Speaking of Fairy Tales...

I've posted here about the demise of the picture book fairy tale or folktale, and I'm not the only one who's commented on the trend. Now Disney, the great princess profiteer, is joining the club with an announced determination not to make any more movies based on fairy tales. It's the end of an era, as well as a reflection of trends in children's literature. The L.A. Times article reads in part:

So why has the clock struck midnight for Disney's fairy tales?
Among girls, princesses and the romanticized ideal they represent — revolving around finding the man of your dreams — have a limited shelf life. With the advent of "tween" TV, the tiara-wearing ideal of femininity has been supplanted by new adolescent role models such as the Disney Channel's Selena Gomez and Nickelodeon's Miranda Cosgrove.
"By the time they're 5 or 6, they're not interested in being princesses," said Dafna Lemish, chairwoman of the radio and TV department at Southern Illinois University and an expert in the role of media in children's lives. "They're interested in being hot, in being cool. Clearly, they see this is what society values."

I think the part that gets me is that small girls are already looking at "being hot" and taking on adolescent role models.

Granted, Disney will continue to make money from its library of princess classics for the next three or four hundred years.

And in the world of children's literature, while the fairy tale is no longer being made into picture books, it seems to have morphed into the fairy tale retelling for middle grade and young adult readers.

Still, Disney divorcing the princess? What a strange and sobering thought!

Update #1: Amy has followed up on this post with a great riff on princesses, her favorite childhood book characters, and just how Disney (and pop culture) gets it wrong over at Amy's Library of Rock.

Update #2: See also this post at Once Upon a Blog on Disney's decision, especially in connection with the box office success of Tangled. Thanks to Enchanted Inkpot author Marissa Meyer for the link!

Lessons from Eva Ibbotson

I first discovered this author about fifteen years ago thanks to Diana Wynne Jones, who edited a collection called Fantasy Stories in 1994 (Kingfisher). Among them was a selection from Witch Which that charmed the socks off me. I got my hands on a copy of the book and started keeping an eye out for other titles by Ibbotson. Fortunately, the wave of post-Harry Potter fantasy included an increased availability of books by both Eva Ibbotson and Diana Wynne Jones, and my library grew most happily.

On October 20, 2010, the wonderful Eva passed away, leaving me to reflect on how much I will miss her and on what I have learned from her books as both a reader and a writer.

1. Conjure up the unexpected.

Which Witch is still one of my favorite Ibbotson titles, a great example of the author's ability to come up with a fresh premise and then throw in all kinds of crazy stuff. The book evokes beauty contests and certain reality TV shows I will refrain from naming with its fairy tale-like hunt for the perfect wife. Only the prince in this story is a (semi-)dark wizard. Our story begins when a couple named Canker discovers by dint of library research that there's a specific reason their baby boy is a tad unusual:

It was a shock, of course. No one likes to think that their baby is going to grow up to be a wizard, and a black one at that. But the Cankers were sensible people. They changed the baby's name from George to Arriman (after a famous and very wicked Persian sorcerer), painted a frieze of vampire bats and newts' tongues on his nursery wall, and decided that if he had to grow up to be a wizard they would see to it that he was a good one.
It wasn't easy. Todcaster, where they lived, was an ordinary town full of ordinary people. Though they encouraged little Arriman to practice as much as possible, it was embarrassing to have their birdbath full of gloomy and lopsided vultures and to have to explain to their neighbors why their apple tree had turned overnight into a blackened stump shaped like a dead man's hand.

When Arriman is a grown wizard and longing for a break, his secretary suggests that he marry and have a son to carry on his work. Arriman doesn't really want a witch around the place, but concedes that he probably should marry. Soon the members of the local coven are vying for the prize: a water witch named Mabel Wrack with an octopus for a familiar, a farming witch named Ethel Feedbag whose familiar is a pig, disagreeable twin witches named Nancy and Nora Shouter, the elderly Mother Bloodwort, and Belladonna, a distressingly good witch "with thick, golden hair in which a short-eared bat hung like a little wrinkled prune." Then an evil enchantress named Madame Olympia shows up, not to mention an orphan named Terrance and his pet earthworm Rover, and things get really interesting!


2. So many people are basically good.

Ibbotson's best-known book is probably The Secret of Platform 13. Beneath the train platform is a hidden entrance to a magical island. The door is only open for nine days every nine years, so imagine the dismay of the island's king and queen when their baby son is stolen by the awful Mrs. Trottle during that small gap and they must wait nearly a decade to mount a rescue mission. When they do, they send a motley crew: an elderly wizard named Cornelius, a plant-friendly fairy named Gurkie, a one-eyed ogre named Hans (they make him invisible for the journey except for his one eye, which shows), and a young hag girl named Odge who volunteers rather forcefully. The team hunts down Raymond Trottle, whom they suppose to be the missing prince, but they are dismayed by how horrid he is. Then there's the kitchen boy, Ben, who is exactly the opposite and proves very helpful.

I'm always amazed by how nice Ibbotson's characters can be, while still remaining idiosyncratic and interesting. In the modern world, where Machiavellian traits seem to be on the rise and are even valued, Ibbotson reminds us that there are plenty of goodhearted people out there. (I suspect it's the author's rampant humor that keeps these characters from coming across as cloying or annoying.) You will find that Ibbotson often writes about a group of people working together to make something good happen. This spirit of community and teamwork adds yet another layer of good cheer to the tone of the author's work.


3. Find humor in the quotidian.

In Ibbotson's new book, The Ogre of Oglefort, the three Fates (Norns) are cranky old ladies who are wheeled about in a large hospital bed. When they get mad and decide to punish someone, they call up some ghosts from the bowels of the British train tunnels. And what ghosts they are!

There was the Honker—a very old ghost with one leg and a crutch who had done nothing when he was alive but honk and spit and let out huge revolting gobbets of saliva which got on the seats and the floor of the train for other passengers to slip on.
There was a ghost in city clothes and a bowler hat who had sharpened the point of his umbrella like a rapier and stuck it into the feet of any passenger who got in the train ahead of its owner. The umbrella still had bits of skin and blood clinging to it.
Behind him came the Aunt Pusher....

And the Bag Lady, who would spread out all her things during air raids in the war and keep others from finding a spot. Also the Smoking Girl:

...a very young ghost hung all over with gaudy scarves and floating shawls, and she would have been pretty except that her fingers and the corners of her mouth were stained yellow with nicotine. She had smoked a hundred cigarettes a day, coughing and blowing the smoke at the other passengers on purpose.

There is a headless ghost called The Chewer "whose head was so stuck up with chewing gum that he had left it on the train." But the worst ghost of all is The Inspector, a merciless ticket puncher without a face.

Only two eyes, narrowed to slits, and a mouth set in a slimy calculating leer. The Inspector had had the power over the spectres when they were alive, turning off passengers whose tickets were not in order, pushing them out on to the line, separating mothers from children, making sure that trains stuck in tunnels for hours—and always talking about 'the regulations' to justify his cruellest deeds. His creepily soft call of 'Tickets please' had sent shivers down their backs and even now they were afraid of him.
The Inspector seldom spoke. He did not need to. His ticket puncher, which once had pierced paper, could now pierce ectoplasm.

As you can see, Ibbotson has Roald Dahl's glee for depicting disgusting people with ordinary habits exaggerated for the sake of humor and horror. However, Ibbotson's work tends to have more heart.


