tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79573158760619626142024-03-15T06:37:52.434+11:00DadReadsDadReads: Stories for grown-ups about stories for childrenBrydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-13469966199660633512019-04-21T16:57:00.000+10:002019-04-21T22:00:52.289+10:00The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes by DuBose Heyward<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7D26-H69ae-npUonAxtOCJ3_h15x4c4c23IhraBovSuT6lL53a3p-oO2tsQO870TSpfAG_exqN6abQ7U4hbIaijKk0fcZX5AcxK1rZvTCFZFglTzfAG-LZKT7aWf9c0gN6L_fmOpIiPY/s1600/countrybunny.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="325" data-original-width="260" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7D26-H69ae-npUonAxtOCJ3_h15x4c4c23IhraBovSuT6lL53a3p-oO2tsQO870TSpfAG_exqN6abQ7U4hbIaijKk0fcZX5AcxK1rZvTCFZFglTzfAG-LZKT7aWf9c0gN6L_fmOpIiPY/s320/countrybunny.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Take a look at
the cover of this book. A prim and proper mother rabbit, in a shawl and
billowing dress, stands with twenty-one immaculately dressed little bunnies. The
title is in a traditional-looking cursive script. The background colour is a
pale peach. Everything about it screams “old-fashioned”. When I picked this
book up last year for the first time, I had low expectations. When I saw that
it was published in 1939, I was sure it would be outdated. I could not have
been more wrong. I had made the error of literally judging a book by its cover.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If there is a
more progressive picture book from the 1930s, I haven’t found it. Thirty years
before the women’s movement really gained traction, <i>The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes </i>delivered a remarkable feminist
punch. Thirty years before the Civil Rights Act was signed, <i>The Country Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes </i>needled
away gently at racism and prejudice. And it achieved this without ever feeling
preachy, without seeming like anything other than a lovable Easter story. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The premise is
that every year children are delivered their Easter eggs not by one single
Easter Bunny but by <i>five</i> Easter Bunnies, who are “the five
kindest, and swiftest, and wisest bunnies in the whole wide world”. When one of
the Easter Bunnies grows too old and can no longer run fast, the wise, old and
kind Grandfather Bunny, who lives at the Palace of Easter Eggs, selects a new
bunny to take its place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The story
surrounds one particular bunny who dreams of growing up to become an Easter
Bunny. Her name is Cottontail, and she is described as “a little country girl
bunny with a brown skin”, and of course she is laughed at by “all of the big
white bunnies who lived in fine houses, and the Jack Rabbits with long legs who
can run so fast”. They tell little Cottontail to go back to the country and eat
a carrot. She grows up, gains a husband, soon has 21 little baby bunnies and is
once again scoffed at.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then
the big white rabbits and the Jacks with long legs laughed and laughed, and
they said, “What did we tell you! Only a country rabbit would go and have all
those babies. Now take care of them and leave Easter eggs to great big men
bunnies like us.” And they went away liking themselves very much.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cottontail does
indeed stop dreaming of becoming an Easter Bunny, and spends her time raising
her children. When word arrives that one of the five Easter Bunnies has grown
too old and will be replaced, Cottontail is sad because “she thought that now
she was nothing but an old mother bunny”. Still, she gathers her children at
the Palace and they watch the big white Jacks show off their skills to the wise
old Grandfather Bunny. He tells them that while they are pretty and fast, they
have not proven themselves either kind or wise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But Cottontail
catches his eye, and through a series of questions she proves that she is not
only wise and kind, but also swift enough to chase her 21 children and gather
them quickly together. She is chosen as the new, fifth Easter Bunny, and is set
the most difficult, but most important delivery of all: taking an egg to a sick
little boy who lives far away, across two rivers and three mountains, in a
house on top of the highest peak. In trying to reach the boy, Cottontail proves
herself the bravest of the Easter Bunnies, and the grandfather gives her a pair
of magical gold shoes to help her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So much about
this book is unexpected for the era. This was the 1930s; once a woman got
married, she stopped working. Once she became a mother, that was doubly it. She
certainly didn’t re-enter the workforce when she still had children. She was probably
discouraged from dreaming too big in the first place. And not only a woman, but
a woman with brown skin? She could definitely not have expected to reach great heights
in the workforce. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What I love
about this book is the way that the characters who show prejudice – the rich
white bunnies, and the male chauvinist Jacks – prove ultimately to be irrelevant.
Sure, they exist, and to some degree they shape Cottontail’s thinking.
Remember, she assumes after having children she is just an old mother bunny. But
the wise old grandfather sees Cottontail for who she is. He is completely open-minded,
and his wisdom and kindness wins out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And it is not
only the grandfather. When Cottontail joins the other four Easter Bunnies at
the palace, she is welcomed completely and without judgment: “There she stood
in her funny country clothes but none of the other four Easter Bunnies laughed,
for they were wise and kind and knew better”. This little rabbit world is the
way our society could be if our leaders were the very best available: caring,
sympathetic and tolerant. Eighty years later it is a dream that seems more
distant than ever. Wisdom and kindness truly are the most important qualities,
yet are in depressingly short supply.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After reading this
story to Heidi for the first time, I looked up the author, DuBose Heyward, to
find out more about the person behind this enlightened 1930s tale. And I
discovered that he was far more famous as the creator of <i>Porgy and
Bess</i>. While the opera is most associated with George Gershwin, who
wrote the music, it was based on a play by Heyward and his wife Dorothy, which
was in turn adapted from Heyward’s 1925 novel, <i>Porgy</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">While <i>Porgy
and Bess</i> has been criticised for racial stereotyping in the decades
since, it was at the time a remarkable production. Set among the
African-American community, it was produced with an entirely African-American
cast – something that was extremely unusual at a time when black roles were
often played by white performers. It was the Heywards (who were white) who
insisted on this back in 1927, when <i>Porgy</i> was first
produced. For context, that was the same year that Al Jolson wore blackface in <i>The Jazz Singer</i>, the first talking picture.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Twelve years
later, with illustrations by Marjorie Flack, Heyward published <i>The Country
Bunny and the Little Gold Shoes</i>, a tale that he told to his daughter
Jenifer, and which was possibly based on a story he had been told by his own
mother. It has never been out of print and has a passionate, cult following,
yet is not as widely known as some other books of the era – for example, Flack’s <i>The Story About Ping</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In 2013, Caroline Kennedy, the daughter of JFK and
Jacqueline Kennedy, described Cottontail as her all-time favourite character. “I
see her now as a woman who re-enters the work force after raising a family — ‘leans
in,’ and does it all — much better than the big Jack Rabbits,” she said. Perhaps
she identified the strength of Cottontail with her own mother following the
death of JFK; it is notable that the country bunny’s husband is never seen or
even mentioned, after the initial statement that “by and by she had a husband”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is hard to disagree with Caroline Kennedy's sentiment. This is a story that I will cherish reading to both Heidi and Fletcher over the coming years </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">—</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> and not just at Easter. In an era when so many picture books are meaningless and disposable, it is such a treat to find one with a message so positive. And it was fitting that I made incorrect assumptions when I first saw this story. It is all about how you metaphorically can't judge a book by its cover. And you literally can't judge that by this book's cover.</span></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-24139802684640418502018-07-26T19:53:00.001+10:002018-07-30T09:32:42.346+10:00Don't Forget, Matilda by Ronda and David Armitage<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmodGr6Gd0tdNPRs1yR4mtl2U68rhdWqc6qNkekCE4XBlsF_bjVsbiA_1vlQmo31P8MbF8MoL6-GJm-390w037nZ0p4v-U9HXbwX7FRlPcXxWbugtzJ2DXhDS7vnC_Q1ud_q1IXp8zOVM/s1600/matildacover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="1300" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmodGr6Gd0tdNPRs1yR4mtl2U68rhdWqc6qNkekCE4XBlsF_bjVsbiA_1vlQmo31P8MbF8MoL6-GJm-390w037nZ0p4v-U9HXbwX7FRlPcXxWbugtzJ2DXhDS7vnC_Q1ud_q1IXp8zOVM/s320/matildacover.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“It was a rainy sort of morning. Mother had gone to work
and Father was doing the dishes.”</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With those eighteen words, my worldview changed. Eighteen
words and a picture of a dad, shown only from behind, apron around his waist,
at the sink, scrubbing the dirty saucepans and plates. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mother </i>had gone to work. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Father
</i>was doing the dishes. Don’t ever underestimate the role picture books play
in shaping a child’s mind. When I was a little boy, the above passage shaped
mine. I’m forever thankful that it did.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you haven’t heard of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t Forget, Matilda</i>, don’t worry, you’re in the majority. It was written
in 1978 and has long been out of print and difficult to find. There is even <a href="https://www.ebay.com.au/itm/Dont-Forget-Matilda-A-Hippo-book-by-Armitage-David-0590700383-The-Cheap/392080513983?epid=108204687&hash=item5b49d1dbbf%3Ag%3AGF4AAOSwQQBa69J5&_sacat=0&_nkw=don%27t+forget+matilda&_from=R40&rt=nc&_trksid=m570.l1313&LH_TitleDesc=0" target="_blank">a copy on Ebay</a> listed for the farcical price of $193.82. The author is Ronda Armitage, the illustrator her husband David; if you have
heard of the Armitages, it’s likely because of their best-known book <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Lighthouse Keeper’s Lunch</i>, and its
sequels. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t Forget, Matilda </i>is,
ironically, largely forgotten. But not by me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I grew up in a small town in rural Victoria, where most
families functioned with dad as the breadwinner and mum looking after the
children. Not, to borrow a line from Jerry Seinfeld, that there’s anything
wrong with that. It’s fine if that’s who you are. I had a wonderful, caring
mother, who had worked as a primary teacher in her youth but stayed at home
once she had kids. Dad was a dairy farmer; it was hard work but because we
lived on the farm, he was always around. I saw loads more of him than many kids
whose dad worked in an office. I had a terrific childhood.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Still, I thought I had a pretty clear view of how the
world worked, no doubt moulded in part by television, books, and the examples
of other families I knew. Fathers went to work in the morning and mothers
looked after the kids. And then I came across <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t Forget, Matilda</i>, where the mother worked and the father
stayed at home looking after little Matilda. And I had an epiphany. I remember
it vividly. I thought to myself, if I ever have kids, I’d like to stay at home
and look after them. Matilda’s father does it, maybe I could too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thirty-odd years later, at least a few days a week, I do
exactly that. These days, lots of men do. There are plenty more who would if
they could, but for whom it is just not a realistic option. I get that. I am
acutely aware that I’m in a very fortunate employment situation. But I know
also that some men (and I suspect more men than society cares to admit) would still
baulk at stepping back from their careers to stay at home with the kids, while
they think nothing of their wife or partner doing so. It's a sad reflection of the fact that raising the next generation, while invaluable work, remains widely undervalued.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s also a shame, because they’re missing out on one of life’s
great opportunities – and so are their children. Don’t get me wrong, looking
after Heidi and Fletcher is not all smiles and swings at the park. Toddlers are
emotionally complex and tantrums frequent. Then there are the endless
nappies, loads of washing, meals, <s>faces and hands and tables</s> everythings
to clean. Juggling two kids aged three and under is challenging, tiring work. But it’s also
priceless, hugely rewarding, and I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m sure Matilda’s
father would say something similar.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t Forget,
Matilda </i>is a day in the life of a little koala named Matilda Elizabeth
Bear. Throughout her day, everyone seems to forget something. Father forgets
the pushchair when they catch the bus to the shops, Grandad pretends to forget
Matilda’s name when she visits for lunch, Matilda forgets to take her
handkerchief and can’t stop sniffing, and Granny forgets to put Matilda’s shoes
on when they go to the park. The next day, Father and Matilda miss the bus to
the beach, but realise that in any case Father had forgotten to pack their
lunch.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mother appears only on a single page, nicely dressed,
picking Matilda up from Granny’s house on the way home from work. Father seems
to be the primary carer, with help from Matilda’s grandparents. That may not be
especially remarkable today, but remember that this book was published in the
late 1970s, when most picture books reflected a society still tethered to the traditional
roles of men and women. And what strikes me now, looking back as an adult, is
how normal the Armitages make the situation appear. Importantly, it is not
presented as a novelty.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wondered why the Armitages – Ronda <a href="https://www.rondaarmitage.co.uk/about-me/" target="_blank">is a New Zealander</a>
and David from Tasmania, though they have lived in England since the 1970s –
chose to make Matilda’s father the primary carer. And so I asked them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“The book was based mainly on our early years in the UK,”
Ronda Armitage says. “With our two young kids we left New Zealand to continue
with some travelling for a couple of years but once our first book, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Lighthouse Keeper’s Lunch</i>, now 41
years old, was published, our original publisher wasn’t keen on our being
12,000 miles away. So we drifted into remaining here.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t Forget,
Matilda</i> was based on our daughter Kate, who was looked after by either one
of us before she went to school ... David is still slightly upset that when, as
the only male, he took Kate to playgroup, the mothers would immediately
stop chatting and sort of draw together. They never spoke to him, although a
woman once picked him up when he and Kate were walking home in the rain. So
sometimes we shared the care of the kids and sometimes either one of us would
work full-time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“We fell foul of a Swedish publisher for the opposite
reasons with the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Lighthouse Keeper</i>
books. Not only was Mr Grinling (the lighthouse keeper) too ugly but they were also
a very traditional couple. The male looked after the lighthouse and the female
did the cooking. But David certainly valued the time with his kids, just as we
both have with our one grandchild, whom we looked after regularly until he went
to school.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Armitages might now be grandparents, but what of the
inclusion of grandparents in the childcare arrangements in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t Forget, Matilda</i>, back in the 1970s? With one set of
grandparents in New Zealand and the others in Tasmania, that was based less on
Ronda and David’s reality as UK-based parents than Ronda’s experience as a
child. Born during World War II, she spent the first three years of her life
being raised by her mother and grandparents in the small New Zealand town of
Kaikoura while her father was overseas in the Air Force. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ronda recalls that living on a farm in rural New Zealand,
getting hold of enough books to read was a problem. The first book she
remembers loving was <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Horton Hatches the
Egg</i>, an early Dr Seuss book published in 1940. Perhaps it is no coincidence
that the basis of that story is a male elephant looking after an egg <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">–</span> child-rearing, essentially <span style="font-family: "calibri" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;">–</span> albeit because
he was tricked into it by the bird who laid it. All these years later, Ronda
still remembers the book’s famous line: “I meant what I said, and I said what I
meant, an elephant’s faithful, one hundred percent!”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I repeat, don’t ever underestimate the role picture books
play in shaping a child’s mind. Ronda remembers Horton with fondness; I
remember Matilda in the same way. I still have my childhood copy of the book, which
three-year-old Heidi enjoys nearly as much as I did when I was little. If you
ever see a copy, buy it (though not from that outrageous price-gouging listing
on Ebay).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“I’m delighted that you would like to feature Matilda,”
Ronda says. “We have more queries from parents about the possibility of getting
hold of a copy of that book than for any of our other titles. It was a great
favourite, particularly in Australia.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ronda is delighted that DadReads is featuring <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Don’t Forget, Matilda</i>; DadReads is pleased
to hear that the book is still a nostalgic favourite among parents even these
days. Aside from the underlying theme of the father staying at home, it is a
fun book that is brought to life by David Armitage’s colourful artwork. He
brings a caring touch to Father, dignity to Mother, wisdom to the grandparents and
the full and genuine range of toddler emotions to little Matilda. It is no
surprise that he remains to this day a <a href="http://www.davidarmitage.com/" target="_blank">well-respected painter</a> in Britain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway. I have to go. It’s a rainy sort of a morning.
