterson’s Bridge to Terabithia (1977)). But that’s the beauty of your stories: They are funny without being cynical, descriptive without being overwritten, and heartrending without being sappy.

You have perfected the skill of showing, not telling. That’s an element I so deeply appreciate in your books, and each rereading brings out new elements I hadn’t noticed before. Hercules, your protagonist, has already been through so much by the time we first meet him. He’s in seventh grade, being raised in a small town on Cape Cod by his older brother Achilles after the tragic death of their parents over a year ago. That right there is enough fodder for you to create a snarky, wildly emotional pre-teen who smolders with resentment and takes it out on those around him. But you don’t.

Just Like That is also highly worth your time, and both of these titles can be found in audio book form—perfect for long drives or when you’re doing housework (or when you’re making Christmas presents, as Sarah has begun to do).  

The art of Mr. Scarry

Who doesn’t like Richard Scarry’s books? (This is a rhetorical question, mind you.) Chris Ware, over in The Yale Review, certainly does. It’s a fascinating piece, and though it wanders a bit at points, it strives to captures just how culturally impactful Scarry’s work has been over the decades: 

Richard Scarry’s work could not have been told just in words, either. As Walter Retan and Ole Risom argue, Scarry “didn’t write his stories; he drew them.” His bestselling book was not titled Best Picture Book Ever, even though that’s really what it is. As children, we see the world in all its detail, texture, and beauty, but when we learn the word for, say, a bird, we cease to see it as clearly or curiously as we did before we categorized and dismissed it. John Updike eloquently and beautifully captures this confounding contradiction in his short story “Pigeon Feathers,” where the main character only notices the iridescent, divine beauty in a pigeon’s plumage after he’s shot several of them to pieces in the rafters of a barn. Like it or not, just as adulthood runs roughshod over childhood, words chew images to shreds, and it’s up to the artist—or the writer or the cartoonist—to put those images back together again. Pictures are our first language for understanding the world, but that doesn’t mean they should be ignored in favor of a second. Or, as Dave Eggers once kindly put it, cartoonists (and I include Scarry in this group) needn’t be punished for having two skills instead of one.

Sarah especially appreciated the historical context Ware brings to Scarry, and the biographical information about the illustrator that he weaves into the essay. Ware is trying to grasp what sets Scarry apart and why his artwork is so enduring, and he brings readers along as he explores the truly wonderful world Scarry created.  

Round and round

A few months ago, Sarah’s mom discovered a local Catholic school that had been recently shut down. Management hadn’t decided what to do about the school’s library books yet, so Sarah’s mom was allowed to take as many as she wanted. Except for Sarah’s dad (who has no idea where they could possibly fit another bookshelf in the house) all the Schuttes were ecstatic over this literary haul. The books were divvied up among the seven siblings, and were picked up as each returned home for various reasons. Among her stack (read: three boxes), Sarah discovered a slim volume titled Mr. Yowder and the Train Robbers (1981) by Glen Rounds, and she was immediately hooked. Since then, she’s been scouring advanced library searches for other Mr. Yowder adventures and has stumbled upon more Rounds titles. She’s inundated her local library with requests for the books, and she can’t wait to pick them up. 

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Despite the smell of fall not being in the air yet, school days are either upon us or impending in many places. There really is something to be said for the feeling that new pencils, fresh erasers, and white pieces of paper give you. There are quite a few children’s book characters who feel deeply excited about school, or who give us some of the best school scenes in literature. Read on for these academic delights, as well as a shocking podcast, a heart-wrenching read, and some tales from Arabia. 

School tales

The following books contain some of the most memorable—in Sarah’s opinion—school scenes.

• Understood Betsy by Dorothy Canfield Fisher (1916)

• These Happy Golden Years by Laura Ingalls Wilder (1943)

• Any of the First Farm in the Valley series

• Ramona the Pest by Beverly Cleary (1968)

• Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain (1876)

• Any of the Magic School Bus books

• Anne of Green Gables by L. M. Montgomery (1908)

• The Teacher’s Funeral by Richard Peck (2004)

• The Art Lesson by Tomie dePaola (1989)

• If You Take a Mouse to School by Laura Numeroff (2002)

Pure silliness

Find The Lady with the Ship on Her Head (1990) by Deborah Nourse Lattimore and be prepared to chuckle at the funny story and be charmed by the detailed artwork.

Flying high

The South Dakota State Historical Society just published a picture book showcasing the life of Georgia Jipp. This brave female pilot helped her community by flying over 150 rescue missions during the terrible winter of 1949.