4. You can be charming without being cutesy.

It's hard to explain just how delightful Ibbotson's writing is, though I suppose you could write some sort of equation for that alchemy of humor, surprise, and humanity. Let me try giving another example—Dial-A-Ghost, my favorite of Ibbotson's ghost stories. You see, there's a temp agency that assigns jobs out for ghosts, and Miss Pringle and Mrs. Mannering are not the most organized people in the world. When they recieve a request for some sweet ghosts to haunt an abbey and some horrible ghosts to haunt a country manor, they get the orders mixed up, sending the Wilkinsons, a family of five ghosts whose house unfortunately blew up, to the manor and the terrifying Shriekers to the abbey. What no one realizes at first is that Fulton and Frieda Snodde-Brittle have ordered the Shriekers in hopes of scaring their younger cousin to death so that they can inherit Helton Hall; instead they have inadvertently provided the lonely boy, Oliver, with allies as well as friends in the form of the Wilkinsons. There are mysteries to be solved and ghost-busters to be foiled in this clever, tongue-in-cheek adventure.


5. Everyone yearns for a secret something.

Ibbotson's historical romances have recently been reprinted, this time repackaged for the YA market. I find these books to be full of yearning, and only partly for romance. Most of her heroines have a love of the arts or have taken on large projects such as saving broken-down castles.

Ibbotson's trademark humor still shines out in her romances, making her heroines more personable and her plots more clever. For example, in A Countess Below Stairs, when a young countess escapes the Russian Revolution and ends up getting a job as a servant on a British earl's estate, she covers up her inexperience by studying a book on housekeeping. These books have personality!

But if her books for older readers also display the humor found more noticeably in her books for children, I will point out that in Ibbotson's romps for younger readers you will find the poignant sense of longing more obviously evident in her books for older readers. For example, in The Ogre of Oglefort, a princess runs away from home because she really wants to be turned into a white bird and fly free of her family's clueless expectations. The longing for freedom—or for a real home and family, in the case of Ibbotson's orphan characters—is found over and over in her books.


6. Ogres are people, too.

Mermaids, ghosts, wizards, fairies, and ogres: in Ibbotson's hands, magical beings become all too human. For instance, given the chance, the fearsome title character of The Ogre of Oglefort takes to his bed with any number of imaginary ailments. And the wizard Brian would really rather be a cook, except that his mother won't let him do anything for himself even though he's a grown-up. (In fact, she still calls him Bri-Bri.)


7. Turn your sorrows into stories.

We read in a recent Guardian interview with the author:

Ibbotson's writing changed again after the sudden death of her beloved husband in 1998. "I didn't want to go on making jokes because I was too sad," she admits. "I thought, suppose I try writing a straightforward adventure story for children ... " The result was Journey to the River Sea. Set in 1910 in the rainforest city of Manaus in Brazil, it features a classic adventure story plot with Maia, an orphaned girl, a firm but fair governess, cruel relatives and a "hidden identity" device. But at the heart of the novel is the colourful, light-filled, wild landscape of the Amazon and all its flora and fauna, in tribute to Ibbotson's husband who would "upturn stones and show me the lovely things underneath. Beetles and spiders, he loved them all—it was a whole world to him." The book won the 2003 Smarties award, was made into a stage play and has been optioned for a film adaptation.

Ibbotson wrote two more historical adventures for middle grades after Journey to the River Sea: The Star of Kazan and The Dragonfly Pool. But she returned to what she called her "younger, more rambustious [books]" with her last story, The Ogre of Oglefort.


8. Kids deserve happy endings—or at least, hopeful ones.

Another Guardian interview quote:

Whether jokey or more serious, however, Ibbotson's readers are always guaranteed a magical tale and the reassurance that, ultimately, the young hero or heroine will triumph and the baddies receive their comeuppance. The current trend for more shocking stories in children's literature surprises her. In her own childhood, books were a comfort; an escape route from her "pillar-to-post" existence." ... Perhaps when I began to write the novels for children I was harking back to how much pleasure I got from books like The Secret Garden," she says. "My impression is that the writing has got better and better but the books have got darker and darker. I don't know what I think about that, being so addicted to making children happy."

And so, for instance, in a book like The Dragonfly Pool, children at a progressive school during the days leading up to World War II put together an international dance festival and use it to rescue a young prince from his country's enemies. Their goals are idealistic, but the fact that they pull it off with a non-saccharine "Small World" flair makes for a heartening as well as an adventuresome read.

9. When in doubt, add an aunt.

This quote is also from the Guardian interview: "'When I get stuck in a book now, I usually try putting an aunt in,' says Eva Ibbotson, matter-of-factly. 'I find it difficult to write a book without aunts. With The Ogre I had to put in three aunts, if I remember rightly.'"


10. Retain your sense of whimsy.

Ms. Ibbotson was 85 when she died last month. If you will read the interview I keep quoting, you'll find a lively, humorous mind, a childlike sense of curiosity and amusement that kept this author and her work fresh during a career that spanned decades. Eva Ibbotson—and her aunts—will be greatly missed.


*********************

BOOK LIST

I own a number of Ibbotson's books, including her latest, The Ogre of Oglefort, which I obtained by cheating; i.e., I ordered it from England a few weeks ago in a spirit of nostalgia and mourning. (It isn't due out in the United States till Summer 2011. British cover shown above.) Here's my list for your reference:

Middle Grade Ghost Stories

--Dial-a-Ghost
--The Haunting of Granite Falls (originally The Haunting of Hiram C. Hopgood)
--The Beasts of Clawstone Castle
--The Great Ghost Rescue


Middle Grade Fantasy

--The Secret of Platform 13
--Which Witch?
--Island of the Aunts (or Monster Mission)
--Not Just a Witch
--The Ogre of Oglefort

Note that you can get Which Witch, The Secret of Platform 13, and Island of the Aunts in an omnibus edition.


Middle Grade Historical Adventure

--Journey to the River Sea
--The Star of Kazan
--The Dragonfly Pool


Young Adult Historical Romances

--The Countess Below Stairs
--The Reluctant Heiress
--A Company of Swans
--A Song for Summer
--The Morning Gift


Books I Haven't Read

--The Worm and the Toffee Nosed Princess
--Madensky Square (adult/YA)
--A Glove Shop in Vienna and Other Stories (adult/YA)


See also author Laura Amy Schlitz's very lovely obituary for Eva Ibbotson. Thanks to Charlotte Taylor of Charlotte's Library for the interview and obituary links.

Note for Worried Parents: There's some discreetly handled sex in a couple of the YA historical romances, which were originally written for adults (e.g., The Morning Gift and A Company of Swans).

Bleah

Your friendly neighborhood Book Aunt has the flu. Back next week...

A Review of Dash & Lily's Book of Dares by Rachel Cohn and David Levithan

I feel like a romance cliché: I fell in love with this book at first sight and never fell out. Which is ironic, since Dash & Lily's Book of Dares is pretty much dedicated to being anti-cliché when it comes to romance.

At first glance, it seems that this inspired pairing of authors, Cohn and Levithan of Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist fame, are simply telling another lively tale of two young Manhattanites meeting cute and falling for each other. But it shouldn't take long for you to realize that the authors' true intentions involve shredding our culture's ubiquitous romantic comedy conventions and leaving us, not with answers, but with questions—or rather, with the endless question of the individual human: "Can I ever truly be understood?" Their answer seems to be, "No, but you can nevertheless be loved."

I recently had a conversation with one of my students, a teenage boy who just broke up with his girlfriend and was feeling bad about it. He said, "Everybody's a stranger, and always will be." This seemed to frighten him. I told him I was going to loan him Dash & Lily's Book of Dares. "It's all about that," I said. "But it still manages to have a happy ending."

As our story begins, it's Christmas time in the Big Apple, and Dash has fooled each of his divorced parents into thinking he's with the other one so he can spend Christmas in surly Grinch-like solitude. Well, perhaps not solitude, though he's definitely a young Grinch in the making: Dash discovers a red notebook incongruously shelved in a grand used bookstore called the Strand. (It's real! With an alleged eighteen miles of books.) The notebook challenges Dash to a little scavenger hunt in the bookstore, managing to embarrass him almost immediately. Dash picks up the gauntlet and returns the favor by issuing a dare of his own. Cynical Dash is pleased to realize that the notebook is obviously from an equally sardonic teenage girl trying to see if she can meet her male counterpart.