Heidi and Fletcher’s mother has gone to work, and their father has dishes to
do.</span></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-41338837829365515792018-06-14T20:36:00.001+10:002018-06-14T20:36:41.114+10:00The Tiger Who Came to Tea by Judith Kerr<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4Qv0ERVF0A9Yf6LXiRnZugHxL7iXUBJDHdvBQynQTYUY_8kOkc-3ekF3oQIReEytptwlbBzFwFBxWZS-4hkj_idUc54Z7Z3mMNT62DXWDLwkM3EgNIeZ2MjfBPtzsjhoDoFzPNJ_Ef8/s1600/tiger-who-came.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="788" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO4Qv0ERVF0A9Yf6LXiRnZugHxL7iXUBJDHdvBQynQTYUY_8kOkc-3ekF3oQIReEytptwlbBzFwFBxWZS-4hkj_idUc54Z7Z3mMNT62DXWDLwkM3EgNIeZ2MjfBPtzsjhoDoFzPNJ_Ef8/s320/tiger-who-came.jpg" width="252" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">Judith Kerr
turns 95 today. At that age, when she blows out the candles she might simply
wish for more birthdays. To be fair, that’s sensible regardless of age. But if
I could borrow that wish, I would use it to have her tell me the secret of what
this mysterious classic is about. I mean, what it’s <i>really </i>about. Fifty
years after <i>The Tiger Who Came to Tea</i> was first published, Kerr still
insists it is nothing deeper than the story of a tiger visiting a little girl
named Sophie. Pull the other one, Judith.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">The events begin
innocently enough. Sophie and her mummy are enjoying some afternoon tea when
the doorbell rings. Sophie’s mummy wonders if it could be the milkman or the
boy from the grocer. In 2018, a man putting milk on my doorstep would alarm me
nearly as much as a tiger asking to come in for tea, but in 1968 the tiger
would have been the more shocking option. So you’d think. But Sophie and her
mummy politely invite the tiger inside to share their meal.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">The tiger
gobbles up all the sandwiches, drinks all the tea from the teapot, scoffs all
the buns, biscuits and cake on the table, then makes for the kitchen to eat the
supper on the stove, all the food in the fridge, and everything in the pantry.
Understandably thirsty, he drinks all the milk and orange juice, all of Daddy’s
beer, and all the water in the tap. Think about how parched you’d have to be to
drink <i>all the water in the tap</i>. Poor Sophie couldn’t even have a bath.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">But to me, the
crux of the story is when Sophie’s daddy comes home from work and listens to
his wife explain why there is no supper on the table and, more importantly,
where his beer has gone. He sits in his chair, patient, slightly worried,
thousand-yard stare fixed firmly to his face. What is he thinking in that
moment? Is he thinking, oh god, she’s really gone off the deep end this time?
Or, nice try love, but I know <i>exactly</i> who drank my beer? Or, simply,
here we go again?</span><span style="color: #555555; font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrlbQhSzzjbEdyM31_-I4bDYPRe2p7ZJTFbXdC3LzP9TZnREdsubziJ3G6MkY4wE43FvokkTemlEJW7zZhlFHZY0CpWxFt71-QMXmIgUqEY-1vMx60hw0GdUrdRqnly4T2CN4lojxFkU/s1600/tigercrop.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1218" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJrlbQhSzzjbEdyM31_-I4bDYPRe2p7ZJTFbXdC3LzP9TZnREdsubziJ3G6MkY4wE43FvokkTemlEJW7zZhlFHZY0CpWxFt71-QMXmIgUqEY-1vMx60hw0GdUrdRqnly4T2CN4lojxFkU/s320/tigercrop.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">Whatever the
case, Sophie’s daddy handles the situation just as any self-respecting British
man of his era would. Repression. Denial. Keep calm and carry on. He asks no
hard questions, seeks no help for his clearly deranged wife and child. He
merely suggests they have their supper at a café. This is not the time for
panic, but for sausages, chips and stiff upper lips.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">The Tiger Who
Came to Tea </span></i><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">was Judith
Kerr’s first book, published in the same year that her husband, well-known
screenwriter Nigel Kneale, had his television play <i>The Year of the Sex
Olympics </i>broadcast by the BBC. (Don’t be fooled by the title: it was a
perceptive, dystopian work that anticipated reality TV decades ahead of time). Theirs
was clearly an imaginative household. Kerr says she was unimpressed at the
preachy picture books of the 1950s, so one day when she and her young daughter
Tacy were bored at home and wishing someone would visit, she made up the story
of a tiger coming to tea.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">A few years
later, when her children were at school, she finally had time to illustrate the
story and have it published. Kerr says she has improved as an illustrator since then, but her clean, beautiful pictures capture not only the mood of the story, but also the fashions of the late 1960s. The tiger was still just a tiger, but Kerr’s own
background has led to a persistent rumour that the creature represented
something far more sinister: the Gestapo.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">Kerr was born of
a Jewish background in Germany in 1923 and her parents were friends of Albert
Einstein – she once wrote that, at a party in Berlin, Einstein had explained
his theory of relativity to her mother. Kerr’s father was a noted theatre
critic who had also openly criticised the Nazi Party, and the family wisely
fled to France in 1933, shortly before Adolf Hitler’s rise to power. Three
years later, they moved further towards safety, settling in London.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;">But was there
something from those early years in Germany that led to the tiger’s tale? Could
he represent the Gestapo, the Nazi secret police who could come knocking on
your door at any time? It is a rumour that Kerr has steadfastly denied,
pointing to the way Sophie nuzzles in to the tiger to indicate that he is
really no threat at all. “I don’t think one would snuggle the Gestapo, even
subconsciously,” Kerr once said.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span></span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Personally, I
had wondered if the tiger represented a dark, addictive, or even unbalanced
side of Sophie’s own mummy. Remember, all of Sophie’s daddy’s beer disappeared
during one weekday afternoon. Recently, the spotlight has started to shine on
the “wine-mum” culture. Often celebrated in light-hearted, comical memes, it’s
also an alarming reflection of the number of parents (of both sexes) literally
being driven to drink by the demands and expectations of parenthood.</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span> </div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">At least these days
mental health issues (including post-natal depression) are more openly acknowledged
and discussed than in the past. As a father, I feel incredibly lucky to spend a
lot of time at home caring for my children, and I wouldn’t change it for the
world. But it has its challenges, and I could empathise if Sophie’s mummy’s felt
she needed to take the edge off her day. My daughter Heidi is about to turn
three, and we have certainly experienced our </span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">fair share of the Terrible Twos.
Worryingly, being a “Threenager” is also a thing, apparently.</span></span></div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span> </div>
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<span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"></span><span style="mso-fareast-language: EN-AU;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, that's just my theory. As Kerr insists, perhaps the tiger is nothing more than a tiger, the antagonist in a fun, memorable story - and one that Heidi loves. She also loves the Mog stories, for which Judith Kerr is most famous. At 95, Kerr still works every day, has published more than 30 books, and has another one due out later this year. Not bad given that English was her third language. In fact, in 2013, Britain's first bilingual state school in English and German was named after her: the Judith Kerr Primary School in south London. The students will no doubt be celebrating today.</span></span></div>
</div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-60722507508689131432018-05-03T22:55:00.000+10:002018-05-03T22:55:40.567+10:00Mr Clumsy (and Mr Fussy) by Roger Hargreaves<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7lFWfhbGaf2vGjPg5lYUxrIr_2TGevftrO5g2v7fmnEX_rv_sAeTbPJZC8vGcnRKuR5bNMq8KrlS1vATEab4BBTlXKd4HepK9dGjctFHVUtiRy1Qglbp3JLBuUHgJfqGAsBs0705Iya0/s1600/mrclumsy.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="421" data-original-width="458" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7lFWfhbGaf2vGjPg5lYUxrIr_2TGevftrO5g2v7fmnEX_rv_sAeTbPJZC8vGcnRKuR5bNMq8KrlS1vATEab4BBTlXKd4HepK9dGjctFHVUtiRy1Qglbp3JLBuUHgJfqGAsBs0705Iya0/s320/mrclumsy.PNG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear Mr Hargreaves,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a father of two small children, and as a former child
myself, I have generally enjoyed your Mr Men series of books, notwithstanding
the often unnecessarily verbose text, which makes some of them feel like
novellas and inspires a sense of dread when I am asked to read three of them in
succession before bedtime, and has led to my subconscious use of 79 words in
this particular paragraph when 10 would clearly, obviously, and undoubtedly
have sufficed. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">However, that is neither here nor there. The reason for
my letter is that I wish to complain about an unfair national stereotype
perpetuated by your books.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">From my repeated readings of the Mr Men canon, I have
learnt that Mr Happy lives in Happyland, Mr Clever lives in Cleverland and Mr
Nonsense lives in Nonsenseland. This makes sense, in the same way that Thais
live in Thailand, Finns live in Finland and northern ire lives in Northern Ireland.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, why does Mr Clumsy live in Australia?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">That’s right, Mr Clumsy does not live in Clumsyland. He
lives in Australia.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This, Mr Hargreaves, is nothing but offensive national
stereotyping. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You introduce Mr Clumsy as a dishevelled, long-lost
cousin of Mr Fussy. This boorish Australian layabout lobs on Mr Fussy’s
doorstep and asks to stay. He appears unable, or perhaps unwilling, to comb his
hair, tie his shoelaces, or engage in any of the other basic functions expected
in a civilised society. When he later stars in his own book, Mr Clumsy is so dense
that he puts a letter from the postman in the toaster and tries to read a piece
of bread.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Which brings me to another point. I understand the word ‘clumsy’
to mean ‘awkward’, or ‘ungainly’, but you apparently think it means ‘idiotic’.
This character is effectively ‘Mr Stupid’, but you clearly realised that
introducing Mr Stupid from Australia would be crossing the line, so you
softened his name while retaining his moronic nature. Spilling your beer while
dropping a catch during a game of backyard cricket is clumsy Australian
behaviour; toasting an envelope is simply inane.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Please understand, Mr Hargreaves, that although we
recently had a prime minister who tried to eat an onion like it was an apple, and
a deputy prime minister who was unaware that he was a citizen of New Zealand, we
are not all idiots. I will admit that two of the four members of my household
are unable to tie their shoelaces, but this is because they are aged one and
two respectively. The fact that they are Australian is purely coincidental.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Perhaps political correctness had not yet gone mad when
you introduced Mr Clumsy in 1976, but since then it has become certifiable. As
such, I request that when the series is next reprinted, Mr Clumsy should come
from Clumsyland rather than Australia. At the very least he should hold dual
citizenship, which admittedly would preclude him from running for Australian parliament,
but in any case we have enough oafish behaviour in that institution without
adding Mr Clumsy to the mix.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I have been told, Mr Hargreaves, that you died 30 years
ago, and I therefore understand that you may face certain difficulties in
replying to my letter. Nevertheless, I shall await a response via the late
mail.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yours sincerely,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mr Offended</span><br />
<br /><br />
<br /></div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-42485254081936263842018-03-11T20:38:00.000+11:002018-03-11T20:38:11.477+11:00Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge by Mem Fox and Julie Vivas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPs1_Jum9QWuqUYXAIo50gI0vZRZURD2u2PNPUrmmnifD9v72VveCGOfg430rhRPHFn_HEimLGNJ7ghzhedNnxkFz2__Gf1Odmn51TE383aCkKMZZpZcnGiFLwbSEDjqc49ldGHpIh-8/s1600/wilfrid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="499" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYPs1_Jum9QWuqUYXAIo50gI0vZRZURD2u2PNPUrmmnifD9v72VveCGOfg430rhRPHFn_HEimLGNJ7ghzhedNnxkFz2__Gf1Odmn51TE383aCkKMZZpZcnGiFLwbSEDjqc49ldGHpIh-8/s320/wilfrid.jpg" width="319" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mem Fox is not on the official list of Australia’s
National Living Treasures. That is plain wrong. It’s even more wrong given that
Clive Palmer is on the list. Clive is large and full of money, but that’s the
only way he could be considered a treasure. If we define the word as something precious
and cherished, Mem Fox fits the bill. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Possum
Magic </i>is the definitive Australian picture-story book, and probably only
Graeme Base can rival her popularity over more than 30 years. Today we look at
another Mem Fox classic: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wilfrid Gordon
McDonald Partridge</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wilfrid </i>was
published in 1984, the year after <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Possum
Magic</i>. They are the first two books Mem Fox had published, and they were
both illustrated by Julie Vivas, whose style is unique and instantly
recognisable – she too is an icon of Australian children’s literature. If <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Possum Magic </i>was their blockbuster, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wilfrid </i>was their sleeper hit. That’s
because where <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Possum Magic </i>is a fun,
whimsical fantasy, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wilfrid</i> is
poignant and truly resonates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On its surface, it’s about a young boy who lives next
door to a nursing home and befriends the residents. Deeper down, it’s about the
fundamental truth that people are the same whether they’re 6 or 96. And usually,
sadly, it’s only the six-year-olds and 96-year-olds who seem to understand that.
The rest of us are stuck in the middle, too old to be innocent, too young to be
wise, and too caught up in our day-to-day lives to give it much thought anyway.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Wilfrid’s favourite friend at the nursing home is Miss
Nancy Alison Delacourt Cooper, because she has four names just like him. One
day, his parents call her a “poor old thing” because she’s lost her memory.
Wilfrid wants to help her find it. He starts by asking the other residents at the
home what a memory is. Old Mrs Jordan says it’s “something warm”. Mr Hosking
says it’s “something from long ago”. Mr Tippett says it’s “something that makes
you cry”. And so on.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Taking this literally, as small children do, Wilfrid goes
home to find some “memories” for Miss Nancy that fit the descriptions. And his
little collection sparks her memory. The warm egg he brings reminds her of being
a little girl and finding speckled blue eggs in a bird’s nest in her aunt’s
garden. His grandfather’s medal reminds her of the brother she loved who went to
the war and never returned. She marvels at how such a young boy could have brought
these memories back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Heidi and Fletcher are fortunate that all four of their
grandparents are still alive, and luckier still that they have two living
great-grandmothers. One, who we call Grandma Millie, is 94, and just like Miss
Nancy Alison Delacourt Cooper, lives in a nursing home. When we visit, it makes
Grandma Millie’s day to see the kids. More than that, it brightens the day of
every other resident who sees them. At a nursing home, little children are like
a drug – the residents can’t get enough of them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Besides Grandma Millie, there’s old Jeannie from Northern
Ireland, who was a high-school teacher and Skypes with her family back in the
old country. She loves to say hello to the kids. There’s Alwyn, who always takes
a grandfatherly interest. And Joyce, who likes to keep an eye out for Heidi
too. And of course there are those who one day just weren’t there anymore. What
must life be like in a nursing home? You have lived a long, eventful life, but
you know this is the last stop.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I remember, when I was five or six, my older sister Lindy
would visit an elderly lady at Sunnyside House, the local nursing home. I would
sometimes tag along, and without realising it at the time, I helped cheer them
up in the same way. I remember one old man giving me a present of a big,
men’s sized hankie, and a packet of Steam Rollers that fair dinkum knocked my
socks off. I had a concept that these people were old, but it was still
abstract. As far as I was concerned, everyone who wasn’t in school was old. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And that’s the thing about Heidi, or Wilfrid Gordon
McDonald Partridge. They treat the elderly like they would treat anyone. They
treat them like people, like equals. Not feeling sorry for them, not wondering
if this is the last time you’ll see them. The rest of us are coloured by what
we think we know. “Poor old thing”, we think, and we act accordingly. Any
visitors at a nursing home are welcome, but I wonder if kids are especially
loved because they are so unaffected.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A word here about Julie Vivas. Her style is so distinctive
and her characters so expressive that they sometimes border on caricature, but in
children’s books that can sometimes be a good thing. In <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wilfrid</i> it has the effect of bringing these old people to life, giving
the sense of youth that is such an important message of the book. Yes, they are
hunched over and frail, but they also have a recognisable spark. They are individuals,
each with a story. And that’s the truth of a nursing home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’ve been told countless times that you never feel any
different as you age – not deep down inside. It should be obvious that Grandma
Millie at 94 is the same person she was at 74, or 34, or 14. But too often we
fail to think that way. We mentally group all old people together in one
category. They’re not like us. We’ll never be like that. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Wilfrid Gordon McDonald Partridge </i>helps to remind us that we’re all
the same. Old people have been young like us and we – hopefully – will grow old
like them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you have kids, and you have an elderly relative, it’s
impossible to read this book and not feel inspired to pop around for a visit.