A reading tragedy

Sarah was recently introduced to APM’s Sold a Story podcast, which details how a theory of teaching reading has had devastating consequences for generations of children. [Sold a Story is one of the most infuriating things I’ve ever encountered. —Steve]

Rabbits (again)

Last month, Sarah wrote in praise of S. D. Smith’s Green Ember series. During a recent trip, she worked her way through one of the sub-series of the saga, Green Ember: Archer. The third book in particular (The Archer’s Cup) was fantastic, and she found the story well-written and compelling. 

Compelling mythology

The Labors of Hercules Beal (2023) by Gary D. Schmidt is one of Sarah’s top favorite books. Full stop. She read it on the recommendation of the same people who told her about The Wednesday Wars (2007), and it did not disappoint. Schmidt has quite the gift, and it shines through in an incredible way in this book. Sarah rarely cries at books, but this one had her sobbing.

1,001 nights

This past weekend at National Review, Sarah spotlighted the Andrew Lang-edited version of Arabian Nights (2018):

I have a terrible habit of reading multiple books simultaneously, switching between them as the spirit moves me. I just finished listening to The Archer’s Cup (part of S. D. Smith’s Green Ember series), am reading He Leadeth Me by Father Walter Ciszek (1973), am dabbling in Alexandra Stoddard’s Living a Beautiful Life (1986), am dipping my toe into Little Dorrit, and am entranced by Arabian Nights, selected and edited by Andrew Lang. A slightly ridiculous range, I know, but hear me out.

Arabian Nights is a classic, and many people, even if they haven’t read the full set of tales, know one or two stories from it (Aladdin and Sinbad the Sailor). I’ve read various versions of the tales over the years, and it’s made me partial to Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov’s stunning orchestral work Scheherazade. The namesake of this piece is the brave, clever woman at the center of Arabian Nights, and it’s through her ingenuity that evil deeds are brought to a halt in her homeland.

What the kids are reading

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Sarah realized that she often starts this newsletter by referencing weather or nature, but honestly, she’s not terribly ashamed of this fact. We’ve reached that point in summer, at least in Sarah’s neck of the woods, where the cicadas chatter continually throughout the day, adding a captivating layer to the soundscape.

Have you ever noticed how, when you’re walking through the woods and you suddenly break into a pond or marsh area, the sound around you changes? Sometimes, the change is dramatic. Other times, if you enter a pine grove perhaps, the change isn’t so sudden. But it’s a curious effect—one that we’d do well to notice more often.

Anyway, between her roommate being out of the country for two weeks and waiting around for her sister to give birth, Sarah’s had a lot of quiet reading time on her hands. Find out her recommendations (and disapprovals) below, along with a few other treats.  

Comedic moments

Somehow, Sarah got on a Peanuts kick and has been delighting in the simplicity and charm of Charles Schulz’s beloved characters. Snoopy is by far her favorite, both for his wry commentary and his flight abilities. If you can, start with Peanuts collections from the 1950s and work your way forward—and then do yourself a favor and watch the 2015 movie. There’s some disagreement over the merits of this movie, but Sarah’s of the opinion that it takes all the years of Schulz’s work on Charlie Brown and presents Brown as a complete character. It’s easy to be down on poor Charlie Brown, but this movie gives him the chance to shine that he deserves. And, it may just change the way you read the Peanuts comics.

Stories & parables 

For her First Holy Communion many years ago, Sarah received Josephine Nobisso’s The Weight of a Mass: A Tale of Faith (2002) and was completely caught up in the tale woven by Nobisso’s words and Katalin Szegedi’s illustrations. Nobisso and Szegedi also collaborated on another lovely book, this one titled Take It to the Queen: A Tale of Hope (2008).

Books for boys

Joanne Jacobs has gathered together essays on why boys aren’t reading much and what we can do to remedy this. 

One of the links is to an American Mind essay by Katya Sedgwick:

When I look at the top books read in American schools I’m struck by three features—the near-absence of classics, especially in elementary and middle school, the near-absence of folklore and fairy tales, and the near-absence of poetry. We don’t need to reinvent the wheel. Restoring these three categories to their proper place can improve education immensely.

Sedgwick’s insights and observations are beneficial to this important conversation. 

An epic tale

As usual, Sarah is years behind the times when it came to learning about S. D. Smith’s The Green Ember series. Fortunately though, this meant she didn’t have to wait for any new installments to arrive—she simply picked the series up from the library. She’ll have a longer essay out over on National Review next Sunday, detailing her thoughts about the saga, but in short, she loved it. It has all the best parts of a classic adventure tale: swords, romance, betrayals, true love, glowing jewels, daring escapes, tragic deaths, and evil warlords. Given how much Sarah enjoys the Redwall series, it’s no surprise she was entranced by Smith’s rabbit-centric story. Our main protagonists, brother and sister pair Heather and Picket Longtreader, have their peaceful life thrown into utter chaos and ruin in the blink of an eye. To survive, they must find out who they are—and decide who they will become. 