Only it's not. Dash doesn't know this for pages on end, but the girl, Lily, didn't start the notebook, though she does quickly enter into the spirit of things and keep it going. The notebook is actually the brainchild of her older brother, who is hoping to keep her entertained and out of his hair so he can enjoy spending the holidays with his new guy. (Their parents have disappointed Lily by going on a second honeymoon.)

Lily is about as far from a Grinch as you can get, a starry-eyed idealist who love-love-loves Christmas. She even drops her atheism annually so she can sing the religious Christmas carols with proper enthusiasm. While she's a little off the wall, Lily is not a major risk-taker, partly because she has a huge, overly protective extended family.

Yet this is not exactly a book about opposites attracting, either. It's more the story of assumptions and yearnings, the way no one can ever be the fulfillment of another person's romantic daydreams. You'll find that Dash is quite the philosopher-prince. His musings get a little over-the-top in spots, evoking the spirits of thirty-something authors past and present—but it all pays off, I assure you.

I'm afraid I'm making the book sound serious, whereas it's just as much a cheerily frenetic sleigh ride through New York City. The dares in the red notebook are creative and often funny, many involving field trips to urban landmarks. There's a spirit of friendly one-upsmanship, just as you would expect from a series of dares. For example, after Lily sends mall-hating Dash to Macy's at the height of the holiday shopping season to look for reindeer gloves, he retaliates by making her go to a matinee showing of a film called Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer with a horde of moms and toddlers.

Speaking of movies, the absolute funniest thing in the book, hands down, is the spoof of a Pixar movie and how Dash and Lily respond separately to having seen it. I laughed my head off.

A running joke is that Lily has colorful relatives working all over town whom she enlists to facilitate her dares. More than one of these relatives describes Dash as "snarly," which leads to the creation of a muppet-like creature that Lily names Snarly. (Lily's own historic nickname makes an appropriate pairing.) When Dash sees the critter, he says, "It looks like Animal and Miss Piggy had sex.... And this was the spawn." His best friend Boomer responds, "My eyes! ...My eyes! I can't stop seeing it now that you've said it!" Boomer is a great character in his own right. He tends to talk in exclamation marks.

"Cinderella was such a dork," Lily writes in the red notebook. This from the girl who dons a contemporary version of the glass slippers and loses one shoe at a ball (okay, nightclub). We also get dog walking, soccer goal-keeping, wax celebrities, ex-girlfriends, snowball fights, militant mommies, police cars, and Internet video scandals of the baby-catching variety. Not to mention marvelous secondary characters, including an extremely cool Bohemian great-aunt. (Best quote I've read recently: The late Eva Ibbotson said that whenever she was having trouble writing a book, she just added an aunt. Not that I'm biased in favor of aunts or anything.)

Keep an eye out for a couple of extra romances (or divorces) that play out around the edges of the tale, further embellishing the authors' book-length riff on the unpredictable nature of real-life relationships. As Dash's ex puts it, "I was never the girl in your head. And you were never the boy in my head. I think we both knew that. It's only when we try to make the girl or boy in our head real that the true trouble comes."

Dash and Lily begin to matter more to each other than they're supposed to as the dares continue, and in a way, that's because they haven't met. When they do finally run into each other, it's a disaster, but not for the reasons you would think. Turns out Dash, in his own way, is just as idealistic as Lily, and perhaps less resilient. After that encounter, they take turns being fearful and fearless, until eventually they come to a sort of truce that bodes well for the future. Because there's more to Dash than being snarly, just as there's more to Lily than her affinity for Christmas carols.

This is teen romance writ large, irresistibly so. It's romance over-scripted, over-analyzed, and yet, somehow, played out like a nice long game of Monopoly between two basically nice people. Seems pretty apt in today's world. I give you: Dash & Lily. Read their Book of Dares. And then watch for Book Two—apparently the authors fell hard for these characters, too, and are planning to make it a series. They've got a great cast to work with!

You might also like Let It Snow: Three Holiday Romances by John Green, Lauren Myracle, and Maureen Johnson.

Note for Worried Parents: You'll probably be concerned about the occasional use of the F word and a few crude remarks from the teenage boys. Also, there's some teen drinking, though the results are not appealing. It's mentioned here and there that Lily's brother and his new boyfriend are sleeping together, but Dash and Lily don't have sex with anyone in this book.

A Review of Under the Green Hill by Laura L. Sullivan

Though this is low fantasy, it has a stately tone that echoes Tolkien's work, as well as a premise and a setting that felt enough like The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe to me that I had to check to be sure the characters really had access to e-mail. (They do!) According to Kirkus, you should also be reminded of E. Nesbit's work.

The story begins with a new fever that is hitting the children of the United States. To protect them from the illness, Professor Morgan and his wife send Rowan, Meg, Silly (Priscilla), and James to visit their great-great aunt Phyllida Ash and her husband Lysander. As human guardian of the most important fairy locale in England, Phyllida is understandably concerned: this is a seventh year, when the fairies select what they blithely call a champion and the humans fearfully call a teind. As Phyllida puts it, "Four children here, at Midsummer, on a seventh year? Even the villagers hide their children at the teind times." And that's even before she discovers that the professor's colleagues have shoehorned in two extra kids: horrible Finn and timid, allergy-prone Dickie. (Though Meg is secretly intrigued by Finn's good looks, even she has to admit that he's sneaky and arrogant.)

Phyllida duly gives the children a list of rules when they arrive at the Rookery. In addition, she tells them they are to stay in the house (or rather, the mansion) that night while she and the other adults attend a local festival. Naturally, her words are guaranteed to inspire someone like Finn to dare the others to sneak out and spy on the festival. It never occurs to Phyllida, who we learn is known as the Guardian or simply The Lady, that modern children might find her rules so ridiculous that ignoring them feels entirely sensible. After all, Phyllida informs the kids that the forest is off limits and they must not swim in the stream. They must never try to ride the wild ponies or eat food that anyone offers them. They must not give their name to anyone who asks, but should answer politely. And they must not kill the ants, who are "really fairies who have grown very old."

Um, right, the kids think, rolling their eyes, and that night they proceed to break three of the rules.

To the fairies, the Morgan children are a gift, since the family has a little fairy blood. Disguised as a boy, Puck-like Seelie Prince Gul Ghillie quickly herds the Morgan children to the Green Hill, where the lovely Fairy Queen asks Rowan to be her champion in the Midsummer War. Glamoured, he agrees, to the dismay of his sister Meg. (As the author points out more than once later in the book, the teind and even the "war" are no sacrifice for the fairies, but they mean death to one of the human champions.)

In the meantime, Finn and Dickie have become separated and have their own rather terrifying encounters with fairy folk. Finn concludes that the Morgan children are leaving him out deliberately. He recruits Dickie to research fairies in the estate's library, then uses the information to spy on the Fair Folk. In the process, Dickie ends up with a lot of knowledge and some secrets of his own.

As for the Morgan children, they set about training for war in the garden, coached by Gul Ghillie, who provides them with ancient, magical weapons. Meg continues to worry about Rowan, trying to think of a way to stop him from going into battle. But even she falls under the spell of Gul and the weapons, mastering the use of an enchanted longbow.

Sullivan explains things like fairy glamour and history thoroughly along the way, so that to a certain extent, this book acts as a primer about fairy folk and how dangerous they can be. (In this regard, it reminded me of Lesley M.M. Blume's recent treatise on urban fairies, Modern Fairies, Dwarves, Goblins, and Other Nasties: A Practicial Guide by Miss Edythe McFate.) You'll find a cavalcade of imps, nymphs, and legendary monsters in Under the Green Hill, together with handy information such as how to acquire the ability to see fairies and how to escape from malevolent oak trees.