So just do it. I guarantee you’ll make their day – and probably your own as
well.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br /></div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-4413596441867799492017-09-18T21:01:00.004+10:002017-09-18T21:14:00.863+10:00Wow! Said the Owl by Tim Hopgood<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-KK-2hOeVafmYUbfUv_FQTB32CBCjxl4g93xeiItS34XchAFxO9Sz77AykF4hyphenhyphenalPhpDCy_ylyjmEKvS3sX21OpFNbgX1_jhu1Va9mMtFgIXqJV4-_SJfR7Hiuq4_71LyOfYtfWaxBmk/s1600/wowsaidtheowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1186" data-original-width="1600" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-KK-2hOeVafmYUbfUv_FQTB32CBCjxl4g93xeiItS34XchAFxO9Sz77AykF4hyphenhyphenalPhpDCy_ylyjmEKvS3sX21OpFNbgX1_jhu1Va9mMtFgIXqJV4-_SJfR7Hiuq4_71LyOfYtfWaxBmk/s320/wowsaidtheowl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Heidi’s favourite toy is a soft owl, and her
favourite pastime is reading stories. So it should be no surprise that she has plenty
of books about owls. There’s <i>Owl Babies </i>by
Martin Waddell and Patrick Benson. There’s <i>Ten
Little Owls </i>by Renee Treml. There’s <i>The
Owl and the Pussycat </i>by Edward Lear, illustrated by Jan Brett. There’s <i>Let’s Explore Diabetes with Owls </i>by
David Sedaris. Actually, how did that one get onto her shelf?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But by far her favourite owl book is <i>Wow! Said the Owl </i>by Tim Hopgood. In fact, if I told her she could
only keep one of her hundreds of books and we would throw the rest out, I think
she would pick <i>Wow! Said the Owl </i>to
save. And then she’d cry and I would be a terrible parent. But my point is it’s
probably her favourite book of all. Here’s a recent exchange that demonstrates
just how much two-year-old Heidi loves this book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Me: What does a sheep say?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Heidi: Baa-baa!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Me: What does a lion say?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Heidi: Rooooaar!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Me: What does an owl say?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Heidi: Wow!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Wow! Said the Owl </i>is
perfect for toddlers of Heidi’s age. A curious little owl stays awake during
the daytime instead of going to sleep, and discovers all the vivid colours of
the world around her. On each page she says “WOW!” as she sees a new colour –
the warm pink sky, the yellow sun, the green leaves on her tree, the pretty red
butterflies, the grey clouds when it starts to rain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The day finishes with a rainbow, and then the little owl stays
up all night, just like little owls are supposed to, and she decides that the
night-time stars are the most beautiful of all. The final page, after the end
of the story, shows a sort of colour wheel, and Heidi loves to point to each
one and say the name of the colour – even if she calls both indigo and violet a
generic “purple”. I mean, who ever uses the word “indigo” anyway?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don’t know what it is about owls that Heidi loves so
much. I guess the big eyes do make them look pretty cute. The big eyes also
help owls to find the mice, voles and other small mammals and birds that they
like to attack with their razor-sharp talons and eat. Not so cute now, are
they? Maybe that’s what the famously mysterious <i>Twin Peaks </i>clue meant: “The owls are not what they seem”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But back to <i>Wow!
Said the Owl</i>. Sometimes Heidi likes reading stories on her own, and you can tell when she’s reading this one even if you're not in the room. You’ll just hear “wow”
as she turns each page, then a lot of gobbledegook with the occasional name of a colour thrown in. When she gets to the page full of red butterflies, she says
“owl?” – it’s the only page that doesn’t show the curious little owl.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I hadn’t heard of Tim Hopgood before we picked up a copy
of this book. He has a background in graphic design and uses those skills in
combination with his drawing ability to produce his works. He scans the various
elements, including his drawings, into his computer and assembles the images
digitally. All his work starts in black and white, and he colours it using his
computer – this way he can test out different colour combinations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Fascinatingly, he collects textures from unusual places –
the clouds in <i>Wow! Said the Owl </i>have
a pattern he scanned in from the inside of an envelope from his bank! What sort
of creative mind comes up with that idea? Every time we read <i>Wow! Said the Owl </i>now – which is to say,
several times a week – I’ll pay special attention to those patterned clouds and
be reminded how a clever mind can see creative potential in the most mundane
objects.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All of this creativity combines to be a cut above your
usual toddler book. In fact, it has become so popular that in 2015 <i>Wow! Said the Owl </i>was adapted into a
stage show using puppets in London, and <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/stage/2015/dec/16/wow-said-the-owl-little-angel-theatre-review-childrens-theatre" target="_blank">received rave reviews</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Speaking of reviews, on the back cover of <i>Wow! Said the Owl</i>, you’ll see the
following testimonial: “Just the right blend of vivid illustration and engaging
text” – <i>Daily Mail</i>. For the first
(and probably last) time in my life, I am forced to admit that the <i>Daily Mail </i>got something bang on.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-68152762246059931542017-07-16T15:28:00.000+10:002017-07-16T15:31:07.900+10:00Dogger by Shirley Hughes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Today, the iconic <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shirley_Hughes" target="_blank">Shirley Hughes</a> turns 90. And today
DadReads goes out on a limb to declare that Shirley Hughes may well be the
greatest living children’s author and illustrator in the world. I am open to
counter-arguments, but for longevity in the industry and consistent quality of
output, who else is even in the same league? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Eric Carle? He is now 88, and it is nearly fifty years
since he produced <i>The Very Hungry </i>Caterpillar,
one of the most universal childhood classics of all time. But some of his other
works have been positively dull. Carle’s <i>The
Very Quiet Cricket </i>is the slowest-moving cricket book since <i>Test Cricket Lists</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Judith Kerr? At 94, she remains best known for the <i>Mog </i>series and <i>The Tiger who Came to Tea</i>. They are beloved books for some, but
I’ve always found her work a little strange, and certainly lacking the warmth
of Shirley Hughes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">From the Antipodes there is Pamela Allen, who is 83, but
in my opinion falls into the same category as Judith Kerr – quirky, and a
little cold. If I was voting for the finest Australian or New Zealander it
would be Graeme Base or Dame Lynley Dodd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is worth noting that some living greats – Mem Fox and
Allan Ahlberg, for example – are authors only, and thus do not qualify as
author-illustrators. I could accept arguments for Raymond Briggs, who is a
worthy candidate, or for Sir Quentin Blake, whose pictures are iconic, but
whose writing I personally am yet to read.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But for me, it’s Shirley Hughes. Maybe I’m swayed by
nostalgia, because the stories featuring Alfie and Annie-Rose, and Lucy and
Tom, were such a big part of my childhood. Re-reading them now takes me back to
a warm and fuzzy place, but it’s a warm and fuzzy place that I know is shared
by countless others around the world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In Britain, Hughes is something of a national treasure. Her
first book as author and illustrator, <i>Lucy
and Tom’s Day</i>, came out in 1960. In <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/jun/24/writing-day-shirley-hughes-children-refreshingly-frank" target="_blank">an interview with <i>The Guardian </i>last month</a>, she said she was currently working on
another Alfie story. That’s nearly 60 years of output. Baby Boomers might have
grown up with Shirley Hughes and could still today be enjoying her new works; their grandchildren may be growing up with her now, and can share the classics with their grandparents and parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the UK right now there is almost a Festival of Shirley
– she was recently <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b08vwmx3" target="_blank">guest editor of BBC Radio 4’s Woman’s Hour</a>, and interviews
with her have been featuring in various newspapers – celebrating both her 90th
birthday and the 40th anniversary of one of her most beloved books, <i>Dogger</i> (a hardback anniversary edition
of <i>Dogger </i>was published last month).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And <i>Dogger </i>really
is beloved. Not only did it win the Kate Greenaway Medal for “distinguished
illustration in a book for children” in 1977, but when the Medal celebrated its
50th anniversary in 2007, <i>Dogger </i>was
voted the best of the best, narrowly pipping another of my all-time favourites,
<i>Each Peach Pear Plum</i>, to be named the
finest winner in the Greenaway Medal’s history.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Dogger </i>is the
story of a little boy named Dave, his treasured soft toy dog, and his big
sister Bella. One day, Dave loses Dogger while waiting with his mother to
collect Bella from school, and a few days later, Dogger turns up for sale on
the toy stall at the school fete. (As an aside, a huge percentage of Heidi’s
books have come from school fetes – they are a goldmine of children’s books).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Dave doesn’t have the 3p he needs to buy Dogger back, and
by the time he finds his big sister to help, another girl has bought Dogger. She
refuses to sell him back to Dave, but Bella, who has just won a giant teddy
bear in a three-legged race, comes to the rescue by trading her new teddy bear
to the girl in return for Dogger. It is just the most beautiful moment of
sibling love.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And this, I think, gets to the crux of why Shirley Hughes
is so good. A memorable picture book might be funny (<i>The Gruffalo</i>), or intricate (<i>Animalia</i>),
or whimsical (<i>Hairy Maclary</i>). Or, in
the case of <i>Dogger</i>, it can be heartfelt.
And heartfelt is deceptively difficult to achieve. The big risk is straying
towards the saccharine (<i>Guess How Much I
Love You</i>, for example, makes me want to vomit).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shirley Hughes does heartfelt and warm with as much
sincerity and skill as anyone. She has an incredible ability to empathise with
children. Her stories are emotionally complex, just as little children are, and
her illustrations are beautifully observed. She gets the small details right: the
way Dave holds Dogger up to the school fence to show him the men setting up the
fete, the subtly anxious look on Dave’s face as he tries to sleep without his
beloved toy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And she gets to the truth of how a child’s mind works, as
when Bella wins her teddy bear:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Dave didn’t like that teddy at all. At that moment he
didn’t like Bella much either, because she kept on winning things."</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’m sure Dave still <i>loved</i>
his sister, but at that moment he didn’t <i>like</i>
her much. Kids, and especially those of toddler and pre-school age, are
remarkably fickle, because they are still learning how to control their
emotions. And with a two-year-old daughter, that is something that I am
discovering more and more every day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Perhaps <i>Dogger </i>resonates
with me even more now because I’m a parent. I can just imagine the apprehension
if Heidi’s favourite toy – an owl – was to go missing. And I can picture big
sister Heidi looking after her little brother, Fletcher, in future years in
just the way that Bella watches out for Dave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">If you don’t know Shirley Hughes and haven’t read her,
you are missing out on a joyous experience. My other favourites as a child were <i>Lucy and Tom’s Christmas</i>, <i>Alfie Gets in First</i>, and <i>An Evening At Alfie’s</i>. I was introduced
to Shirley Hughes by my Mum, who had first seen the books being read on <i>Play School</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My Mum, Valerie, is a very talented illustrator herself –
I would love to write a children’s book and have her illustrate it – and she
loves Shirley Hughes now more than ever. In fact, I gave her Shirley’s autobiography
for Mother’s Day this year, and I’m pleased to say it has sparked a renewed
passion for the books. Now, my nearly 70-year-old Mum is actively compiling a
library of Shirley Hughes books from secondhand shops and online. Here’s what
Mum says about Shirley Hughes:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Shirley Hughes is an observer. She sees the small details that we overlook. She can create a charming story from ordinary happenings, and her illustrations are full of colour and movement. I like these quotes from her book <i>A Life Drawing</i>.</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'... to become a writer you must first become a reader, so becoming an illustrator is preceded by learning how to look.'</span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'Drawing means looking more intently and for longer than you do at any other time.'"</span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shirley Hughes has been looking intently for 60
years. That’s why she’s the best there is.</span><br />
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<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-82711926463487021562017-06-27T17:13:00.001+10:002017-06-27T17:14:14.059+10:00John Brown, Rose and the Midnight Cat by Jenny Wagner & Ron Brooks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4iP8BVAZwB6aZNGyGpHaRn_oK7KAZyOK_5j0vrLcR-6S0016dFZbDCHMkWV0iTPenYed-sJJE7TEsqNjC73disWKYdSyBiILBcIjQY46hjz78V4fggOQpiUXyOeFKnE_ZW0WC8HKwqg/s1600/jbrmc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="302" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS4iP8BVAZwB6aZNGyGpHaRn_oK7KAZyOK_5j0vrLcR-6S0016dFZbDCHMkWV0iTPenYed-sJJE7TEsqNjC73disWKYdSyBiILBcIjQY46hjz78V4fggOQpiUXyOeFKnE_ZW0WC8HKwqg/s1600/jbrmc.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I loved this book when I was little, but had I known what
it was really about I’d have been seriously freaked out. To five-year-old me, it
was a nice story about a gorgeous Old English Sheepdog, a sleek black cat, and
an old lady who reminded me of my grandmother. A couple of outdoor scenes in
the dark of night were a bit spooky, but everything was all right because the
story had a happy ending.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Or so I thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Little did I know that the old widow, Rose, was tired of
life. Little did I know that the Midnight Cat represents death, and that it was
highly symbolic that John Brown the protective dog refused to allow the cat
inside. Little did I know that the final stages – when Rose is sick in bed and
John Brown opens the door to the Midnight Cat, the only thing that can make
Rose “better” – are <i>very</i> final.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But you know what? Learning about the hidden meaning has only
made me love the book even more. It takes remarkable skill to create a work
with such layers, as author Jenny Wagner and illustrator Ron Brooks have done
here. In fact, the Midnight Cat As Death is just one of multiple possible
subtexts to this book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Perhaps a short summary here would help. Rose is an
elderly woman whose husband died long ago. For many years she has passed the
time with her dog, John Brown. One night, Rose looks out the window and sees a
black cat. John Brown refuses to look, but when Rose has gone to bed, he goes
outside and threatens the cat to stay away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But Rose keeps seeing the cat, and John Brown keeps
ignoring it. “You don’t need a cat,” he says. “You’ve got me”. One morning,
Rose remains in bed, and tells John Brown she is sick. John Brown spends the
day thinking, and in the evening asks Rose if the Midnight Cat will make her
better. “Oh yes!” she says. “That’s just what I want.” Reluctantly, John Brown
lets the cat inside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On the second-last page, the three are all sitting in the
living room, Rose gazing lovingly at The Midnight Cat, a portrait of her late
husband staring down on them from above the fireplace. “Then Rose got up and
sat by the fire, for a while.” As illustrator Ron Brooks writes in his memoir <i>Drawn from the Heart</i>: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Note, and think about, that
comma.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The comma makes you pause. It makes you wonder what
happened after the “for a while”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And the final sentence is split across the last two pages:
“And the midnight cat sat on the arm of the chair ... and purred.” A close-up
of the black cat ends the book.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don’t think I’ll be able to read this to Heidi without choking
up just a little, now that I know its true meaning. For me, the most poignant
pages are the double-page spread on which John Brown, in close-up and filling
almost the whole space, cuddles one of Rose’s slippers while thinking about her
lying sick in bed. You can almost see that he is mourning, realising that it’s
time to let her go.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This was not the first collaboration between Wagner and
Brooks. They had earlier teamed up to produce <i>The Bunyip of Berkeley’s
Creek</i>, which also had layers of meaning, though perhaps less subtly
than <i>John Brown</i>. Again, Brooks’ cross-hatching and line-work
brings such texture to the book. He is at his best when creating a dark
night-time atmosphere, yet not so dark that we cannot see the action.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And Wagner skilfully imbues her words with many possible
meanings. When we read this to Heidi, the first subtext that my wife Zoe picked
up on was that John Brown might represent an eldest child, struggling with the
jealousy that can arise from the impending arrival of a new baby. Whichever way
an adult interprets the meaning, a child will still enjoy the surface-level story,
which is charming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ron Brooks in his memoir mentions that the Waiting for
Death reading of the story was the one Wagner mentioned most often, but he entertainingly
(and a little mischievously) sums up the other possible interpretations:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The English (ever democratic) reviews
of <i>John Brown</i> pointed out endless possibilities in the book,
story and pictures. Among the more interesting was Margery Fisher’s observation
that Queen Victoria also had a friend called John Brown, and that the