This only skims the surface of a story full of wild twists and turns, and if you’re like Sarah, you’ll let hard-boiling eggs explode on the stove or stay up past midnight, completely enraptured by this gripping saga.

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Maud Hart Lovelace’s quote, “It was June, and the world smelled of roses. The sunshine was like powdered gold over the grassy hillside,” may seem overused, but at least in Sarah’s part of the world, it’s an apt description of the weather. School is out, and hopefully, dear CLS readers, you are off on lovely summer adventures. Even if you aren’t traveling, it’s always delightful to discover what’s in your own backyard. One such resource is the local library, which often hosts engaging summer reading programs and activities for families. Public libraries have their downsides, but their accessibility and amount of available materials is staggering. Don’t see a book you want? Try requesting that the library purchase it—often, librarians will have it ordered and on the shelf within days! Sarah has a few suggestions in this month’s CLS that, if your library doesn’t already own them, would be excellent additions to its shelves. 

Flights of fancy

Sky High! by Jacek Ambrozewski (2022) captivated Sarah the moment she retrieved it from the library. This oversized (in the best sense of the term) tome was originally published in Polish and recently translated into English. It’s an engaging, informative, well-designed book covering aviation from its roots in plants to the desire for solar-powered flight. Each page is full of color, and while there is a massive amount of information enclosed here, it’s perfect for children (and adults) to dip into again and again. Sarah especially appreciated the shoutout given to Ohio and the Wright brothers, and has a feeling that the author read David McCullough’s The Wright Brothers (2015) in preparation for that section. 

One aspect of flight not really covered in Sky High! was rockets and space exploration. That, however, is why you should pick up Sew Sister by Elise Matich (2023). There are many amazing aspects of the various space programs that have been chronicled over the years, but this one took the cake for Sarah. Why on earth would NASA need seamstresses to work on its rockets? Aren’t they all made of metal? Not so fast. Intricate as these rockets are, it’s not the interior but the exterior which becomes the focus here. 

Shakespearian explorations 

During a recent tutoring session with one of her students, Sarah was confronted with a fascinating essay question. To paraphrase, the assignment was to compare and contrast The Taming of the Shrew with Ephesians 5:22-33. While she knew the general plot of Taming of the Shrew, the ensuing discussion of this comparison piqued an interest in her to explore Shakespeare further. She’d not read many of his works, and, wanting to get some general plots down before anything else, began reading Charles and Mary Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare (1807) on the recommendation of a colleague. This is a wonderful intro to many of the Bard’s most well-known plays, and would be an excellent read-aloud with children. (It’s also perfect for adults who want an introduction to or refresher on certain plot lines.)

Into the spider’s web

When was the last time you thought about E. B. White’s Charlotte’s Web (1952)? Perhaps, like Alexander Riley over in First Things, it’s time to do so again. 

But as beautiful a novel as it is, it would be still more aesthetically perfect and more spiritually fulfilling if White had given us more hope. How this reader wishes that there had been some company and some consolation, at the very least, for that brilliant and steadfast arachnid friend in her last moments. I remember still, all these years later, the anguish I felt as a boy thinking of poor Charlotte. I know it would have comforted me immensely to find in the story some evidence that this being I had come to love so dearly had escaped the dreadful fate I too—and all of us—so desire to escape.

Sarah isn’t convinced by Riley’s point here, but she’s open to exploring the theme further. This, indeed, is the great beauty of Charlotte’s Web: that it makes us ponder more than we thought possible on spiders, pigs, and rats, and treasure the lessons of love, loyalty, and hope they might teach us. 

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May. The month of beginnings and endings. Proms and graduations, First Communions and Confirmations, baby animals and fresh strawberries—these events and many others fill this lovely time. Like Christmas, alas, it can be hectic, with all the parties and concerts and goodbyes. But it also brings with it the fresh smell of rain, the riotous colors of poppies and roses and wisteria, and the promise of that much-needed vacation. We at the CLS are reveling in the longer days and charming grad-party invites, but realize that change—for the younger child—can be distressing. Here are some books, poetry, and art to explore with them, reminding them that, sad as goodbyes can be, there’s still plenty of excitement and beauty to be discovered.   