Here's the Morgans' first glimpse of the Fairy Queen:

The woman, or the form of a woman, was mounted on a tall charger with a pale-gray dappled coat, a beast as much beyond the clumping plow horses of the May Day march as this woman was beyond the May Queen. Her mount was arrayed in jewels of white and green that seemed not merely to reflect light, but to give off light of their own. He pranced on legs that appeared too delicate for such a tall animal—he stood as high as a draft horse, with a broad chest and haunches that bunched with power held in check. He seemed aware of the value of his burden, and walked so lightly that his gilded hooves bent no grass, left no mark of his passing.

Though Sullivan strains credulity on occasion, e.g., not letting Phyllida and nosy Finn catch the Morgan children at their endless weapons training in the garden, or having the children master said weapons with astonishing ease, these are relatively minor considerations, and she provides some nice plot twists as the story progresses. Who is the other champion, and why? Will Finn get caught spying on the fairies? Will Meg find a way to save her brother's life?

A sequel is obviously in the making, as the Morgan children continue their association with the fairies, for better or for worse. Meg, in particular, seems to be a Chosen One. So look for a second book in a year or two.

I'll end by pointing out that the solemnity of Sullivan's style is both a blessing and a curse. It's a poetic approach that suitably reflects the grandeur of the fairy court and its human Guardian; however, it might strike some children as being too ponderous. If, on the other hand, you or your bright young reader is tired of all those warp-speed, television-style fantasies and want a deeper pool to swim in, Under the Green Hill is the book for you.

You may also like an older book with a similar mythology and setting, Pat O'Shea's The Hounds of the Morrigan.

Note for Worried Parents: There's peril here, a couple of violent acts, and a lot of scary fairies. In general, the tone is mature (in the grown-up sense). This book would probably be best for older or more sophisticated middle grade readers.

Quick Picks: More Fairies, Plus Leviathans

Three YA books with fairies, goblins, and other legendary creatures. In each one, a girl learns about her magical heritage and must decide where to go from there. Apparently, the best use of an otherworldly heritage is to save somebody, whether it be fairies, a kidnapped father, or a king.

Enchanted Ivy by Sarah Beth Durst—In this paean to the Princeton campus, high school junior Ivy strives for early admission by going on what turns out to be a fairy-linked scavenger hunt. She's not even sure what she's looking for and at first wonders if she's losing her mind, since magic is the last thing she believes in. But maybe there's another explanation for her mother's mental illness, and maverick boy Tye with his tiger-striped hair is awfully cute. Of course, so is preppy nice guy Jake. Ivy finds herself in the middle of a war between the fairies and the supposed guardians on the human side, discovering her true heritage and purpose along the way. A fun read if you've been enjoying the recent crop of teen fantasy romances. Durst's use of the campus gargoyles is especially memorable (see cover art). This teen book has a bit of an ick factor when you find out what the bad guys have been doing to the fairies; otherwise only medium dark. I should note that Durst's vision of Princeton is so magical that the fairy realm seems dull by comparison!

Tyger Tyger by Kersten Hamilton—Hmm, more fairy wars! Only here the fairy folk are all called goblins, so this book is the start of the Goblin Wars series. Teagan Wylltson's best friend Abby has been having dreams of trouble for Tea. Then Teagan's bad boy "cousin" Finn Mac Cumhaill comes to stay and she feels that absolute soulmate zing, though she tries to ignore it. Pretty soon Teagan begins seeing some very unpleasant otherworldly creatures, like the hideous and sly cat-sídhe. Her life goes downhill rather quickly as her mother dies and her father disappears. Next an awful social worker comes sniffing around. With some help from Finn's grandmother, Tea and her magically musical little brother Aiden, along with Finn, enter the goblin realm to find Teagan's father. Apparently the worst of the goblins, Fear Doirich, long ago cursed Teagan's family and now takes a special, malevolent interest in the Wylltson children. This book is a dark YA fantasy with a promise of romance to come. Has a few plot bumps, but intriguing secondary characters, an appropriately shiver-inducing rendering of the goblins and their world, and a very nice use of music.

Secondhand Charm by Julie Berry—If you liked The Amaranth Enchantment, try this author's latest, in which a girl discovers her heritage in relation to a strange sea creature, the size-changing leviathan. Given a scholarship by the handsome king, Evie leaves her village and sets out for the capitol with her friend Prissy and the boy next door, Aiden, who would like to be more than friends if Evie will let him. After being waylaid by bandits, Evie makes her way to the palace, where her plans to study medicine are put on hold as she unexpectedly becomes the attendant to the foreign princess who is betrothed to the king. But a shipwreck during the journey has given Evie a new knowledge of who she is, and she discovers that Princess Annalise has similar secrets. When Evie suddenly finds herself embroiled in a plot against the king and his kingdom, she must use her new abilities to save them. Another book for teens, this one reads like an older MG. A fairly cheerful tale with solid girl appeal. Readers who like animals and pets will enjoy watching Evie get used to her slithery-sweet new companion as she saves the day. (Check out an interview with Julie Berry at Gamila's Book Review.)

Awwww. Also Wow!

This isn't like me, but: I'm sort of speechless! Cutest. Thing. Ever. Mostly Bit, but I'm awfully fond of those googly eyes. (If you haven't read my books, they include a magic scarf with lots of little eyes.) Clever Brandy! I would swipe the photos, but I'll let you discover them in their proper place over at Random Musings of a Bibliophile.

In case it isn't obvious, this is why we write...

And now I'm trying to think which book I fell in love with as a child and read over and over. Probably A Little Princess and Ballet Shoes. Also the Narnia books and Harriet the Spy. What about you?

Ten Favorite Picture Books

Author-illustrator Sergio Ruzzier has been inviting bloggers, authors, illustrators, and others who are in love with picture books to guest post at his blog Hey Rabbit! about their 10 favorite picture books, and today he's linking my list. My only caution is that I actually love soooo many picture books, but this list represents a selection of favorites. You can also read my extensive post from March 2009 about the best picture books of all time, as well as Betsy Bird's poll results of the Top 100 in picture books. Or there's my Amazon Listmania list, "Simply Beautiful Picture Books"!

If the thought of wonderful picture books makes you, too, giddy with delight, how about leaving a note listing some of your own favorites in the comments?

Update: Check out the New York Times Best Illustrated Children's Books of 2010. Thanks to Betsy Bird of Fuse #8 for the link. (She was one of the judges!)

A Review of Three Quarters Dead by Richard Peck

I first heard about this book a couple of years ago at an SCBWI Conference where Richard Peck spoke, mentioning his upcoming projects, and I've been looking forward to it ever since. How would one of the greatest craftsmen in the field of children's books handle YA paranormal?

Of course, you could argue that he's already done that with his Blossom Culp books, which I always thought were middle grade, but which are now being called YA, at least in the front matter of this new book. But the Blossom books are also historical fiction, and Three Quarters Dead is about a contemporary teen.

Kerry is a sophomore attached to a popular, powerful trio of senior girls: beautiful Tanya, graceful Natalie, and lively Makenzie. Kerry earnestly assures us that the three of them aren't mean girls. Her reasoning? They talk to her. (Never mind the little zingers they throw in.) They sort of include her. And even though events—along with outside observers—conspire to convince Kerry that she is being used, the heady wine of hanging out with this particular group has her too drunk to admit things aren't so great.

Readers will be quick to see that Tanya, the leader of the pack, is a little obsessed with a particular boy and with destroying the girl she thinks stole him from her. She enlists Kerry's help without giving her any real information, then leaves Kerry hanging when her plans go south. Which is just one example of the small and large clues we get about Tanya's true nature. Another key point in the early chapters is Kerry noticing Tanya's seeming ability to stop time, or rather, to draw it out to suit her purposes.

[SPOILER, THOUGH IT'S IN THE PUBLISHER'S BOOK BLURB AND NONE OF THIS WILL MAKE SENSE IF I DON'T TELL YOU!] Then the unthinkable happens: Tanya, Natalie, and Makenzie are killed when they wrap their car around an apple tree. Here's where Peck's premise gets extra good. Kerry goes into a fugue state, until one day she gets a text message from Tanya telling her to meet the three dead girls in the city at Tanya's Aunt Lily's apartment. Kerry's reaction is relief: "I'd known all along this entire...situation had been too bad to be true."