relationship there was very similar indeed.</span></blockquote>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Germans (who take their children’s
books very seriously) suggested that <i>John Brown</i> was a
sensitive study of the problems sometimes involved with a first child coming to
terms with the impending arrival of a second, and that ‘parents in this situation
may well find the book helpful’.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Americans, on whom one can always
count for – shall we say – a certain clarity of vision, seemed mostly to think <i>John Brown</i> was ‘a lovely book about an old woman, a dog, and
a cat’.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So perhaps Zoe is German and five-year-old me was
American. But five-year-old me lived on an Australian farm and recognised much
that was familiar in the illustrations: Rose feeding the chooks; the windmill
behind the house; the garage housing an old car that looks like it hasn’t been
driven for years; Rose’s stockings down around her ankles, like my own
grandmother.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is notable that <i>John Brown, Rose and the
Midnight Cat</i> won Australia’s Picture Book of the Year award in 1978. The
judges were unanimous and described the book as having universal themes but
many distinctly Australian touches, and that it “comes as close to the perfect
picture book as Australia has yet produced”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of course, classics such as <i>Possum
Magic</i> and <i>Animalia</i> were yet to be published, but
in my opinion <i>John Brown, Rose and the Midnight Cat</i> holds
its own against anything that has come since.</span></span></div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-67946358842532431612017-04-06T19:47:00.002+10:002017-04-06T19:47:30.196+10:00Miffy by Dick Bruna<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYY9g3EQ5JS3JMGhdY86INHaD51gAtKVZ20CBMcoM4l3dKIl-4aIbw-vcMjAYCprzGIcdjzx4fpqxEL1tqYCvx-cyippSAQIQR9SlSjTPQOzs7d7woRqqwptXbYkBLwaF-Wf4ZXhR8RgU/s1600/bruna1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYY9g3EQ5JS3JMGhdY86INHaD51gAtKVZ20CBMcoM4l3dKIl-4aIbw-vcMjAYCprzGIcdjzx4fpqxEL1tqYCvx-cyippSAQIQR9SlSjTPQOzs7d7woRqqwptXbYkBLwaF-Wf4ZXhR8RgU/s1600/bruna1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Let’s play a little literary <i>Jeopardy</i>. I’ll give you an answer, you tell me the question. Okay,
here goes. The answer is: Anne Frank and Dick Bruna. Any ideas? “Who are two
people who have never been in my kitchen?” Technically true, like Cliff Clavin
of <i>Cheers </i><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=botdmsQilnU" target="_blank">was when he went on <i>Jeopardy</i></a>, but not the response I’m
after. The correct question is this: “Who are the two most translated authors
from the Dutch language?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dick Bruna and Anne Frank were of similar ages – he was
born in 1927, she in 1929 – and thus both were teenagers in the Netherlands
during the war. Everybody knows the story of the Franks; the Brunas also hid
out, though in their case to protect Dick’s father, a publisher, from
conscription into forced labour. It was during this time of hiding that Dick
began to draw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And he drew for more than 70 years. When he died in
February this year at the age of 89, his works had been translated into more
than 50 languages in 85 countries. His work was wide-ranging – even including <a href="https://au.pinterest.com/davedye/pipe-the-dick-bruna-maigret-covers/" target="_blank">a series of book covers</a> for Georges Simenon’s Inspector Maigret novels – but his most
famous creation was Miffy the rabbit.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Miffy is all about simplicity: uncomplicated lines, blocks
of colour, few words. As Dick Bruna once said: “If you put very few things on a
page, you leave lots of room for the imagination.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Had Miffy been translated under her Dutch name, Nijntje,
even more imagination would have been required. Like, imagining how the hell
“jntj” is a pronounceable letter combination. The name was derived from the
Dutch word “konijntje”, meaning “little bunny”. Fortunately she became Miffy in
the translated versions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If you thought Miffy was a Japanese creation, you’re not
alone. And she does bear some striking similarities to Hello Kitty, who is
indeed Japanese. But it should be noted that Hello Kitty was created nearly 20
years after Miffy. “That is a copy [of Miffy], I think,” Dick Bruna said <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/donotmigrate/3557810/Dick-Bruna-creator-of-the-Miffy-books-talks-about-his-life-and-work.html" target="_blank">in a 2008 interview</a>. “I don’t like that at all. I always think, ‘No, don’t do that.
Try to make something that you think of yourself’.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In fact, such are the similarities that when Hello Kitty
introduced a rabbit character named Cathy, Bruna’s representatives sued Sanrio,
the company behind Hello Kitty, for copyright infringement. Miffy won the
lawsuit, Hello Kitty appealed, and the case was eventually settled out of
court. But I love the idea of two of the world’s cutesiest characters in a Grisham-esque
legal showdown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Miffy was born in 1955; that, in fact, is the original
storyline. Mr Rabbit likes gardening and Mrs Rabbit cooks and cleans. She also
does the shopping – peas, beans and cabbages mostly, although “once she bought
a juicy pear, as a special treat”. These rabbits clearly know how to have fun,
though not too much, since Mrs Rabbit wants a baby but seems not to know how to
get one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One night there was a tap on the
window. Mrs Rabbit peeped through the curtains. Outside stood a little cherub.
“Your wish is granted,” it said. “A baby rabbit is on its way to you.” The
cherub flapped its wings and flew off into the sky. The rabbits were very
excited. The baby was born soon afterwards. They called her
Miffy.</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is the word of the Dick. Amen.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Or something like that. It’s peculiarly biblical, and
gives a strange new meaning to the phrase “breeding like rabbits”. Anyway, this
is the genesis of a series of 32 books and a franchise that evolved into
television and merchandise and Dick knows what else.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some of the stories, particularly those written as
rhymes, can be a little clunky when translated, but that is to be expected. The
drawings always remain simple, though it took a deceptive amount of skill for
Bruna to convey Miffy’s emotions with only two dots for eyes and an x for a
mouth. The simplicity was deliberate; in creating Miffy, Bruna was targeting
children, not parents.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And for that reason, in 1996 he decided to address what
was often a normal childhood experience: the death of a grandparent. The cover
of <i>Dear Grandma Bunny </i>shows Miffy <a href="https://www.miffy.com/books/dear-grandma-bunny" target="_blank">in front of a gravestone</a>, and the book deals in very straightforward terms with
the death of Miffy’s grandmother – open casket and all. After Miffy’s virgin
birth, death was treated more realistically.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Now, two decades later, Dick Bruna himself has died. Hendrik
Magdalenus Bruna, the man behind Nijntje, or Miffy. And the man with the finest
moustache in children’s literature. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaACnmS8F3tq8MFDprJV8MiVCl18rrcinn0yIRr0O4XMlpPcwAxE4y6VEGW_hC4zZ7x4M_8_IA4Hnym7u1RrIXzHNXlWvMbiLrGkQmg4nJcdhtK9FaaY_Gck9Ff3qRkXqH02cM7YUpiEQ/s1600/dick.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaACnmS8F3tq8MFDprJV8MiVCl18rrcinn0yIRr0O4XMlpPcwAxE4y6VEGW_hC4zZ7x4M_8_IA4Hnym7u1RrIXzHNXlWvMbiLrGkQmg4nJcdhtK9FaaY_Gck9Ff3qRkXqH02cM7YUpiEQ/s1600/dick.jpg" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-62555742633089509922017-03-24T21:27:00.002+11:002017-03-24T21:31:00.864+11:00Princess Smartypants by Babette Cole<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR5q93y3ftmZ14BLdLL4yWKoInh8X5YbivEin7A8VbNvuLz4-e4k5y9lAe44kBbisB4ROjt9eynsmySZEvbq1-OL4pzrSZtixjpz9VbFak0mwxbq9XvZ4z9dLltHvfpS-423sjcI94ds4/s1600/smarty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR5q93y3ftmZ14BLdLL4yWKoInh8X5YbivEin7A8VbNvuLz4-e4k5y9lAe44kBbisB4ROjt9eynsmySZEvbq1-OL4pzrSZtixjpz9VbFak0mwxbq9XvZ4z9dLltHvfpS-423sjcI94ds4/s1600/smarty.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">After Babette Cole died in January, <i>The Guardian</i> summed up her career rather well: “She created books
on the kinds of disgusting topics that children love and adults mostly do not,
and then, emboldened by their success, she went on to more controversial
subjects, partly because she liked to shock and partly because she felt she had
a duty to make sure children were properly informed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Her publisher summed her up even more succinctly: “She was
as mad as a box of frogs”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Her most famous book is probably <i>Princess Smartypants</i>, a reimagining of the traditional fairytale in
which the helpless princess is whisked off her feet by her prince charming. But
in Babette Cole’s version, the princess is a fiercely independent woman who is
pressured by her parents, the king and the queen, into finding a man. Her
attitude is clear from the first line of the book:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Princess Smartypants did not want to
get married. She enjoyed being a Ms.</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And so, to humour her parents, the princess sets various
seemingly impossible tasks for her suitors. One by one they fail, until the
princess is left alone in her castle to carry on happily on her own. But then
Prince Swashubuckle turns up, unexpectedly completes all her various
challenges, and thinks he has won her heart. Instead, her kiss turns him into a
warty toad and the princess lives happily ever after. Prince Swashbuckle
presumably gets turned off women forever – human ones, at least.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not much about <i>Princess
Smartypants </i>is subtle. It does not have a feminist undertone, rather a
feminist monotone. The main character is spoilt, selfish and mean. Poor Prince
Swashbuckle was only trying to be kind, and she turned him into a toad. And yet,
is any of that a problem? Probably not. Sometimes a good bashing over the head is
necessary to get the message across.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is worth noting that this book was written in 1986; 25
years later Australia had a female prime minister who was castigated for being
“deliberately barren”, and a further five years down the track the USA has a
president who says of women “grab them by the pussy”. So, yeah, still a fair
way to go on the whole equality thing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">What is most fascinating – though not surprising – is the
way that much of Babette Cole’s work divides opinion. A sample of Goodreads reader
reviews of <i>Princess Smartypants </i>gives
you the idea:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background: white;">"Not only is it funny and cute, it teaches children that no matter what, they d</span>on't
have to compromise their boundaries and they don't have to conform to society's
expectations." (From a 5-star review)</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"From the lowbrow names of "Prince Pelvis,
Swimbladder, Boneshaker, Grovel etc. and the overall disrespectful,
non-familial attitudes to the man-hating, lying, deal breaking princess this
book was feminist rubbish from top to bottom.<span class="apple-converted-space">"
(From a 1-star review)<o:p></o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"...great sense of humor and a beautiful message about being
yourself and standing up for what you believe is right.<span class="apple-converted-space">" (From a 5-star revew)<o:p></o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"This book seems to be telling girls that they would be
better off without a husband and family. Definitely not the message I want to
share with my little girls." (From a 1-star review).</span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And this from a more measured 3-star review:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Books like
this and the <i>Paper Bag Princess</i> seem
to reinforce the idea that, in order to be a feminist and be independent, (1)
you have to be mean to men, because they are bad, and (2) you have to be alone.
It seems the implication is that if the character did get married or even have
male friends, she would automatically give up all her independence and become a
mindless cooking-and-cleaning drone (or a mindless gown-wearing ball-attending
drone).<span class="apple-converted-space">"<o:p></o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I should point out that
all of these reviews were written by (or, at least, appear to have been written
by) women. But if good art polarises opinion, the same is often true of
good literature – and why not children’s literature, too?<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Several of her other
books similarly divide opinion, including <i>Hair
in Funny Places</i>, which deals with puberty, and <i>Mummy Laid an Egg</i>, a book about the facts of life that features
graphic illustrations of various adventurous sexual positions. Her work often
dealt with serious issues in an absurd manner, and her cartoonish pictures only
add to the effect.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One last note on Babette Cole, unrelated to this book.
Although she was only 67 when she died in January, she was lucky to have lived
that long. Two years ago she was nearly killed when she was trampled by a herd
of cows. She suffered broken ribs, a fractured shoulder blade and lacerations
all over her body. Her left ear was left hanging off and had to be stitched
back on by a cosmetic surgeon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But her final word in the aftermath of the ordeal rather summed up her ability to shock. How would she deal with cows now? "I'm going to eat a lot more steak!" she said.</span></div>
</div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-2349532621312037942017-01-22T13:19:00.000+11:002017-01-22T13:19:28.041+11:00Grug Plays Cricket by Ted Prior<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhion67gpHuFpI_y1ICSQdwicSpiQTTXL3OnjLiUjvNRYXgVMZngX6dKL4NqYPb61ToNQ2yGk4WeuNmC5zLw6D7CqshPgKSYyxwwMxi0GBagq3yhoOyZh6Xp0pZh12IDy2I40WYTtdZ1h8/s1600/grugcricket.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhion67gpHuFpI_y1ICSQdwicSpiQTTXL3OnjLiUjvNRYXgVMZngX6dKL4NqYPb61ToNQ2yGk4WeuNmC5zLw6D7CqshPgKSYyxwwMxi0GBagq3yhoOyZh6Xp0pZh12IDy2I40WYTtdZ1h8/s320/grugcricket.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><b><i>Grug</i></b> <i>2 for 0 (Grug 0, Cara
2-0) tied with <b>Cara</b> 2 for 0 (Cara 0, Grug 2-0)</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not since the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/sport/blog/2011/nov/28/cricket-one-leg-arm-sport-network" target="_blank">One-Legged XI played the One-Armed XI</a> in England
in 1848 has cricket seen anything remotely like this. On a green pitch
indistinguishable from the outfield, a snake named Cara, overcoming the significant
obstacle of having no arms and no legs, held Grug to a remarkable scoreless tie
that left the cricket world stunned.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As the host, and thus most familiar with the conditions, it
was a humiliating result for Grug, who had invited Cara to play expecting an
easy win. But over the previous few years Grug had spent his time cycling,
s</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">wimming, gardening, painting, and engaging in all sorts of other irrelevant activities that that left him ill-prepared for a major cricket match.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Although
nobody really knows what Grug is, he indisputably has two arms and two legs,
and thus a natural advantage over Cara. It is not out of the question that anti-corruption authorities could
inspect the betting markets around this match, but the likelihood is that Grug
simply succumbed to hubris.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Sending Cara in to bat, Grug began with a delivery that beat
Cara’s paltry defences and rattled the middle and leg stumps. Cara had batted
with a grip rarely seen in elite cricket, holding the bat in her mouth, but she
made a game swing at the ball, and in fact looked more likely to score than former New Zealand No.11 <a href="http://www.espncricinfo.com/newzealand/content/player/37700.html" target="_blank">Chris Martin</a>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHvslVPhl5K7IMLAf4zKrbzF19Zy14UV0Amrl-VrnM487wYBOOSOkPagzeMcP91W3WQmI6P9dttdLj5iun1IfBPWmQ63EAi90psrnoPUN2vw8756xrJ4GgcKIt1h06PUX607ooVQ_V8U/s1600/grugcara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUHvslVPhl5K7IMLAf4zKrbzF19Zy14UV0Amrl-VrnM487wYBOOSOkPagzeMcP91W3WQmI6P9dttdLj5iun1IfBPWmQ63EAi90psrnoPUN2vw8756xrJ4GgcKIt1h06PUX607ooVQ_V8U/s320/grugcara.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cara was more at ease when bowling. Gripping the ball
under her chin (do snakes have chins?) she formed herself into an imposing S
shape and then flung the ball down the pitch. Her unconventional action may have looked suspect but was in fact perfectly legal; the ICC bans "chuckers" whose elbow extension exceeds 15 degrees. Cara's complete lack of elbows made the rule redundant.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cara resembled nothing so much as former speedster <a href="http://www.espncricinfo.com/australia/content/player/7946.html" target="_blank">Jeff Thomson</a>, rolling up and
going "whang", and </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Grug, who had spent far too little time in the nets ahead
of this game, was slow to react. In the words of commentator Ted Prior: "Grug
swung the bat and missed. The ball hit him on the nose!" It was an apt description, and typical of Prior's concise commentary style.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Though shaken by the incident, Grug passed the mandatory
concussion tests and batted on, driving the next delivery hard and straight
back towards the bowler. Cara showed her remarkable reflexes by catching the
ball in her mouth, which brought back memories of Shahid Afridi <a href="http://www.espncricinfo.com/ausvpak09/content/story/446437.html" target="_blank">chewing on a ball</a> during a one-day international.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It meant that neither Cara nor Grug had scored in their
first innings, and Cara was soon to complete an ignominious king
pair when she again swung hard but lost her middle stump. This left her needing
to once again dismiss Grug without scoring in order to emerge from the match with
a tie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Things looked grim for Cara when Grug smashed the next
delivery high into the air through the region of extra cover, which appeared to
be vacant, but a pelican unexpectedly flew past at an opportune moment and Grug
was caught. Not since Gary Pratt ran out Ricky Ponting in the 2005 Ashes had a substitute fielder had a more significant impact.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The match had been tied, and although both players finished the game with smiles on
their faces, it was easy to see through Grug’s façade.