A beloved horse

Homeschool history curricula can vary widely in subject and scope, and for Sarah, the most memorable one she used growing up involved horses. The “History of the Horse” program is a wonderful resource, and besides learning interesting horse facts and how to sketch the majestic creatures through it, Sarah also read some of Marguerite Henry’s excellent equestrian novels. Mustang: Wild Spirit of the West (1966) is Sarah’s personal favorite, but Misty of Chincoteague (1947) is perhaps Henry’s most beloved story. Interestingly, “Misty” was a real pony, and Henry’s use of her as a promotional tool was wildly successful:

Henry’s best-known work, Misty of Chincoteague, wasn’t only a perennial bestseller but a veritable book-promotion master class.

First published in 1947, Misty is the semi-true story of how a boy and girl came to own a pony named Misty born on an island of wild ponies off the coast of Virginia. The book was an immediate bestseller that spawned several bestselling sequels, a successful if middling movie and a plastic model horse that has been a top item for Breyer Animal Creations since its 1972 debut. . . .

. . . But Misty was a real-life heroine and actually came to live with Henry at her Illinois home.

Henry soon realized that Misty was a terrific promotional tool. She taught the pony tricks, hosted annual birthday parties for her on the front lawn and invited hundreds of school children to attend. The gatherings were assiduously covered by the press.

Art corner

St. George, patron saint of England (among other places) is the subject of a recent Goldberry Arts post. He’s been depicted in many ways over the centuries, and Bethany Kern has assembled a worthwhile collection for readers to peruse. The piece also reminded Sarah of two St. George-related stories. Kern includes an image from one, Margaret Hodges’s Saint George and the Dragon (1984), in her post. The other is an E. Nesbit story from her collection The Book of Dragons (1899). The specific story in which St. George makes a brief appearance is “Deliverers of Their Country,” where dragons, of all sizes, take over England, and two children must save the nation. Sarah prefers the Chronical Books edition of this collection, but you can also buy “Deliverers of Their Country” separately or read the whole collection for free over at Project Gutenberg. 

A beloved bunny

If you’re lucky enough to be in NYC between now and June 9, pop into the Morgan Library for a fabulous exhibit of Beatrix Potter art and artifacts. Nic Rowan went, and wrote about Potter and the exhibit over at The American Conservative:

I think everyone who grew up on Beatrix Potter has some similar memory of a story or even of one line. Once made, her impression on the mind is lasting. Steven Runciman, who wrote a wildly popular revisionist history of the Crusades in the 1950s (these days generally unread), often claimed that she taught him everything he knew about storytelling. I don’t know if most people would go that far, but every now and then, I’m sure, those who read her as a child find themselves remembering at odd hours a stray line from Peter Rabbit or Squirrel Nutkin or Jeremy Fisher. 

Kipling creations 

Master storyteller Rudyard Kipling, besides having a wonderfully memorable name, knew how to write a lasting tale. Sarah writes about her enjoyment in his Just So Stories over at National Review:

Depending on which collection you find, there are around a dozen of these tales, each detailing how some facts of nature became facts. Unlike many of us, Kipling doesn’t take it for granted that the elephant has a trunk. With child-like persistence, he puts forward his views on phenomena ranging from the formation of the alphabet to the genesis of the whale’s throat.

Do some of Kipling’s tales cause issues for the modern reader? A few, and Sarah addresses these concerns in her piece.

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Spring is here, as evidenced by the flood warnings in Sarah’s vicinity and the carpets of violets on all the lawns she sees. Bird migration is picking up (you can watch it here, if you’re interested), and warblers will soon be skimming around the northern parts of the U.S. With a nod to these themes, this month’s CLS brings you a book by Robert McCloskey, three looks at Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s life and famous book, and more.

Hop, skip, and . . . 

Jumping rope, which many of us probably haven’t done in years, is good old-fashioned fun. In the American Girl Addy books, the titular character starts to make friends in her new home by learning double-dutch. As the weather warms up around the country, find a sturdy rope and head for the driveway, where you certainly can jump alone, but it’s much more enjoyable to have two others turn said rope while you learn to run in without getting caught. To heighten the experience, grab The Jump Rope Book by Elizabeth Loredo (1996). It’s chock-full of funny rhymes to chant while you jump. Don’t forget that rope weight matters. It might be worth a trip to your local hardware store to buy rope with a bit of heft to it.