The haunting of Kerry, which she participates in fervently for pages, is horrifically satisfying. Here's a brief sample, when the four girls dress up in old-fashioned clothes from Aunt Lily's closet to go out on the town. Note the author having fun with macabre puns, the eerie scent of apple blossoms (referring to the tree the car hit), and narrator Kerry's oblivious acceptance of the fact that the dead girls need "major makeup":

There wasn't a mirror on any wall, and that was better. There'd been thousands of us in the mirrored dressing room. Now it was just us four. Taller in our heels, swirlier in our skirts, bigger and bustier in our bras. I was the only one who didn't need major makeup. Just a little something to make my eyes pop. Too much makeup too young is always a dead giveaway, Tanya always said. Too much makeup is always about being the most desperate girl in ninth grade.
Though as Tanya also said, "A little lip gloss wouldn't kill you, Kerry."
There we were in a room that had never changed, the four of us in a dangle of earrings, a wobble of heels, in a cloud of Arpège perfume out of a swag bag. The Arpège fought a little with the lily of the valley, and just under that, apple blossom.

Peck uses the archaeological dig that is Aunt Lily's closet to suggest timelessness, then embroiders these scenes with elderly women hiding from the ghosts in a neighbor's apartment. Of course, the old women represent the way Kerry should be reacting.

The driving force in this book is Kerry's unwillingness to let go—and her problem with being such a follower. You could read the entire haunting as taking place in Kerry's mind if you really wanted to, but I don't think that's what Peck is doing here. Kerry's eagerness to be haunted is just as creepy as the ghosts themselves, and as painful. When Kerry finally snaps out of it, readers will be cheering for her emancipation.

By the way, there's a touch of romance here, but nothing that overwhelms a story that's essentially about girls and their friendships.

Now, as far as suspension of disbelief goes, Tanya's powers work best when they're not examined too closely. There was one point late in the book where I felt like we got a little too much explaining and I found myself doubting Tanya's abilities, but for most of the story, I was completely sold on these events.

Other than that, the only false note qualifies as a quibble: Dear Mr. Peck, Teenage boys today are not called Bob or Sandy. You might get a Rob, an Alex, or a Xander, but that's about it. The youngest Bob I know of is my brother, and he's 49. While Sandy is a 63-year-old plumber. (Fortunately, the key boy in this story is named Spence!)

Quibbles aside, I think the most gorgeous thing about Three Quarters Dead is the tone, Kerry's voice and the way it interacts with pacing to build suspense. Peck has Kerry recount her experiences by looking back on the whole thing. In another book, this might create a sense of drag, but here it suits the genre, evoking a hushed midnight rendering of a ghost story lit only by a sleep-over flashlight. Considering the framing, there's an amazing feeling of suspense as we watch Kerry make a series of mindless mistakes, putting complete trust in someone who doesn't deserve it whether she's alive or dead. Reading Three Quarters Dead feels like watching one of those movies where the girl walks down the long hall of the haunted house, and you tell her on the screen, "Don't open that door!" You know, the door with the monster behind it? But of course she does.

And isn't that what high school is like sometimes, when you can be enthralled by a "friend" who is nothing but trouble, nothing but selfish? Even so, Three Quarters Dead isn't preachy; it's just scary. And—no surprise here!—beautifully well written. It's a slim book, but then, there's never a wasted word in the work of the fantastic Mr. Peck.

If you like this ghost story, try Margaret Mahy's The Tricksters (for older teens).

Note for Worried Parents: Three Quarters Dead is a book for teens, though it's pretty wholesome other than some teen drinking, a scene in a nightclub (mostly dancing), and a little talk about dressing to enhance one's breasts.

A Review of The Invisible Order Book One: Rise of the Darklings by Paul Crilley

Most people don't have the Sight, but 12-year-old Emily does. The place is Victorian London, and Emily is selling watercress in the streets to support herself and her younger brother now that their parents have disappeared. Then she takes a shortcut down an alley just in time to see a battle between two groups of fairy creatures. After she helps a wounded straggler named Corrigan, she finds herself sucked into the ancient war between the Seelie Court, the Unseelie Court, and a secret order of humans founded by architect Christopher Wren to hunt them both.

All three groups try to use Emily, and all three tell her lies—or insufficient truths. It's up to Emily and her sometimes irritating, larcenous friend Spring-Heeled Jack to sort out what's real and save London from a fae invasion.

This is dark fantasy, with monstrous fairy folk and humans who are equally horrible. Mr. Ravenhill of the Invisible Order is utterly ruthless, as are the Unseelie King and the Seelie Queen. The Unseelie King sends out Jenny Greenteeth and Black Annis, who lurk in the Thames devouring children. The Seelie Queen's servant, a soul-sucking black slug of a cloud called the Sluagh, is even worse.

But Crilley does leaven his tale with humor. Emily is a rather stern little soul, but Spring-Heeled Jack is a joker, practically a trickster. We also meet a clan of gnomes who live beneath the city, imitating the Victorian upper-class with amusingly mixed results. Oddly enough, Jenny Greenteeth and Black Annis are kind of funny—in a way the Grimm Brothers would have appreciated.

"You can't escape us, Emily Snow. As soon as you touch water, we know where you are. But even on land, we'll catch up with you in the end. We need something personal, of course. Blood's preferable, but hair will do. How does it taste, Jenny?"
"Like fear, Miss Annis," replied Jenny. Lovely, juicy fear, ripe for the bursting."
"Bless her," said Black Annis to Emily. "She likes the taste of fear, don't you, Jenny?"
"I do, Miss Annis. It makes me shiver."
"Right," said Black Annis. "Come along. Before that wretched sneak Ravenhill thinks to check out the back." She turned and set off down the dark street, the two sacks thrown casually over her shoulder.

(The sacks contain Emily's friends Jack and Corrigan, whom the two creatures have just snatched.)

There are fight scenes along with a solve-the-riddle prophecy, and Emily is one of those Chosen One-type kids, but these plot machinations sometimes seem less important than the atmosphere of the book, which is satisfyingly colorful, as long as your color palette consists of shadow black, chilly midnight blue, and bone white. Crilley has created a goosebump-inducing version of Victorian London, with grotesque fairy creatures filling in for the likes of Jack the Ripper.

The adventure moves fast enough to please young readers. Slightly quaint chapter headings include a "ticking clock" time frame, which contributes to the sense of motion, e.g., "Chapter Eleven: In which the All-Seeing Eyes watch Emily. A magical artifact stolen from Merlin. Inside the Royal Society / Four o'clock in the afternoon on the first day of Emily's adventures." (By the by, the way the fairies use unsuspecting Londoners' glass eyes is one of Crilley's best touches.) After a lot of chasing, capturing, escaping, and riddle solving, Rise of the Darklings ends with a battle and a bang, as Emily makes a choice that solves the book's central problem even as it propels her into a new, sequel-worthy adventure involving time travel.

If you like this one, try Charlie Fletcher's Stoneheart trilogy for a more modern but equally dark and uncanny adventure in the great city of London. Or take a look at China Mieville's Un Lun Dun.

Note for Worried Parents: This book is for middle grade readers (9-12), but it's a little scary. Generally speaking, I would recommend it for the older end of the MG spectrum.

Also: I requested this book as an ARC from Amazon's Vine program.

A Review of Trance by Linda Gerber

What intrigued me about reading this book was that it left me feeling so sad. And I mean that in a good way! Linda Gerber's Trance has a poignant tone that wraps around you and makes you feel like you've just been haunted. Kind of appropriate for a gray autumn day right before Halloween...