Indeed, Grug failed to appear at the post-match press conference, and is
believed to be considering immediate retirement from the game. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-64464149325563093702016-12-24T16:27:00.001+11:002016-12-24T16:27:51.632+11:00Mog's Christmas by Judith Kerr<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I admire Judith Kerr’s realism. This may seem a strange
thing to say of the woman who in 1968 wrote <i>The
Tiger Who Came to Tea</i>, in which a tiger rings the doorbell, is invited
inside by a young girl and her mother, eats all the food, drinks all the beer
and leaves, and then father comes home from work, sees the destruction and cheerily says no worries girls, let’s just go out for dinner. I guess even
children’s books were on hallucinogens in the late ’60s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But when it comes to domestic cats, Judith Kerr knows her stuff. Mog is stupid,
forgetful, lazy, easily frightened, and selfish. Let me run through that checklist with our cat, Ruby. Tick, tick, tick, tick, tick. Mog is so
realistic it’s a wonder we never see her licking her anus. Mog
even dies in the final book in the series, written 22 years after the first – despite
her flaws, I hope we have that long with Ruby.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And so this festive season, what better book for DadReads
than <i>Mog’s Christmas</i>? When I was a
kid, <i>Mog’s Christmas </i>was a fixture of
the holiday season. It wasn’t my favourite Christmas book – that was <i>Lucy and Tom’s Christmas </i>by Shirley Hughes.
Maybe I related to it less because we didn’t have a pet cat. But I still
enjoyed it. Now, as a cat owner, <i>Mog’s
Christmas </i>resonates.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s nearly Christmas in the Thomas household, and
everybody is busy:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mog doesn’t like strangers visiting, so she hides
outside. Ruby doesn’t like strangers visiting; she usually squeezes herself
under the coffee table and waits until the coast is clear. In fact, Ruby doesn’t like <i>anyone </i>getting right up in her face. As well as a cat owner, I’m a
baby owner, and Heidi enjoyed <i>Mog’s
Christmas</i> so much that she tried to “read” it to Ruby by shoving it in
front of her face. Good intentions, but Ruby scarpered.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Suddenly she woke up. She saw
something. It was a tree. It was a tree walking. Mog thought, “Trees don’t
walk. Trees should stay in one place. Once trees start walking about anything
might happen.” She ran up the side of the house in case the tree should come
and get her. “Come down,” shouted the tree. “Come down, Mog!” “First it walks,”
thought Mog, “and now it’s shouting at me. I do not like that tree at
all.</span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">”</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mog thinks that the Christmas tree is walking because Mr
Thomas is carrying it towards the house. Are cats that stupid? The first Christmas we had Ruby, she
was exactly the same when I brought our Christmas tree inside. She ran away and
hid. But then she got used to the tree and spent the next month eating pine
needles and throwing them back up. Spiky? Yes. Indigestible? Yes. But damn they
taste good. I guess anything would, compared to her own anus.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To be fair to Ruby, Heidi also had Christmas tree "issues". When we collected it from the local Rotary
Club a few weeks ago and shoved it in the car, Heidi was a blubbering mess. Mog
only had to see a tree walking. Heidi had to share the back seat of the car
with one. She didn’t handle it well. If trees shouldn't walk, they <i>definitely </i>shouldn't go cruising in a Volkswagen Polo.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, Mog retreats to the roof. It starts snowing, but
Mog is stubborn, and won’t come down. She goes to sleep on top of the chimney
and then as the snow melts underneath her, she plummets down through the soot and
lands in the fireplace. Her timing is fortuitous; one page earlier, Mrs Thomas
was stacking logs in the fireplace, preparing to light them. It was nearly roast cat for Christmas dinner.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When Mog lands in the living room, one of the senile aunts
cries “It’s Father Christmas!” “No, dear,” says the other aunt. “Father
Christmas does not have a tail.” This, I think, is evidence that the aunts are
blood relatives of Mrs Thomas, who displayed a tenuous grasp on reality in <i>Mog and the Baby</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All’s well that ends well, and <i>Mog’s Christmas </i>finishes with everyone standing around the
Christmas tree unwrapping presents. At least, I hope that’s what’s happening,
because one of the senile aunts is holding a pair of pantyhose. If she hasn’t
just unwrapped them, she’s taken them off, and the daft smile on her face makes
me wonder which it is.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Mog’s creator Judith Kerr, now 93, has had an interesting
life. Her father Alfred Kempner (he later changed his name to Kerr) was a
well-known German theatre critic nicknamed the Kulturpapst, or “Culture Pope”.
Judith was born of Jewish origin in Germany in 1923, not an ideal time to be
born of Jewish origin in Germany, and the family moved to Britain when she was
10.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As of last year, she was still publishing new works – <i>Mog’s Christmas Calamity </i>was the latest. I haven’t read it, but maybe the calamity was that the Thomases only just realised Mog had been dead for 13 years. Given Mrs Thomas’
absent-mindedness – in <i>Mog and the Baby </i>she
<span id="goog_761502238"></span><span id="goog_761502239"></span><a href="http://dadreads.blogspot.com.au/2016/05/mog-and-baby-by-judith-kerr.html" target="_blank">lets a neighbour’s child escape</a> the house and run into oncoming traffic – this would
not be a surprise. If you told me Mrs Thomas had been feeding Mog’s corpse
since 2002, I’d believe you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">On that bright note, Merry Christmas from DadReads.</span></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-65550916151049473592016-11-15T21:33:00.000+11:002016-11-15T21:33:11.761+11:00Roger Hargreaves predicts the US presidents<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The 43rd book in the Mr Men series was <i>Mr Cheerful</i>. The 43rd US president was that grinning idiot
George W Bush.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The 44th book in the Mr
Men series was <i>Mr Cool</i>. The 44th US president is Barack Obama.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The 45th book in the Mr
Men<i> </i>series was <i>Mr Rude</i>. The 45th US president will be Donald Trump.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Look at this sequence and tell me the late Roger Hargreaves wasn't Nostradamus. (Well,
along with his son Adam, who now writes the series). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mr Rude is a weird shade of orangey-red. He insults everyone.
He has a doormat, but has crossed out the word “WELCOME” and scribbled “GO AWAY”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If he met someone overweight he would shout, “Fatty! You’re
supposed to take the food out of the fridge, not eat the fridge as well!"</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The good news is that by the end of the story, Mr Rude’s
rage has eased, and Mr Happy has taught him manners. (<i>Mr Happy</i> is 3rd in
the Mr Men series, so maybe Trump
needs to spend some time at the Thomas Jefferson Memorial).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The even better news is that the 46th book in the Mr Men series is <i>Mr Good</i>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">So, Bernie Sanders for 2020?</span></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-1593838906398540282016-11-07T23:25:00.000+11:002016-11-07T23:25:00.003+11:00Mister Dog by Margaret Wise Brown<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I wonder how Margaret Wise Brown pitched this story to
the Little Golden Book people?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Well, Miss Brown, we liked <i>The Color Kittens </i>and<i> The
Seven Little Postmen</i>. What have you got for us this time?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“I’ve decided to take my next book in a slightly
different direction. Picture this. A hairy, Republican nudist – no, it’s okay,
stay with me – convinces a little homeless boy to come and sleep with him. It
has a wonderful moral.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Perhaps not. Nevertheless, that’s more or less what
happens in <i>Mister Dog</i>, surely one of
the most peculiar picture story books in existence. It begins with a
depressed-looking mutt pouring milk on his cornflakes, dressing-gown gaping
open at the front. Why go to the trouble of wearing a dressing-gown and slippers in the
morning when you leave the house in the nude? And is that a bone in your pocket
or are you just happy to see us? Oh. Oh, it literally is a bone in your pocket.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He certainly doesn’t look happy to see us. In fact, he
looks like the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Either that or he’s had
a massive night and needs hair of the dog rather than cereal and strawberries. Check
out the front cover at the top of the page. Look at his eyes. Has Mister Dog has
seen disturbing things that he cannot unsee? Or is that something stronger than
tobacco in his corncob pipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The dog’s name is Crispin’s Crispian. We are told that
“he was named Crispin’s Crispian because he belonged to himself”. Okay, so he
answers to nobody. An admirable sentiment. But then, if his name is Crispin,
why is he called Crispin’s Crispian? Why not Crispin’s Crispin? Where did the
“a” come from? And if his name is Crispian, why is he not Crispian’s Crispian? He
probably dreamed it up after a session on that pipe.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But the best part is when we are told that Mister Dog is "a <i>conservative</i>". That is a direct quote. And note the italics. It
is a word that Margaret Wise Brown wishes to define. “He liked everything at
the right time – dinner at dinner time, lunch at lunchtime, breakfast in time
for breakfast, and sunrise at sunrise, and sunset at sunset. And at bedtime he
liked everything in its own place – the cup in the saucer, the chair under the
table, the stars in the heavens, the moon in the sky, and himself in his own
little bed.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yeah, you gotta watch those damn liberals, they’ll move
sunset to the morning just to keep the unions happy. It’ll be a two-hour
working day. Only Eisenhower will keep the stars in the heavens and the moon in
the sky. A vote for Adlai Stevenson is a vote for chaos. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Still, it’s a rather quaint 1952 view of conservatism. What
might the 2016 version say?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Crispin’s Crispian was a <i>conservative</i>. And not a pathetic thumb-sucking moderate. A proper Tea
Party-loving, Trump-voting, gun-toting far right conservative. He liked everything
at the right time, which was whenever he damn well wanted. He liked everything
in its own place – the cup in the saucer, the chair under the table, and the
Mexicans in Mexico, south of the wall.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Margaret Wise Brown died the same year this was
published, and I can’t decide if she was an eccentric genius or a nut-job. She
is best known for <i>Goodnight Moon</i>,
<a href="https://dadreads.blogspot.com.au/2016/06/goodnight-moon-by-margaret-wise-brown.html" target="_blank">which was haunting and strange</a>, but <i>Mister
Dog</i> is at least a little warmer, thanks to Garth Williams’ fun
illustrations. Williams was probably best known for illustrating the classic
versions of <i>Charlotte’s Web </i>and the <i>Little House on the Prairie </i>series. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Yet for all the peculiarities (and there are a LOT of
them), <i>Mister Dog</i> has a very valid
message. Its subtitle is “The Dog Who Belonged to Himself”. He answers to no
human family and asks nothing of the state. He is clearly a classic conservative
lover of small government.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One day, Mister Dog meets a little boy who is fishing in a
stream. “Who and what are you?” Mister Dog asks. The boy replies: “I am a boy,
and I belong to myself”. Note that the boy does not introduce himself by name
but as “a boy”. Yet another oddity. Mister Dog is glad, and invites the boy to
come and live with him. The boy agrees, with an alarming lack of due diligence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then they went to a butcher shop – "to get his poor dog
a bone," Crispian said. Now, since Crispin’s Crispian belonged to himself, he
gave himself the bone and trotted home with it.</span></blockquote>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Note the direct quote. Why would Mister Dog say he wanted
“to get <i>his</i> poor dog a bone”? He
should say “to get <i>my </i>poor dog a
bone”. Who edited this stuff? Anyway, then the little boy prances off happily
with Crispin/Crispian, blissfully unaware that soon he will be tidying a dog’s living
room. They make dinner at Mister Dog’s house and each of them, in Brown’s words
“chewed it up and swallowed it into his little fat stomach”. Then boy and dog
sleep in side-by-side beds. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The moral of this story is clear:
your life is your own, and don’t let anyone else rule it. Mister Dog belongs to
himself. The boy belongs to himself. They both act on free will. If the boy can
be easily convinced to come and do chores then, hey, that’s just Mister Dog’s
good fortune.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">For all of Margaret Wise Brown’s oddities, I think she knew how to tap into the brain of a child. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">The word “belong” resonated with me. As a child, I heard
it often. I “belonged” to my parents and my friends “belonged” to theirs. “Who
does such-and-such belong to?” adults would ask each other. This never sat well
with me, for I felt that nobody owned me. This is the child-like mindset Brown
exploits (and which Mister Dog then exploits with the little boy).</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But Brown also implies that you’ll be happier if you let
people into your life. Look how despondent Mister Dog appeared when preparing
his breakfast cereal, back before he had met the boy. And look at how happy he
was afterwards. You can be yourself and belong to yourself without having to
keep to yourself.</span><br />
<i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></i>
<i style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Mister Dog</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue", arial, helvetica, sans-serif;"> is
strange, confusing, disturbing, and utterly unique. And I love it. If I was
American and Crispin’s Crispian was on the presidential ticket this year, I’d
vote conservative. He wouldn’t build a wall to keep the Mexicans out. Although
there is a fence around his house and a sign that says “NO CATS”, so I guess you
never know.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-14055065177885934312016-10-04T13:43:00.002+11:002016-10-04T13:43:45.996+11:00Pigs in blankets, a la Richard Scarry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2SraceCkS2KxWsbEJNpVendFcbMhwzcLL84m9AXv-JpRuJuuyqq8G70TojS_R48tU92JkjpkORAS2Ysb6ytnUejUnzFuQnFMnyfFG3nl8dmFetBhnrZ97nIgCqh9M8__rZEiK00P8-0/s1600/bacon.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-2SraceCkS2KxWsbEJNpVendFcbMhwzcLL84m9AXv-JpRuJuuyqq8G70TojS_R48tU92JkjpkORAS2Ysb6ytnUejUnzFuQnFMnyfFG3nl8dmFetBhnrZ97nIgCqh9M8__rZEiK00P8-0/s640/bacon.png" width="480" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The other day I was flicking through Richard Scarry's <i>Busiest Fire Fighters Ever</i>, a Little Golden Book from the early 90s.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And I noticed that these frightened looking pigs seem to be under attack from giant pieces of bacon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And one of the pigs is named Smokey.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And, worryingly, that looks like a frying pan next to the bed in the foreground.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yep, alarm bells should be ringing at this fire station all right.</span></div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-32405566030281375632016-09-15T19:43:00.000+10:002016-09-15T19:43:08.265+10:00Dear Zoo by Rod Campbell<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In primary school we had books called <i>Free Stuff for Kids</i>, that listed heaps of things we could send away for in the