That entrepreneurial spirit

School is winding down, and with it comes the anticipation of summer. But it can’t be all play and no work: Summer jobs are an important part of growing up. Besides their historical fiction publications and the (alas) now-defunct American Girl Magazine, AG also put out various books and series helping girls learn basic life skills and navigate all manner of situations. One of these, Moneymakers (1998), is perfect for the budding entrepreneur. Here’s a selection from the intro:

To begin, decide what you’re good at, what you love, and what you have fun doing. Do you love animals or little kids? Try a dog-walking service or run a children’s story hour. Like to get organized and keep things tidy? Try a silver-polishing service or offer to straighten people’s cupboards. These are the skills you can put to work in a business of your own.

Racing, and flying, across Alaska

The Iditarod race finished up recently, and despite her general dislike of events that reminder her of Jack London’s Call of the Wild (1903), Sarah found this little video and history on the race’s “eyes in the sky” fascinating. 

Ambulatory fortresses 

Last month, Sarah discovered Howl’s Moving Castle in both book and movie form. She hasn’t stopped listening to the movie’s soundtrack yet, and she finds herself in the rare position of loving both book and movie — despite many differences between the two. She wrote about them both for National Review:

Let’s begin with the book’s premise. Sophie Hatter, the eldest of three sisters, is resigned to her fate. In fairy tales, nothing good ever happens to eldest siblings, so she is squirreled away in her father’s milliner shop, creating popular hats for the town’s ladies. The town of Market Chipping, where she lives, is currently in an uproar over the arrival of a wizard named Howl, whose frightening-looking castle recently appeared on a nearby hillside. He is said to suck the souls out of girls and is to be avoided at all costs.

Sophie seems destined for a dull life full of ugly hats, but a chance encounter with an elegantly dressed young man (Howl, of course) throws her world into turmoil. The book’s villainess, aptly named “The Witch of the Waste,” decides that Sophie’s run-in with the wizard makes her a threat and transforms her into a 90-year-old woman. Our plucky heroine calmly packs her bags and sets off from town, unsure exactly what to do but not wanting to worry her family with this sudden change of countenance.

Le petit prince

Antoine de Saint-Exupéry’s beloved story has received a lot of attention over the years. Here are three of Sarah’s favorite adaptations and histories:

The Little Prince Deluxe Pop-Up Book

The Little Prince (2015 movie)

The Pilot and the Little Prince by Peter Sís (2014)

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It was with great delight that Sarah spent her Saturday watching her siblings’ high-school production of Macbeth. Spring is the season of theatricals, and a well-done Shakespeare play never goes amiss. Is the thespian glint in your neighbor’s son’s eye stirring some unrealized dream in your own child? Even if not, read on to find a stunningly illustrated adaptation of The Tempest and two different sources for excellent drama scripts.

A play! A play!

Marianna Mayer’s illustrations are quite rich and engaging, and this picture-book version of The Tempest (2005) is no exception. 

If you’d like to put on your own play, but aren’t quite ready to tackle Shakespeare, Praise Him with Your Very Life is a collection of plays written by Mother Mary Francis P.C.C. Sarah has been longing to done one or more of these shows for years, and she is sure that one day, the right time and right cast will come along. Also, check out Kittywham Productions for a solid collection of skits and plays written by Sarah’s fellow Hillsdale College alum Rachelle Ferguson. 

Children’s devotionals

Looking for an age-appropriate, worthwhile devotional for children? The old and beautiful tradition of meditating on the Scriptures (lectio divina) is explained and laid out well in this journal.  

For younger children, My Path to Heaven, by Fr. Geoffrey Bliss and illustrated by Caryll Houselander, is charming. 

March Madness

For many Americans, March is basketball month. Sarah is dreadfully ignorant about this sport, but she certainly appreciates its history—which you can learn more about in John Coy’s book Hoop Genius (2012).

Love for Betsy-Tacy

Anna K. Reynolds, over at Inspire Virtue, reviews Maud Hart Lovelace’s classic Betsy-Tacy series (1940-1955) and shows why it has endured. 

Reading this review, Sarah was surprised to learn that Lois Lenski was the original illustrator for the first four Betsy-Tacy books. (She’d read the Lenski-illustrated version, but not heeded the illustrator’s name.) Reynolds also has a worthwhile read on Lenski’s life and work, particularly her “Regionals.” Sarah loves Strawberry Girl (1945), which is in this series, and was pleased to discover more titles from this source. 

Chicken tales

Something, possibly the onset of spring, has Sarah thinking about chickens. Here are three books with a chicken as the heroine. 

Louise: the Adventures of a Chicken by Kate DiCamillo (2008)

Henny Penny by Paul Galdone (1915)

The Little Red Hen by Paul Galdone (1918)

Easter eggs & hats

Patricia Polacco writes heartwarming stories, and here, for your Easter reading pleasure, are two of them:

Rechenka’s Eggs (1996)

Chicken Sunday (1998)

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