Ashlyn and her mother were in a car accident, and now her mother is dead. Her friend Michelle tries to help her deal with her grief, but Ashlyn secretly feels the accident was her fault, and she's not ready to be comforted. Besides which, her father is barely there, and her older sister has left home, apparently to avoid Ashlyn as well as memories of their mother.

Ashlyn's situation is all the more tough because she and her sister Kyra have powers, and Ashlyn feels like she should have been able to prevent the accident. Every so often, she goes into a trance state and writes strings of numbers (a phenomenon called "trance writing"). Kyra has trances and writes numbers at the same time, even if she's far away. It's only by combining the images they see in the trances that the two sisters can make any sense out of them, and they don't know what the numbers mean at all, despite having done some research.

Ashlyn takes a job working at a mall in a little photo booth, where she gets to know her prickly coworker and the cute guy who works for the music store across the way. But she avoids Jake's efforts to get to know her better, frightened by her trances and her failure to save her mother. When Ashlyn begins to confide in her pregnant coworker, Gina, she learns about a different system of numerology. She's newly hopeful about getting answers, except that without Kyra, how will she be able to prevent a looming tragedy, the accident predicted by her latest trances?

Like Richard Peck's book, Three Quarters Dead, reviewed above, Trance is character driven despite its high concept. The book focuses on Ashlyn's struggle to deal with her grief and to redefine herself. She tries to hide her trances—her fellow students think she's epileptic. Running seems to make her feel better, but then her track coach takes her off the team (supposedly temporarily) after she has one of her "seizures" at school.

In many recent YA paranormals, the main character's trouble accepting her magic/psychic powers and her role as a kind of savior figure rings false, but Ashlyn's worries feel all too real. Trance is nicely paced, alternating between Ashlyn's growing friendship with Gina, her efforts to be patient with her emotionally absent father and to track down her missing sister, and her cautious encounters with Jake, as well as her trances and their impact. Here's a sample of Ashlyn's voice:

My dad and I had a thing when we ran together—we didn't say a word to each other for at least the first couple blocks because that's usually how long it takes to work the kinks out and fall into your stride. When Michelle started running with me in his place, this was a hard habit for her to get used to. Michelle's a talker. For her, keeping quiet for two feet was a challenge, let alone for two blocks. The way she kept glancing over at me that morning, I could tell she wasn't going to make it that far. Sure enough, we barely reached the end of the block before she cleared her throat.

Ashlyn makes an appealing heroine. I really like Gina, too. She has troubles of her own, yet a spicy, sensible approach to life. The scenes involving the photo booth are a lot of fun, with Gina riffing on the absurdities of parents bringing in out-of-control little kids to get their pictures taken.

And then there's Jake, who's a real sweetie, can play the piano, and looks awfully good on a motorcycle!

These days, YA paranormals seem like they're a dime a dozen, but Ashlyn's story is compelling, while the use of trance writing and numerology is a fresh approach to the "teen powers" novel. Trance stands out from the pack, and I look forward to reading the sequel implied by the last few lines of the book.

If you like this one, I also recommend Meg Cabot's Haunted and 1-800-Where-R-You? series.

Disclaimer: Linda Gerber is a writing friend of mine. She just happens to be a very talented writing friend!

Note for Worried Parents: Some of you might object to the psychic powers, numerology, and use of Tarot cards in Trance.

From Harry to Scary: Trends in MG Sci-Fi/Fantasy

Wear a little garlic. Carry a couple of amulets. Be nice to black cats. Come closer and see...

EXHIBIT A—As Harry Potter and his friends grew older, Voldemort gained power and the books got darker, with more of a horror vibe.

EXHIBIT B—A girl named Bella and a vampire named Edward fell in love, causing the hearts of teenage girls (and their moms, plus some romantical guys) to go pitter-pat.

EXHIBIT C—Neil Gaiman reenacted the British invasion in children's books: his Coraline was made into a movie, causing some children to have nightmares about the buttons on their clothes. Then The Graveyard Book won the Newbery Award.

EXHIBIT D—If you cruise the shelves of YA (Young Adult) literature at your local bookstore, you just might find that approximately 2/3 to 3/4 of the new books are teen paranormal, mostly with romance involved. [Mini-waves: (1) vampires, (2) werewolves, (3) sneery/urban fairies, (4) ghosts/psychics, (5) zombies, (6) angels/demons, (7) unicorns/pegasi. I suggest we try hauntingly misunderstood sphinxes and moirae next.]

EXHIBIT E—If you cruise the shelves of MG (Middle Grade) literature, not only will you see a lot more paranormal these days, reflecting the YA trend at a slightly slower pace, but you will discover that some of the fantasy has been infused with paranormal, like a leak of dark blood into an unsuspecting little pond.

Not that MG fantasy has always been sweetness and light, by any means. As Diana Wynne Jones satirically puts it in The Dark Lord of Derkholm, an awful lot of fantasy books feature some variation of a Sauron or a Voldemort.

Even so, I would argue that more and more, today's MG fantasy contains elements borrowed from the paranormal or horror side of things, creating what's sometimes referred to as "dark fantasy." (Thank you, Neil Gaiman, AKA The Dark Lord of Minneapolis.) And then there's the fact that high fantasy has fallen out of favor. At the same time, low fantasy is definitely on the upswing. (Thank you, Rick Riordan. That would be the guy who's living in a cloud-shrouded penthouse just above the Empire State Building.) We can see a snapshot of these trends by looking at a year's worth of titles recently nominated for the Middle Grade Sci-Fi/Fantasy Cybils Awards*:

—Low fantasy (42)
—Paranormal/horror (23)
—Traditional or high fantasy (21)
—Science fiction/dystopian (17)
—Historical fantasy (9)
—Anthropomorphized animals (8)
—Time travel (5)
—Steampunk (5)
—Other/hard to categorize (4)**
—Superheroes and supervillains (2)
—Magical realism (2)
—Urban fantasy (1)

Please note that of the 21 "traditional" fantasies, relatively few are completely traditional. They are all set in imagined worlds, often of the pseudo-medieval European variety, but they're a motley crew. About a third of them are partly tongue-in-cheek or flat-out spoofs. Two books are adventures without any magic at all, though the worlds are invented. A few more are hybrids of one sort or another. There are only 9 or 10 books I would consider classic or high fantasy—the kind that evokes J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings a little or a lot.

EXHIBIT F—By way of providing still more non-statistically-significant-yet-intriguing evidence, I'll mention that I caught a glimpse of the MG Sci-Fi/Fantasy listings on Publishers Marketplace the other day, and most of the new books bought for publication over the past year were either paranormal, low fantasy, or dark fantasy. Again, there was only a smattering of books that might qualify as traditional fantasy.

EXHIBIT G—Even the covers seem darker, with a lot of bruised-looking black and blue, also some bloody red and oozy green.

Of course, many children's fantasy books are actually a mix of subgenres. For example, consider Rise of the Darklings (The Invisible Order, Book One) by Paul Crilley, which I'm currently reading. It's set in Victorian London, but a London inhabited/invaded by fairies, and not the nice ones, either. There's a horror element reminiscent of Neil Gaiman's Neverwhere here, with Jenny Greenteeth and Black Annis devouring a boy on page 54. For purposes of my little survey, I classified the book as historical fantasy, but it could also be defined as urban fantasy or as dark fantasy.

Take a look at the bleak, shadowy tone of other fantasy titles from the past five years: e.g., Charlie Fletcher's Stoneheart, Chris Wooding's Storm Thief, or N.D. Wilson's 100 Cupboards. For that matter, what about Adam Gidwitz's upcoming book, A Tale Dark and Grimm? And, speaking of Grimm, let's move on to EXHIBIT H. Check out the flap copy for Inkheart author Cornelia Funke's latest MG fantasy, Reckless:

Beyond the mirror, the darkest fairy tales come alive....
For years, Jacob Reckless has enjoyed the Mirrorworld's secrets and treasures.
Not anymore.
His younger brother has followed him.
Now dark magic will turn the boy to beast, break the heart of the girl he loves, and destroy everything Jacob holds most dear....
Unless he can find a way to stop it.
If you're looking for happily ever after, you've come to the wrong place.