post. You could get stickers, posters, stuff like that. I definitely <u>do not</u>
recall an option to send away to the zoo for a pet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It seems an irresponsible and expensive concept. You’d
need a shitload of stamps to post an elephant to a kid. But that’s the basis of <i>Dear Zoo</i>, the classic lift-the-flap book by Scottish author
and illustrator Rod Campbell.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“I wrote to the zoo to send me a pet,” a kid writes on
the first page. If I was the zookeeper I’d have thought: “What’s the wee bairn
havering aboot?” I assume that’s how Scottish people talk. Then I’d have
written to young Angus or Morag or whoever and explained that zoo animals need
special care and attention and are not appropriate as family pets.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Instead, this zoo sends the kid an elephant, which is
about as responsible as putting Donald Trump in charge of the nuclear codes. And like Trump the kid
is a whining jackass, complains that the
elephant is too big, and sends it back. They send a giraffe. It’s too tall, the
kid says, and sends it back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Reading between the lines, I suspect the zookeeper becomes annoyed at this point. The kid gets sent a lion, and then a
snake. What sort of zookeeper thinks these are appropriate pets for a child? A
pissed-off zookeeper who wants to teach the ungrateful little shit a lesson,
perhaps.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But the kid is not to be deterred, and keeps returning
the animals until the zoo sends a cute puppy dog. “He was perfect! I kept him,”
the kid says. What sort of puppies does a zoo keep? It'll probably grow up to be a wolf or a dingo or something. Next time write to the Lost Dogs’
Home, kid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Dear Zoo</i> is a classic that was first published
in 1982. It’s cute, simple and interactive – Heidi loves lifting the flaps to
see what animal is underneath. And for all my facetiousness, I think it’s a lot
of fun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’m just not sure about the moral of the story, which
appears to be “keep whingeing until you get what you want”. Thanks, Rod. As if
kids need any encouragement with that.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-11891463933696888142016-09-04T20:43:00.001+10:002016-09-04T20:43:39.987+10:00The Bunyip of Berkeley's Creek by Jenny Wagner and Ron Brooks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You can thank nostalgia for my choice of book this time. It
is an Australian classic, though not one I recall from my childhood. My
nostalgia was not for <i>The Bunyip of
Berkeley’s Creek</i>, but for another Australian icon: <i>Play School</i>. The show is celebrating its 50th anniversary this
year. What memories: John Hamblin, Benita Collings, Noni Hazelhurst, Don
Spencer, John Waters. My favourite was Alister Smart, a moustachioed Aussie
bloke who reminded me of my Dad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don’t know what five-year-old me would have made of Tim
Minchin. We didn’t get many men who looked like him in a dairy-farming town in
the 1980s. Then again, I was obsessed with Carlton and he has long hair like
Tommy Alvin and the beard of Robert Walls, so I’d probably have liked him. What
I can say with certainty is that Heidi and I enjoyed having Tim read us <i>The Bunyip of Berkeley’s Creek </i>on <i>Play School Celebrity Covers</i> recently.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Just a few weeks earlier I had read the story to Heidi,
and found myself rather indifferent to it. I got the message, but felt detached
from it. But sometimes it’s in the way you tell them, and Tim told it perfectly:
a little brooding, a lot of empathy, a certain amount of gravitas. That is one
of the delights of <i>Play School</i>’s
story time: every storyteller has their own unique style. <i>The Bunyip of Berkeley’s Creek</i> is a story of self-discovery, of not
being confined by the perceptions of others. In other words, perfect for Tim
Minchin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To summarise: a creature emerges from the black mud of a
creek. As it scrapes off the mud it asks itself: “What am I?” As quick as Cary
Young buzzing in to answer the same question of Tony Barber, a platypus answers:
“You are a bunyip”. The bunyip goes around asking other animals what he looks
like. “Horrible,” says a wallaby. “Horrible,” says an emu.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The bunyip finds a man, a scientist of sorts, who tells
him that bunyips don’t look like anything because bunyips simply don’t exist. At
first the man doesn’t even look up from his notebook, where a bunyip is existing
right there in front of him. But like a typical stubborn human being, the man
knows what he knows, and won’t be told otherwise.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But the bunyip remains cheerfully optimistic. He goes off
someplace quiet where he can be as handsome as he likes, on his own, away from those
who will only bring him down. He looks at himself with a little mirror – an obvious
metaphor for finding oneself instead of relying on the opinions of others – and
seems happy enough. He’s even happier when a lady bunyip emerges from the swamp,
and he shares his mirror with her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Though it wasn’t familiar to me, <i>The Bunyip of Berkeley’s Creek </i>was a collaboration between the same
author and illustrator who created one of my childhood favourites: <i>John Brown, Rose and the Midnight Cat</i>. Author
Jenny Wagner wrote the story, with all its existential angst, and illustrator Ron
Brooks added his earthy style, creating an atmosphere distinctly Australian but
not clichéd. As a result, the book feels timeless.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And yet it was very much of a time. Published in 1973, <i>Bunyip </i>came out shortly after the
progressive Gough Whitlam was elected Australia’s new prime minister, ending 23
years of conservative rule. The bunyip’s “What am I?” refrain struck a chord
with Brooks, who sensed the entire country collectively asking a similar
question. As a result, the tall and imposing Whitlam was one of the models
Brooks used to design his bunyip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The other was a fascinating individual named Haworth
Bartram. You’re unlikely to have heard of Haworth Bartram, so let me fill you
in. His name was familiar to me from researching an upcoming blog entry on a
curious Australian book called <i>Monty Mouse Looks for
Adventure</i>. What makes it so peculiar is that the illustrations are
not drawings but photographs – photographs of a taxidermied mouse posed in
various ways to fit the story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Haworth Bartram was the photographer. Not only that, he
was the publisher. A very wealthy former importer who never married and lived
with his elderly mother in Heidelberg, Bartram was a keen photographer who
believed that illustrating books with drawings was old-fashioned, and photos
were the way of the future. So he started a photography studio/publishing
company called Childerset, more or less to produce his own work.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And Jenny Wagner worked for him as project director. So
when Wagner wrote <i>The Bunyip of Berkeley’s Creek</i> and took it
to Bartram, he realised photographs wouldn’t work. Bunyips, despite the message
of Wagner’s text, do not exist. So Brooks was brought in, but struggled at
first to work out how his bunyip should look. Eventually he modelled it on
Bartram. And here is how Brooks, in his fascinating memoir <i>Drawn from
the Heart</i>, described Bartram:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Well over six feet tall, with a large
equatorial circumference, he resembled nothing so much as a balloon, one of
those pear-shaped water balloons you drop from the verandah roof onto some
unsuspecting little brother or sister ... Not much neck to speak of ... And
because he had no waist, he wore braces – over the shoulders, crossed at the
back and clipped to his pants to hold them up.</span></blockquote>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Haworth Bartram sounds like a very odd individual indeed –
Brooks describes the way he rarely saw Bartram consume anything other than
Arnott’s Scotch Finger biscuits and bottles of orange Fanta. And much as I
would like to see a photo of him, the only one I can find online is a <a href="http://trove.nla.gov.au/newspaper/article/147415934?searchTerm=%22Haworth%20bartram%22&searchLimits=" target="_blank">grainy digitised newspaper picture</a> </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">of him as a young boy. Further googling reveals
that he died in 1985 at the age of 62.</span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But Brooks’ description of him sounds very much like the
bunyip star of our book – although because Brooks was nervous about making his
bunyip <i>too much</i> like Bartram, he threw in a little bit of
Whitlam as well. In any case, the end result was a character that has charmed
generations of Australian children.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As an illustrator, Brooks certainly has a characteristic
style, featuring lots of cross-hatching and linework to create the appearance
of texture. And as an author, Wagner too is distinctive, dealing with questions
of existence, identity and prejudice, and layering her work with symbolism that
adults might understand, while children will just enjoy a good story.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Symbolism features heavily in <i>John Brown, Rose
and the Midnight Cat</i>, which will also appear on DadReads in the future.
It remains a childhood favourite of mine – like <i>Play School</i>.
For me, <i>The Bunyip of Berkeley’s Creek</i> is in a different
category, but I can understand why those who read it as children may love it. And
I’m prepared to have it on medium rotation for Heidi’s story time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A personal post-script to finish: my mother-in-law (Heidi’s
grandmother Margaret) knew Ron Brooks back in the 1970s, when they lived near
each other in Warrandyte in Melbourne’s outer north-east. Margaret was a Prep
teacher at Warrandyte Primary School and had in her class Ron’s step-daughter Miche;
Ron would often come in for story-time with the children. Here is the inscription
from a copy of </span><i style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Bunyip of Berkeley’s Creek</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> gifted to
Margaret by Ron, 41 years ago.</span></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-32595814617731921832016-07-24T19:22:00.000+10:002016-07-24T19:27:41.989+10:00Isn't Pig Won't Naughty? by Richard Scarry<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8i1hpiJ7d-_bRGEwLHm24oY5q0-sPyCCBvdDbzi6klqr2CZgcfKMdAq_pzG7it4-9AIWY-gR9JYF7ZO1yzYfiQRklNJXf_lc1ZPJ8M3ECJ74zHynq10lbUbHG0MHkPdd4DYVSkMqcSw/s1600/pigwont.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu8i1hpiJ7d-_bRGEwLHm24oY5q0-sPyCCBvdDbzi6klqr2CZgcfKMdAq_pzG7it4-9AIWY-gR9JYF7ZO1yzYfiQRklNJXf_lc1ZPJ8M3ECJ74zHynq10lbUbHG0MHkPdd4DYVSkMqcSw/s200/pigwont.jpg" width="195" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My brain hurts.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Isn’t Pig Won’t
Naughty</i>?
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How can I answer when I don't even understand the question.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Last time I saw contractions this close together, Heidi was about to
pop out.
</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I know the words, but together they make about as much
sense as a bad translation. Or the phrase “humorous Adam Sandler movie”.
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I feel as bewildered as the Springfield Elementary
students when Principal Skinner tells them to “stand down”<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">.</span> </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">
</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBABlUABU6coDwuZDKlljn874WfIti0j-rCZtFy-QgWzepD-qcEXISYu0b35h7XSH9GyKd5NJxjOb4mrz38yoAV96ShODwazQDEjLbnlmFGukC99rG7BK5Q9CSt9rophwyga1HBBWVaBg/s1600/simgif.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBABlUABU6coDwuZDKlljn874WfIti0j-rCZtFy-QgWzepD-qcEXISYu0b35h7XSH9GyKd5NJxjOb4mrz38yoAV96ShODwazQDEjLbnlmFGukC99rG7BK5Q9CSt9rophwyga1HBBWVaBg/s200/simgif.gif" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Isn’t Pig Won’t
Naughty</i>?
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">To be fair to one of the most beloved names in children’s
picture books, this was not actually written by Richard Scarry. Or else it was
a hell of an achievement, because he’d been dead for 16 years when it was
published in 2010. I'll have t<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">o<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"> do Scarry justi<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">ce and review an or<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">iginal at some point</span></span></span></span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">.</span></span></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The Richard Scarry Corporation produced this<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">,</span> one in a
set of board books designed for real littlies like Heidi. She loves to sit and
turn the pages and although she’s getting strong, she can’t possibly rip them. So
there’s that to be said for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Isn’t Pig Won’t
Naughty?</i>
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And there is also this: the ti<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">tle</span> got me to read
the book. (Oh yeah, and, um, Heidi too). I had to work out what the hell was
going on.
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It turns out it’s the story of two brothers named Pig
Will and Pig Won’t. Why don’t they share a surname? I dunno, I guess they’re
like Charlie Sheen and Emilio Estevez.
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Pig Will is the good brother, like Emilio, and says "I will" to everything his
parents ask, including putting on a hat when he plays in the snow. Pig Won’t is
a bit of a dick and says <span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"I won't" to everything</span>, and ends up with white powder all over his face
and nose. Like Charlie.
</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As a result, he catches a cold and learns his lesson. So, in
the end ...</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Though it<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">'</span>s Pig Won't's wont to say "won't" and Pig Will's will to say "will", Pig Won't says he won't say "won't" anymore. Like Pig
Will, Pig Won’t will say “will”, and won't say “won’t”. Pig Will will will Pig Won't on,
but then Pig Won't won't be Pig Won’t anymore, will he? He’ll be Pig
Will too, won't he? Pig Won't will just need to be willing, or else he won't succeed, will he?</span>
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Next time I think I’ll choose something easier to understand.
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ulysses</i>, maybe.
</span></span></div>
</div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-72286995039604886172016-07-18T17:33:00.000+10:002016-07-18T17:33:05.808+10:00Animalia by Graeme Base<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgngsXCdJKMtq0QDDbsRZK7JXR1yWKcNnnMGDINjPjOnx_9H_ANIZLI5D7T-CvGpSxA_iCwPlZUx6rRjsiI_ffj4po8KwqJ9b2W8J-06hFiloG6zVN5G5SWDM8tZmEVRET6r6cTCPLhLHs/s1600/AnimaliaBase.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgngsXCdJKMtq0QDDbsRZK7JXR1yWKcNnnMGDINjPjOnx_9H_ANIZLI5D7T-CvGpSxA_iCwPlZUx6rRjsiI_ffj4po8KwqJ9b2W8J-06hFiloG6zVN5G5SWDM8tZmEVRET6r6cTCPLhLHs/s320/AnimaliaBase.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I always knew Graeme Base was good, but it was a touch of
divine inspiration that really made me praise him. Tucked away
in the bottom right corner of <i>Animalia</i>’s
D page, just below a dachshund, you can see the corner of a piece of paper.
Most of it runs off the page, but you can read “1 Thou shalt have no”. Clearly
it’s the beginning of the Ten Commandments. Why is it on the D page? Because
the Ten Commandments are also known as the Decalogue.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Disappointed as I was that baby Heidi failed to appreciate
this nuance – she didn’t seem to pick the dodecahedron either, but then <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OPO3IjwCCTY" target="_blank">Maggie Simpson struggled with that one too</a> – I had to admire Graeme Base. It is so
rare to find a picture book that has something for everyone, but he achieves it.
On that page alone, little kids can point to a dog or a dragon, older children
can pick out dynamite or Doctor Who, and adults can feel smug at identifying
the hard stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Like the Decalogue. Or the crab (decapod, get it?). Or
the inscription of 6th June, 1944 (D-Day, you with me?). Or the framed picture
of a man looking nervously up at a sword hovering above his head. Alphabet
books are a dime a dozen – hey, this D game is easy – but usually this page would
feature a dog or a duck, or another dull cliché. But a depiction of Damocles in
an alphabet book for kids? Now you’ve got my vote.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I shouldn’t have been surprised. As a kid, I spent hour
upon hour poring over another Base classic, <i>The
Eleventh Hour</i>. Even after I knew whodunit I was still searching for the rest
of the hidden clues that pointed to the culprit who ate all the food for Horace
the Elephant’s birthday party. It’s possible that Graeme Base contributed more
to my lifelong love of crime and mystery novels than any other author. He
himself was inspired by Agatha Christie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>The Eleventh Hour </i>was
full of puzzles, codes, hints, riddles, poetry and games, all wrapped up in the
guise of a children’s book. And there was even a cricket match. What was not to
love? Most of all, it was a work of art, like all of Graeme Base’s books. To
call him merely an author is a bit like calling Paul McCartney just a singer. True, his words brilliantly add to
the atmosphere, but his trademarks are those rich, dense, colourful
illustrations. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So much time goes into them. Years, in some cases. In
fact, you know what else he could have drawn on <i>Animalia</i>’s D page? Daniel Day-Lewis, an artist of similarly complete
immersion. Typically, several years pass between Daniel Day-Lewis roles,
because he chooses carefully and researches thoroughly. That’s how I think of
Graeme Base. He might only release one book every three or four years, but it
will always be quality. (Enid Blyton spat out 33 books in 1949 alone, just
saying).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>Animalia</i> was
first published in 1986, three years before <i>The
Eleventh Hour</i>. But I spent far less time with <i>Animalia </i>as a kid, mostly because we didn’t own a copy. I recall it
from school, or borrowing it from the library, but I remembered only the
essence of the book, not the detail. And what detail there is. Each page has a
few alliterative words to describe the illustration – “Diabolical dragons
daintily devouring delicious delicacies” – but there is so much more to the
pictures.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In his introductory poem, Base challenges the reader:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“For many things are ‘of a kind’<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And those with keenest eyes will find<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A thousand things, or maybe more –<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s up to you to keep the score” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I haven’t counted, but a thousand wouldn’t surprise me. And
on every page, there is something for everyone. Including a hidden picture of
the author himself as a boy – it’s like a Where’s Wally in a book that’s
already full of challenges. Kids can turn browsing <i>Animalia </i>into a competition. Who can identify the most things? And with
references from mythology, mathematics, music, and minutiae of all kinds, it is
a trivia lover’s dream.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is barely a blank space in <i>Animalia</i>. I flashed back to Mr Scally’s classic time-filler during
art class when I was in Prep. When we were drawing, he told us we could leave
no white space at all. I used to use my yellow crayon to colour in any blank
space behind my house or tree or whatever, and said I was drawing "air". If only I’d
had Graeme Base’s imagination. And talent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I read an interview with Base in which he described his love
of problem solving. How am I going to create this picture so it is appealing
but also conveys this information? He does so by providing illustrations that
are truly luxurious, giving more bang for your buck than almost any other
author. You can come back to <i>Animalia </i>time
after time after time and always spot something new.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">His approach to “X” is particularly praiseworthy. Xylophones are the ultimate cliché in children’s alphabet books. You won’t
find one in <i>Animalia</i>; it is so
conspicuously absent that it seems as though Base decided a xylophone was too easy (though there is a glockenspiel on the G page). Instead you will find the semaphore and sign language symbols for X,
and the words – “Rex Fox Fixing Six Saxophones” – are ingeniously depicted in a
mirror so the X comes first.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As an aside, Base in the same interview also described his
own inquisitive nature. This quote did not surprise me at all, given his
obvious attention to detail:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“If the toaster breaks here, I don’t
buy another toaster; I take it apart and find out what’s wrong with it. How can
I fix it? It’s not being cheap. It’s just wanting to know. I think I have an
enquiring mind.”</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">He said his ideal dinner party guests would be
Bill Bryson, Stephen Hawking, and someone else whose name escapes me but who apparently
was dead in any case. Bill Bryson is my all-time favourite writer, Stephen
Hawking the world’s finest brain, and Graeme Base in a league of his own as a
children’s author and illustrator. Can I please have the fourth place at that
table?</span></span></div>
</div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-28661980829415152942016-07-10T12:12:00.000+10:002016-07-10T12:12:24.515+10:00Corduroy by Don Freeman<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieffO0IyNAIsbClp7usfnG3dSaaSNJBcseAr0sm9B8ZBQq7YFIEJgGwvRHy5gqKnwiKoBYm_uHh2pCdYrWCcLbWg50UQpl6F0njbiV_wB473D_ck-sIItfUMVeVBxHZwPGjns-QKGz_KM/s1600/corduroy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieffO0IyNAIsbClp7usfnG3dSaaSNJBcseAr0sm9B8ZBQq7YFIEJgGwvRHy5gqKnwiKoBYm_uHh2pCdYrWCcLbWg50UQpl6F0njbiV_wB473D_ck-sIItfUMVeVBxHZwPGjns-QKGz_KM/s1600/corduroy.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Recently, I was rummaging through the picture story books
at my parents’ house, looking for nostalgic reads to share with Heidi. Some I
was actively seeking: the Berenstain Bears, a few Shirley Hughes classics, some
Little Golden Books. Some I had completely forgotten, books I hadn’t thought about
in 30 years. One of those was <i>Corduroy</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As soon as I saw the cover, it all came flooding back.
The little teddy bear locked in a department store overnight, trying to pull
his missing ‘button’ off a mattress. The security guard who finds him and takes
him back down the escalator to the toy section. And the little girl who saves
up money in her piggy bank to buy Corduroy the Bear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But there was one thing that I didn’t remember, something
I only noticed upon rereading the book for the first time in three decades:
Lisa, the little girl who buys Corduroy the Bear, is black. And I realised that
there was a very good reason I didn’t recall this: because I never noticed in
the first place. When I was four, five, six years old, Lisa wasn’t a black kid.
She was just a kid.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And it made me think about children and parenthood. When
it comes to knowledge and values, babies are blank slates. Nobody is born with
built-in notions of race or religion, of superiority or inferiority, of similarity
or difference. Watch the way babies or toddlers interact. They don’t know if
their little friend is a different race unless their parents tell them. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This is of course all very obvious, but given recent
world events it is worth reflecting that everything we know and believe is
learnt. We learn from our parents, from our friends, from the world around us, from
TV, from books. Some picture books teach equality in a beautiful way – <i>Ten Little Fingers and Ten Little Toes </i>by
Mem Fox was one such example we read recently. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Others, like <i>Corduroy</i>,
do so more subtly. I’m not even sure if the author-illustrator Don Freeman, who
was white, meant for his book to be anything other than an adorable story. But there
are messages in its pages.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">When Lisa first sees Corduroy in the store and looks into
his bright eyes, she wants to buy him. Her mother is dismissive: “He doesn’t
look new. He’s lost the button to one of his shoulder straps”. Note that it was
only the adult in the situation who ascribed a negative connotation to his
appearance. Poor, innocent Corduroy didn’t know he’d lost his button. Neither
did Lisa.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">It is worth noting that <i>Corduroy </i>was written in the USA in the year of Martin Luther King’s
assassination (1968), and that for young African-American readers it provided
valuable positive reinforcement. </span>Consider this excerpt from a <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/51734546?book_show_action=true&from_review_page=1" target="_blank">Goodreads reader review</a>:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It was the first book I ever read that
had a lead character that looked like me. (And no, I don't mean the bear.) The
little Black girl ... was well groomed and cared for, and SO nice.<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span>People out there who've always had
characters in books and magazines who look like them won't 'get it'. The
significance will be lost on them I fear. But it's instances like that that
help establish a child's self-esteem and community worth.</span></blockquote>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">None of this would mean much if <i>Corduroy </i>was a run-of-the-mill story, read once or twice and tossed
aside. It is certainly not that. In our house it was well-loved and well-worn.
Not just in our house. The New York Public Library, the National Education
Association, the <i>School Library Journal</i>,
they all have <i>Corduroy </i>in their
respective lists of the top 100 children’s books of all time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What is it about that little bear and his story that is
so adorable? The green overalls, the expressive face, the innocence of the
great big world around him – he’s just like a toddler. And the premise plays to a sense of child-like adventure.
I know I wasn’t the only kid to dream of the freedom that would come with b</span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">eing in a big store overnight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There are so many memorable pages imprinted on my mind: Corduroy
stepping tentatively onto the escalator. Corduroy trying to pull a button off a
mattress because he thought it belonged to his overalls. The nightwatchman searching
with his flashlight. And my favourite: the white pillow and sheets with only
Corduroy’s tiny, fuzzy ears sticking up to reveal his hiding place.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It is at turns charming, sad, sweet and tender. At its
core is the notion of innocence. Corduroy thinks the escalator is a mountain,
the furnishings department is a palace. He sees something small and round on a
mattress and assumes it must be his missing button. When Lisa takes him home,
there is a little Corduroy-sized bed next to her own, just waiting for him. “This
must be a home,” he says. “I <i>know</i> I’ve
always wanted a home”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Rereading it nearly 50 years after publication, <i>Corduroy</i> is also a window into an era. Just
look at the styles seen in the department store: the saleslady’s beehive hairdo
and cat’s eye glasses, the classy hat and coat combination worn by Lisa’s
mother, the 1960s lamps in the bedding emporium. Some older books don’t stand
the test of time, but <i>Corduroy </i>deserves
to be a retro classic.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Part of that is due to the pictures, which are pieces of
art that would not look out of place framed on a nursery wall. The use of
bright colours for the busy department store during the day, the limited
palette at night, the way every character’s eyes tell a story. Freeman was 60
when he produced <i>Corduroy</i>, and it was
the result of a lifetime of observing the human character.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As a young man he made money playing trumpet in a dance
band, working at nightclubs and weddings. He used to wander the streets of New
York City with his sketch pads, recording the sights and characters of the
city. One night he lost his trumpet on the subway, and decided to make a living
from his artwork instead. Broadway and circus performers were frequent subjects.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He died in 1978, ten years after <i>Corduroy</i> was released. Freeman wrote and
illustrated something like 20 children’s books, including a sequel called <i>A Pocket for Corduroy</i>. That title rings
a bell; I think I must have read it as a kid as well. Perhaps I’ll stumble
across it one day. For now, I’m so glad I rediscovered the original.</span></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-65122599964572487422016-06-30T20:16:00.001+10:002016-06-30T20:16:33.449+10:00Goodnight Moon by Margaret Wise Brown<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToZL_-sGgphqPLVNAf-D3eSpyFowudP-nz7Xzme0K1HjGvmj7GOqPXHj2S-Dc6ZbFh-_zu6q8YzekE6D-WDB6rt7YdIPxm9Ru6xHJ_MOiNJxX3mYbbf7oR9mJCM8q1AVjpvF5KuQgc8A/s1600/goodnight-moon-cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="275" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgToZL_-sGgphqPLVNAf-D3eSpyFowudP-nz7Xzme0K1HjGvmj7GOqPXHj2S-Dc6ZbFh-_zu6q8YzekE6D-WDB6rt7YdIPxm9Ru6xHJ_MOiNJxX3mYbbf7oR9mJCM8q1AVjpvF5KuQgc8A/s320/goodnight-moon-cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Next year, <i>Goodnight
Moon </i>turns 70 years old. It has sold more than 14 million copies since it
was first published in 1947 and is one of the most beloved bedtime stories of
all. And yet, until recently I had never read it. I’m not even sure I had heard of it until I
saw it on Heidi’s shelf, a baby-shower gift that I hadn’t noticed before.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So we read it. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I thought: “What the hell was that all about?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There was something vaguely unsettling in the pages, haunting even. The
stark red and green colour scheme, the vast room, the single red balloon
hovering in the corner, the “quiet old lady” who is actually a rabbit and who
is sometimes there and sometimes not. It was all a bit ... eerie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In the great green room, a little rabbit lies in bed
saying goodnight to everything he can see. And some things he can’t. Goodnight comb.
Goodnight chairs. Goodnight mush. Goodnight nobody. Goodnight air. Goodnight <i>air</i>? That’s a kid desperately trying to
drag out his bedtime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">All I could think of was Steve Carell as Brick the
weatherman in <i>Anchorman</i>. I love ...
carpet. I love ... desk. Brick, are you just looking at things in the office
and saying that you love them? I love lamp. Do you really love the lamp or are
you just saying it because you saw it? I love lamp. I love lamp.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I later read that George W. Bush nominated <i>Goodnight Moon </i>as one of his favourite
books. And again I thought of Brick.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Anyway, back to the book. I wasn’t the only one who found
it creepy. Zoe felt there was something <i>Twin
Peaks</i>-ish about it. “What is the bowl full of mush?" she asked. “Is it porridge? Is it soup? Is it laced with LSD?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I thought that a single reading nearly 70 years after
publication was perhaps not the fairest way to assess <i>Goodnight Moon</i>, so I did some research. The author, Margaret Wise
Brown, was interviewed by <i>LIFE </i>magazine
the year before <i>Goodnight Moon</i> was
published:</span></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The first draft of a Brown book is usually written in
wild, enthusiastic haste, in lost unintelligible soft pencil on whatever scraps
of paper are available; the backs of grocery bills, shopping lists, old
envelopes. “I finish the rough draft in 20 minutes,” Miss Brown says, “and then
I spend two years polishing." She is currently polishing 23 books more or
less simultaneously.</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Brown only wrote, she did not illustrate, so the artwork fell
to her friend and collaborator Clement Hurd. And there are some curious aspects
to the illustrations, not the least of which is that the characters are rabbits. Apparently this was simply because Hurd was better at drawing bunnies than
people.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Brown might have polished her words but you know what
they say, you can’t polish a Hurd.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are peculiar details if you look closely.