That last sentence pretty much it sums up. It's as if a bunch of children's fantasy books sat around getting depressed, while the wind rose and the sky grew dark and rain streaked the window with fear....

Admittedly, thousands of books over the years have defied description, let alone ready classification, which is one of the nice things about books. Nevertheless, the human mind likes patterns (see Malcolm Gladwell's The Tipping Point), and I think it's safe to state that high fantasy is currently out, while low fantasy and dark fantasy are in. The present popularity of paranormal goes without saying! Today's kids seem to like reading about main characters like themselves, contemporary children who must deal with magic and the supernatural either in their ordinary lives or just off the edges of those lives. And a lot of young readers get a kick out of being scared, at least within the safe space of a book.

But what about those other subgenres on the Cybils list? I agree with the reviewers who've been pleased to observe that more science fiction has been written in the past few years, after a long drought. One type of science fiction that has really taken off in YA and is spilling over into MG is dystopian fiction, as exemplified by Suzanne Collins's bestselling book for teens, The Hunger Games. (This trend is easily linked to contemporary fears both nationally and globally about a dark future, by the by. Looking beyond the Meyer-Gaiman Effect, we might argue that dark fantasy and dystopian fiction powerfully represent the generalized anxiety disorder of our time.)

Urban fantasy seems to be a better fit for YA and adult fantasy, though Lesley M.M. Blume's Modern Fairies, Dwarves, Goblins, and Other Nasties: A Practical Guide by Miss Edythe McFate certainly gives it a good shot.

Some kidlit bloggers have remarked that the supposed rise of steampunk reflects a hankering on the part of grown-ups rather than an actual interest on the part of young readers, and I think they're right. Comparatively few of today's kids are into Victoriana and oversized windup toys, frankly.

Historical fantasy is basically a variation of low fantasy, featuring seemingly ordinary children who are beset by magic. It's just that they live a few hundred years ago instead of in contemporary New York or Los Angeles or Tokyo. Time travel is a closely related subgenre, naturally—or perhaps unnaturally. I suspect that broadly speaking, kids may be a bit less interested in historical fantasy than in low fantasy because some tend to feel like they're getting a history lesson when they read these books. (I know, there's some amazing historical fantasy out there! But it may not be the first thing certain kids reach for.)

Another oddster category in SFF is magical realism. I think this is another one that fascinates literary adults more than it does children, but maybe I'll change my tune when someone writes a really stunning MG novel fully implementing this technique. Because hey: Subtlety, thine age is not 10. But I've seen various agents hopefully requesting magical realism, so we'll see what happens.

While a handful of writers have tinkered with superheroes and supervillains in MG fiction, the characters often feel like they took a wrong turn looking for the door to Marvel Comics. However, I firmly believe somebody's due to write something really astonishing in this niche of SFF.

What is the next trend? Besides those sphinxes and moirae, that is? Well, this might not be a trend so much as a request, but I do think we're still waiting for a really good fantasy featuring kids from somewhere like South America, Southeast Asia, or the Middle East—one that isn't just a travelogue, but that implements a specific culture fully into the narrative without poaching or condescending.***

And then there's the world no one's imagined yet... Which is exactly the promise of fantasy, the thing that keeps SFF fans of all ages coming back for more.

Now, we might ask, are the current trends in middle grade sci-fi/fantasy good or bad? The answer is, both. Trends throw their weight around, influencing acquisitions decisions. As a fantasy author who really likes fairy tale retellings and tongue-in-cheek princess stories, I find myself wondering whether I should be writing the next great MG paranormal instead. Yep, the pressure's on!

Then again, the trends are good in the sense that they have refreshed the genre. Any genre needs to be continually reinvented in order to stay strong and surprising. Even though new trends eventually grow stale, their initial effect is to shock readers in a pleasing way, smacking them awake like the chainsaw-grade alarm clocks I read about in the news last week.

Just don't expect a lot of epic fantasy to be published for young readers in the next few years. And don't be surprised to find a touch of chill seeping into your low fantasy!

*If you count the nominees, then add my numbers and discover I'm off by one or two, don't be shocked. But I think I'm pretty darn close. All of the book covers shown above are from the Cybils nominees list.

**In "Other," I included two collections of legends, a book about a guardian angel, and one that was absolutely everything but the kitchen sink.

***See Cynthia Leitich Smith's interview with Tu Book's Stacy Whitman for more thoughts on the potential for multicultural fantasy. Thanks to Charlotte's Library for the link.

Note: You might want to check out our discussion last March at Enchanted Inkpot about trends in children's fantasy.

Update 10-24-10: Charlotte's Library also shares the news that British fantasy writer Eva Ibbotson has died. In a recent interview Charlotte links, Ibbotson comments on the trends that are the focus of this post. We read: "The current trend for more shocking stories in children's literature surprises [Ibbotson]. In her own childhood, books were a comfort; an escape route from her "pillar-to-post" existence... [Ibbotson states,] 'My impression is that the writing has got better and better but the books have got darker and darker. I don't know what I think about that, being so addicted to making children happy.'"

Update 10-27-10: Kim Aippersbach of Dead Houseplants has written a post about her thoughts on this issue, "Darkness in Children's Literature: How Much Is Too Much?" Apparently the darkening of children's books was addressed by a panel at the recent Surrey International Writing Conference. Aippersbach suggests that even the darker books should include an element of hope.

A Review of April and Esme: Tooth Fairies by Bob Graham

I'll admit that I wanted to get ahold of this book partly because I have a picture book about the Tooth Fairy pending publication (waiting, waiting, waiting for an illustrator!), and I wanted to check out the competition. But that reason is secondary to a really important one, which is that April and Esme: Tooth Fairies is by Bob Graham. In case you aren't familiar with his work, here's my review of his beautiful book How to Heal a Broken Wing. I also like Graham's "Let's Get a Pup!" Said Kate—and not just because the girl is named Kate and the mom has a tattoo and a nose ring. (Trust me, they're the sweetest characters!)

Now, April and Esme Underhill are the children of Tooth Fairy parents, living in a tiny house nestled against a tree stump. Imagine seven-year-old (and three quarters!) April's surprise and joy when she gets a request for a tooth pick-up, her very first. What's more, she's going to bring her little sister Esme along. At first her parents say no, but they gradually come around, and the two girls are off on a splendid adventure, carrying a coin in a mesh bag as they fly across the countryside and into the suburban home where one Daniel Dangerfield is sleeping. They make the money/tooth exchange, though not without incident, then wing home in triumph.

This story is pretty simple, but it's just so lovely, and there are two reasons for that: first, Bob Graham's text shows a rich awareness of how real people, especially real children, talk and act. For example, April gets the tooth request on her cell phone, and when she hangs up and her dad asks what the call was about, she replies, "Don't say anything, Daddy... We're collecting a boy's tooth tonight, and I have to write this down." Later, when she and Esme reach Daniel's house and are wondering where his room is, they decide their best bet is to follow the trail of toys. Look also for a funny moment in Daniel's grandmother's room.

The other reason April and Esme is so very nice is Graham's endearing artwork. It's hard to believe his illustrations can be so darn cute without being overly sentimental. Watch for mundane yet clever details: the teeth swinging from the ceiling of the Underhills' cottage, the way Mrs. Underhill takes a bath in a (human sized) teacup and plays a game with her winged children using her blow dryer, also the fact that the toilet is apparently made from an egg cup. (I think the sink is a thimble.) As always, Graham's characters are sturdy and ordinary looking, though here they have the minor addition of wings. Even the family dog has fairy wings!

Graham understands that real life is just a bit grungy, so his cover art, while it shows the two little girls flying through the night above some flowers, includes a popsicle stick and a soda can tab amongst the dandelion leaves and grass. Plus the kids' clothes are slightly mismatched and askew.

This small team runs into a surprising difficulty during the tooth retrieval, but April handles things with perfect logic and even panache. Upon their return home, the two fairy children are greeted with lots of hugs, and we get a hint about the eventual fate of the teeth that have been collected. Graham makes an interesting decision on the last page: he ends the story with a wistful, wide-angle glimpse of the little cottage dreaming on its hill. The language in this brief epilogue sounds like something out of a fairy tale... Which only makes sense.

I think what I like best about Bob Graham is how lovingly he portrays families—and what loving families he portrays. Whether they're adopting dogs, rescuing hurt pigeons, or flying around at night collecting baby teeth, this author-illustrator's families somehow manage to be more warm and caring than the families in all the other picture books combined.

You really should discover Bob Graham's work.

A Review of Bink and Gollie by Kate DiCamillo and Alison McGhee

I don't always buy books straight off of blog reviews, but I have to say, Betsy Bird of Fuse #8 raved about this one in a far louder voice than you'll generally hear in her more enthusiastic reviews, and I was dying to see what all the fuss was about.

So, wow: she's really, really right!

This is the best team of lovingly mismatched friends since Frog and Toad; or, leapfrogging (heehee) to more recent standouts, since Elephant and Piggie. But why stop there? Starsky and Hutch, step aside. Oscar and Felix, forget it. You've got to meet Bink and Gollie!

Bink is a short, dandelion-haired girl, certainly the more sloppy and impulsive partner in this little duo. She looks like she's about 6. Gollie is much taller, built on Olive Oyl lines, and appears to be somewhere between 8 and 10. Gollie is more elegant in her speech as well as her appearance, and her statements are sometimes misunderstood by Bink, who lacks the vocabulary or even the syntax to follow Gollie's more erudite pronouncements. Yet Gollie clearly appreciates Bink's enthusiasm and loyalty. In fact, when these authors tell a tale of jealousy, it's the more reflective and mature Gollie who turns green, not passionate Bink.

Here's how we first meet the twosome, presented split screen. Each is wielding a cell phone—Bink on a chair with a jar of peanut butter nestled between her crossed legs and a sticky spoon in her other hand, Gollie lounging on a couch reading a book even as she talks:

"Hello, Gollie," said Bink.
"What should we do today?"

"Greetings, Bink," said Gollie.
"I long for speed."

After a page turn, Gollie adds, "Let's roller-skate!" Then we see the girls on a bench putting their skates on. Gollie sits up, lacing her skates neatly, while Bink lies on her back, tackling her laces with great and semi-effectual concentration.

I should note that, like Frog and Toad, Bink and Gollie live in their own homes, with nary an adult in sight. We don't see the houses till page 15, when we discover that Gollie lives in a Streamline Moderne tree house, while Bink lives at the foot of the same tree in a cottage that appears to have been built by the architectural firm of the Three Little Pigs.

Easy reader Bink and Gollie is divided into three episodic chapters. In the first, "Don't You Need a New Pair of Socks?" Bink buys a pair of "outrageously bright socks" that offend Gollie's sensibilities.

"Bink," said Gollie, "the brightness of those socks pains me. I beg you not to purchase them."
"I can't wait to put them on," said Bink.

The situation soon turns into an epic battle involving pancakes. Naturally.

In "P.S. I'll Be Back Soon," we learn that Gollie has her own share of imagination. She is playing a game where she chooses a country from a globe and then explores it—in her living room. ("'The finger has spoken,' said Gollie.") A note on her door addressed "To whom it may concern" warns that she is unavailable right now. Bink proceeds to knock on the door. The notes get increasingly firm, and so does Bink's determination to enter the premises and see what her friend is up to.

In "Give a Fish a Home," Bink brings home a goldfish. She's so enamored of her new pet that she doesn't notice Gollie's towering three's-a-crowd jealousy. Which starts off like this:

"Bink," said Gollie, "I must inform you that you are giving a home to a truly unremarkable fish."
"I love him," said Bink.

This book is not for the very beginning reader. It is closer to the reading level of Frog and Toad, and some parents might object to the inclusion of "big words" like "inform" and "unremarkable." I would argue that 6- and 7-year-olds will get into the spirit of Gollie's personality and will learn some cool new words while they're at it. In fact, kids that age often get a kick out of knowing "big words." Besides, the context carries the narrative along, aided concisely by the illustrations.

The success of Bink and Gollie is just as dependent on Tony Fucile's amazing artwork as it is on its DiCamillo-and-McGhee-crafted language. Much of the art is rendered in black-and-white (emphasis on the white), but the two girls and their clothes and the occasional detail are presented in color. You could argue that this approach hints that the setting is somehow imaginary, but why spoil things? I prefer to believe it's just a way of highlighting our main characters. And they deserve highlighting, if only for their apt and personable facial expressions.

I'll admit, my humor runs to the wry and dry, which is what's going on here, but I have trouble imagining the reader—young or old—who won't enjoy getting to know Bink and Gollie one way or another. The contrast between the two girls, coupled with their obvious affection, is heartwarming without being a bit schmaltzy. I highly recommend this book.

Update: See also Jules's post at Seven Imp, which shows more of the artwork.

A Review of Animal House by Candace Ryan

I've been so caught up in the middle grade and YA books I've been reading, I confess I've gotten behind on my picture book reviews. Here's a goodie that came out this summer.

Animal House is an intelligent picture book, designed for smart little cookies who like wordplay. In the context of verifying a homework excuse—a "vulchair" ate the narrator's homework—teacher Mrs. Nuddles comes to visit and discovers a house made of animals, not to mention portmanteau words.

If most of us were to sit down and try to invent these things, I'm guessing we would come up with three or four, but Ryan's inventiveness is astonishing: she's got a hampster to put the laundry in, a boarway to walk through, a microwave (note the word "crow") to cook with, and a back perch (the fish) to sit on, to name just a few.

Mrs. Nuddles runs a-fowl of Jeremy's household and needs rescuing, but she eventually takes the entire school class on a field trip to a mooseum, getting into the spirit of things. The plot here may be of less interest than the wordplay, which will make teachers itch to design a language lesson.

Check out this sample page:

Jamie left the skink running, and it knocks Mrs. Nuddles up toward the sealing. The chandeldeer tries to catch her, but his antlers get stuck in the sealing's whiskers.
Luckily, one of our armapillows comes to her rescue.
"Why, thank you," Mrs. Nuddles says, straightening her dress.

The artwork will help young readers explore which animals are meant by each term in the text, as some are a little harder to figure out than others. Illustrator Nathan Hale is probably best known for his work on Rapunzel's Revenge and Calamity Jack, two graphic novels by Shannon "Not His Wife or Even His Cousin" Hale. Here he uses a style halfway between cartoon and realism, with a wink and a nod. Incorporating some of these animals into the walls and furniture must have been a bit of a challenge, but Hale pulls it off smoothly.

After reading the book, your kids might want to design their own houses, whether they incorporate animals, toys, monsters, or robots.

I can't decide which features of Ryan's Animal House I like best... probably the "windodo" and the "harecase." But, as depicted by Hale, Jeremy's mother's "zebras" (ze-bras) made me laugh the most!

Now, I've mentioned that books, like movies, tend to come out in surprising waves. It certainly isn't enough to constitute a trend, but I will note that Jon Agee's picture book, Mr. Putney's Quacking Dog, also came out this summer and features portmanteau creatures. Only his book uses a question-and-answer format, lacking the narrative or the house context of Ryan's. The two would obviously make a nice pairing. I'm guessing second and third graders would be the best audience for Animal House, as well as for Agee's book.

(I was going to try to create an animal portmanteau word out of "review" for the post title, but all I could think of was "emu" and then I got stuck. Kudos to Candace Ryan!)