On the bunny’s bedside table is a book with a green cover. Turn the page upside
down and you’ll see it is a copy of <i>Goodnight Moon.</i> It is no surprise to find such a touch of
absurdity. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of the strangest pictorial elements is in the framed illustration
over the fireplace in the little bunny’s room. It depicts a cow jumping over
the moon, but the cow’s udder is hard to make out. In the words of Brown’s
biographer, on the publisher’s instructions the udder “was reduced to an
anatomical blur, so as not to disarrange the fragile sensibilities of some
librarians”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can just imagine the library detective Mr Bookman,
perhaps my all-time favourite <i>Seinfeld </i>guest
character, enforcing that himself. “This is about that kid’s right to read a
book without getting his mind warped. Or maybe that turns you on, Seinfeld,
maybe that’s how you get your kicks.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The mysterious blurred udder didn’t help. When it was
first published, the New York Public Library refused to stock even a single
copy of <i>Goodnight Moon</i>. It considered
the book “unbearably sentimental” and did not acquire its first copy until 26
years later. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Children’s books, the library believed, should be
fairytales or folklore, classics rather than the absurd modernity of <i>Goodnight Moon. </i>But Brown was ahead of
her time. She had studied at an education college whose founder wanted to
create a new style of picture story books, called “Here and Now”. At its core
would be the everyday experiences of a regular toddler.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And that’s what kids respond to with <i>Goodnight Moon</i>. The bedroom is a place they know. The objects are
familiar, although less so 70 years later. None would now recognise the old
style telephone on the bedside table. Then again, why does a toddler need a
phone by the bed anyway? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The concept of saying goodnight to random stuff, baffling
as I found it on first reading, is actually quite sweet. Heidi is forever
waving at anyone and anything, animate or inanimate. Even the blank “goodnight
nobody” page seems true to life. Kids do say the darnedest things. The author
gets inside the mind of a tiny child and uses soothing rhyme and rhythm to
great effect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: helvetica neue, arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">To adults, the room seems abnormally vast. But <i>Goodnight Moon</i> wasn't written for adults. To a toddler, any room seems enormous. Their world is so small, their perspective so different from their parents. On a second and third reading, I realised that everything I found strange made much more sense from the little bunny's viewpoint.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As the pages progress and the bunny gets more tired, the
illustrations become just a touch hazier. The final line – “goodnight noises
everywhere” – acknowledges that bedtime for the little ones is early, while the
rest of the house remains active.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Margaret Brown was perhaps more Wise than I first gave
her credit for. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Then again, she died aged 42 when, after emergency
surgery for appendicitis while on a publicity tour in France, she kicked up her
legs, cancan style, to show how fit she felt. That dislodged a blood clot
in her leg, which quickly travelled to her brain and killed her instantly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Not so Wise after all. </span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-56651960334067861892016-05-20T08:06:00.000+10:002016-07-10T12:16:12.152+10:00A Fish Out of Water by Helen Palmer<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4WUZjR5S2zBveXJ8TxdNNmPew_JElJ6zZ9vrd8AmQH7N7cT1pt82tGn4NNAr3fUaW4oBQrTe7LJWP4ejVfcPdSjMy9yX5oJAOyUY0n1eftrnHMGuD82w9a_57S_pr7jor62w3dFhmpwU/s1600/fishwater.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4WUZjR5S2zBveXJ8TxdNNmPew_JElJ6zZ9vrd8AmQH7N7cT1pt82tGn4NNAr3fUaW4oBQrTe7LJWP4ejVfcPdSjMy9yX5oJAOyUY0n1eftrnHMGuD82w9a_57S_pr7jor62w3dFhmpwU/s320/fishwater.jpg" width="248" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">When I was a kid, I always liked reading the “About the
Author” blurb at the end of a book – probably the budding quizzer in me wanted every piece of available information. One of my favourite childhood books was <i>A Fish Out of Water</i> and my version had
no such blurb – or if it did it was on a long-lost dust-jacket. So I’ve written
one myself:</span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Helen Palmer was born in New York in 1898. For 40 years she was married to Dr Seuss. They had no children – Helen was unable to. In later years she suffered from cancer and partial paralysis. For the last few years of Helen’s life, Dr Seuss was having an affair with the woman who would later become his second wife. In 1967 an ill, depressed and heartbroken Helen committed suicide by an overdose of barbiturates.</span></o:p></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Maybe there was a reason there was no such blurb.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We’ll get to <i>A Fish
Out of Water </i>shortly, but first a little more on Helen Palmer. In 1927,
Helen married Theodore Geisel, known to friends as Ted, and later known to
the world as Dr Seuss. Ted Geisel wanted to become a teacher but Helen, six
years his senior, encouraged him to make a career from his artwork. She was his
editor, advisor, business manager and inspiration. She co-founded the “Beginner
Books” imprint - you’d recognise the Cat in the Hat logo – in
1957.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And yet, a decade later Helen was dead. Within a year of
her suicide Dr Seuss remarried. His second wife, Audrey, is still alive and in
her mid-90s continues to serve as president of Dr Seuss Enterprises. There
seems little doubt that the younger Audrey provided a renewed inspiration for
Dr Seuss, who was 64 when he married for the second time. His niece Peggy
described Helen’s death as “her last and greatest gift to him”. Her suicide
note speaks for itself:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">"Dear Ted, What has happened to us? I don't know. I feel myself in a spiral, going down down down, into a black hole from which there is no escape, no brightness. And loud in my ears from every side I hear, 'failure, failure, failure...' I love you so much ... I am too old and enmeshed in everything you do and are, that I cannot conceive of life without you ... My going will leave quite a rumor but you can say I was overworked and overwrought. Your reputation with your friends and fans will not be harmed ... Sometimes think of the fun we had all thru the years ..."</span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She might have heard “failure, failure, failure” from
every side, but few people have given the world more joy than Helen Palmer.
She gave the world Dr Seuss. But for her prodding, he might never
have gone beyond the cartoons he drew as a college student. And Helen Palmer’s
name also lives on as an author herself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But even there she remains in her husband’s giant shadow,
for <i>A Fish Out of Water </i>in fact
originated as a short story by Dr Seuss, titled <i>Gustav the Goldfish</i>. It was originally published in a magazine in
1950, with the trademark Seuss rhymes and illustrations. <a href="http://1stedition.net/blog/2007/03/a-story-of-two-fish-dr-seuss-out-of-water.html" target="_blank">You can see a comparison here</a>. A decade later, he gave Helen permission to revise the story
to make it a suitable “Beginner Book”, which required a more basic vocabulary.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In hindsight, the absurd premise is pure Seuss. A boy
buys a pet goldfish and, against the advice of the pet-store owner, overfeeds it.
The fish quickly outgrows every vessel in which the boy tries to house it,
until even the local swimming pool is becoming too small to hold it. At this
point the pet-store owner, Mr Carp, dives with a mysterious toolbox and
magically returns the fish to its original size.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></o:p></div>
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<o:p><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">T</span></o:p><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">he illustrations by P. D. Eastman – a protégé of
Dr Seuss – bring a charming realism to the preposterous story. Eastman’s drawings
are much truer to life than the zany art of Dr Seuss, and something about the realistic
looking figures – the baffled policeman and the concerned fireman – make it
easy for a child to put themselves in the position of the little boy, to think maybe this really could happen!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I had never heard of </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Gustav
the Goldfish </i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">until researching this blog, and I don’t know if I’d have
preferred the Seussian version as a kid or </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A
Fish Out of Water</i><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">. They each appeal in different ways. All I can say with
certainty is that I loved <i>A Fish Out of Water </i>and that Helen Palmer, despite her tragic end, was no failure.</span></div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-82719039155382648202016-05-12T11:59:00.001+10:002016-05-12T11:59:39.888+10:00Mog and the Baby by Judith Kerr<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUdcRUVCwi9SZZ_1x3ljmbeXfKzV_Qh4z-vdODn-nKVO1mUHBbGBnmq60Xn6ONEUZrwvcmoFRItC9sKIOrxt3QcBBh2Scuw7H_CtrTeA-v65gJocHTuWD-ZrvZ602fDhR_0iTwkY7yy8E/s1600/mogbaby.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUdcRUVCwi9SZZ_1x3ljmbeXfKzV_Qh4z-vdODn-nKVO1mUHBbGBnmq60Xn6ONEUZrwvcmoFRItC9sKIOrxt3QcBBh2Scuw7H_CtrTeA-v65gJocHTuWD-ZrvZ602fDhR_0iTwkY7yy8E/s320/mogbaby.png" width="236" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is a story of woeful neglect and misplaced trust. It
is a warning to new parents: be careful – be very careful – when choosing a
babysitter. Because like the unfortunate Mrs Clutterbuck, you might come home
to find your baby wandering on the road, in the path of oncoming traffic,
without an adult in sight. Tonight’s bedtime story is <i>Mog and the Baby</i>, but a more apt title would be <i>Mrs Clutterbuck and the Clusterfuck</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">First, some background. This is the third book in the Mog
series by Judith Kerr. When I was little I had <i>Mog’s Christmas</i>, and it was a favourite during the holiday season.
Mog was depicted as quite the typical cat: grumpy, self-centred and always
causing trouble. But the pictures were cute, and the story fun, and I loved <i>Mog’s Christmas</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">In <i>Mog and the Baby</i>,
a young mother struggling to juggle the care of a baby and the running
of a household wants a couple of hours to do some shopping. Is that so much to
ask? So she leaves her baby with Mrs Thomas, presumably a neighbour, who owns a
cat named Mog. Mrs Thomas has two kids, Debbie and Nicky, who have survived enough
years to give Mrs Clutterbuck confidence in Mrs Thomas as a carer. But perhaps
that was more luck than good management.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Truth be told, the warning signs are there when Mrs
Clutterbuck drops the baby off. “We’re going to look after it while she goes
shopping,” Mrs Thomas tells her son Nicky, who is skipping school with a cold. “It’s
trying to say puss,” she says when the baby makes a noise towards Mog. Notice
anything wrong with Mrs Thomas’ words?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">She calls the baby “it”. Twice. In front of Mrs Clutterbuck.
She doesn’t call it by name, doesn’t even say “he” or “she”. No, just “it”. Poor
Mrs Clutterbuck, she does seem uncertain, taking her time to put on her coat
and leave. “Will my baby be all right with your cat?” she asks. What she is
really wondering is: “Will my baby be all right with <i>you</i>?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And <i>that </i>would
be a valid question. Let me run you through the events that follow. While Mrs
Thomas and Nicky are doing the lunch dishes the baby, completely unsupervised,
overturns Mog’s food bowl and starts eating the cat food. “Look what it’s done,”
Nicky says when he realises. (It, again).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So then Mrs Thomas decides the easiest option is to
lift the top off the pram, sit it on the floor and stick the baby in there, hoping it might sleep. Then she runs off to get Mog and puts the cat in its basket right next
to the baby, like some sort of supervisor. Seriously lady, Mog is a cat. You’re
the only human adult in this house. Take some responsibility.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But instead, she goes off to do other things (read a
magazine? sink a glass or two of wine?) and the baby climbs out and pulls Mog’s
tail. Mog cracks the shits and pushes open a window to escape, the baby
follows, Mog runs across the road and the baby follows again. Still no sign of
Mrs Thomas.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The baby finds itself in the path of an oncoming car
being driven by Mr Thomas, with Mrs Clutterbuck as a passenger. Has she really
just been shopping? Is there more to this than meets the eye? Is it possible
Mrs Thomas was neglecting the baby out of jealousy? Anyway, whatever the case,
Mog accidentally knocks the baby out of harm’s way and is the hero.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And then the crowning insult. While Mrs Clutterbuck
clutches her baby in relief, young Nicky says: “It’s a silly baby. It shouldn’t
have run into the road”. A classic case of victim-blaming.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“Mog saved it,” says Debbie. (It, again).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">“She is a very brave cat,” says Nicky. (The <i>cat </i>gets called “she” but the baby is “it”.
You can see where this family’s priorities lie).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">The upshot is that Mog gets a reward, nobody questions
what the hell Mrs Thomas was doing that she let a baby run out of her house and
onto the road, and everyone lives happily ever after.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Except for Mrs Clutterbuck, who presumably goes home to
have a nervous breakdown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-30969052070436190232016-05-05T21:54:00.000+10:002016-05-05T21:54:05.349+10:00Hairy Maclary from Donaldson's Dairy by Lynley Dodd<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I felt a natural affinity for Hairy Maclary when I was
little. He was from Donaldson’s Dairy, I was from Coverdale’s Dairy. He was small
and a bit scruffy. So was I. All he shared in common with his mates was
location and species, but that was all they needed. Much like me and my primary school friends.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I recently discovered something alarming about Hairy
Maclary, something that I never would have suspected when I was a kid. We were
from completely different kinds of dairy. Mine was a farm where cows were
milked. His was a little shop that sells ice-creams and newspapers and bread
and cans of baked beans that look like they’ve been there since the 1960s.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Did you know that? If you’re a Kiwi, you’re probably
thinking: “Of course we did, you idiot”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because in New Zealand that’s what a dairy is – the kind
of corner store Australians would call a milk bar. I learnt that a few
years ago. And Hairy Maclary is a New Zealander. I learnt that in
recent years too. Until now, though, I never put those two pieces of information
together. I thought Hairy was a farm dog, like the one in <i>Footrot Flats</i>. Turns out he’s as much a farm dog as Brian Griffin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Hairy’s creator, Lynley Dodd, confirmed it in 2014 in <a href="http://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/art-and-design/hairy-maclary-creator-dame-lynley-dodd-coming-to-goulburn-20140530-zrsnt.html">an interview with Fairfax</a>. Or, to use her full
title, <i>Dame </i>Lynley Dodd. So well-loved
is the Hairy Maclary series that Lynley received a damehood in 2001.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are currently only 52 dames in the New Zealand honours
system, among them a former prime minister (Jenny Shipley), a former
governor-general (Silvia Cartwright) and an Oscar-nominee (Jane Campion). For a children’s author and illustrator to be in such elite company is a serious honour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But then, Hairy Maclary is a classic, so much so that it was t</span><span style="font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">he
first bedtime story I ever read to baby Heidi. Not much happens plot-wise. Hairy
and his friends go for a wander around town and run into Scarface Claw, the
toughest tom in town. Then they all scamper home with their tails between their
legs, literally.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So why is Hairy Maclary so enjoyable? In part it’s the pictures,
the variety of the dogs, each adorable in their own way. But
mostly it’s the rhymes and their easy rhythm, the fun of reading through the
names of Hairy’s gang. Hercules Morse, as big as a horse. Muffin McLay, like a
bundle of hay. Bottomley Potts, all covered in spots. </span><span style="font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Theophilus Tutts, who loves sniffing butts. Okay, I made that one up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My favourite was always Schnitzel von Krumm, with a very low tum. And all these years later, the one I forgot about was Bitzer Maloney, all skinny and bony. Poor old </span><span style="font-family: 'helvetica neue', arial, helvetica, sans-serif;">Bitzer, I </span><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">imagine he was always getting forgotten about. If you told me one
of the gang would end up at the pound, I’d have Bitzer the skinny whippet a $1.25 favourite.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">But
the scruffy little star of this classic story, and the series that followed, is Hairy Maclary
from Donaldson’s </span><s style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;">Dairy</s><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 115%;"> Milk Bar.</span></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7957315876061962614.post-44662802887092441362016-04-29T19:55:00.000+10:002016-04-29T19:55:02.044+10:00Mr Tickle by Roger Hargreaves<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYXQym6c5A6t7kcsq1FzfY_dxa-eexpS1-8jfxlHMOuUiKDL6i_k5PHmtQr46wI0-mKjtaCzOu0O-frzJ34fhCLQ3Zkrm-S2dF3PQ0Je0nO5rQtiPbG-a2LAjXev_JyZVB3DGZ730y4A/s1600/mr-tickle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVYXQym6c5A6t7kcsq1FzfY_dxa-eexpS1-8jfxlHMOuUiKDL6i_k5PHmtQr46wI0-mKjtaCzOu0O-frzJ34fhCLQ3Zkrm-S2dF3PQ0Je0nO5rQtiPbG-a2LAjXev_JyZVB3DGZ730y4A/s320/mr-tickle.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Global franchises start innocuously enough. In Kentucky
during the depression, Harland Sanders threw a few herbs and spices into some
gas-station fried chicken. In Sweden during the war, a teenage
Ingvar Kamprad saw his first bloody Allen key and the bloody flatpack was inflicted on the
world.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And in England just after the end of the swinging
sixties, six-year-old Adam Hargreaves asked his dad: “What does a tickle look
like?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His father, Roger, was the creative director at an
advertising firm. If <i>Mad Men</i> has
taught us anything, it’s that the Don Drapers of this world know all about slap
and tickle. Here was the perfect excuse for Roger to go away and do some
“research”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But no, this was Roger Hargreaves, not Roger Sterling. He
wasn’t like that. And nor was he an “ask your mother” kind of dad. He did
indeed go off and indulge his passion, but it was a passion for drawing, and he
came up with an answer to Adam’s question.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Mr Tickle. Orange body, long arms, blue hat. Incorrigible
groper. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Roger Hargreaves realised that Mr Tickle opened all sorts
of doors, and not just the kitchen door from his bedroom so he could raid the
biscuit tin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">If ever there was a series waiting to happen it was this.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">There was a simple formula for almost infinite ideas: Mr
(insert characteristic here). Which was later expanded to add Little Miss
(insert characteristic here).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Roger Hargreaves died in 1988, at the age of 53. Adam, by
then in his 20s, eventually carried on the family business and wrote new books
for the series. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And he’s done a good job. But I was a child of the 80s,
so to me, the likes of Mr Cool and Mr Rude will always be impostors. Even the
few of Roger’s own works published after his death – Mr Brave to Mr Cheerful – don’t
sit well with me. Anything after Mr Slow, I consider non-canon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In 1971, Mr Tickle was the first. He tickled the
policeman without getting shot. He tickled the butcher without losing an arm.
He hid outside a school window, reached into the classroom for a tickle, and did not face
criminal charges.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And he tickled my fancy. Sure, he spent his days
interfering with strangers, but he did it with a smile. They were more innocent
times. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Since then, there has been a TV series, special
editions, merchandise, parodies. And it all began with Mr Tickle. He is the Mr
who started a global franchise.</span></span></div>
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Brydon Coverdalehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13528857325297796533noreply@blogger.com0