I’ve noticed a great trend this fall: book-themed baby showers. Gone seem to be the days of onesies and silver rattles. Instead expectant parents are asking for books and getting lots of them. There seems to be something about books for baby showers that makes people happy.
The gift givers feel like getting a baby-to-be books is a great idea. Books always fit and the sharing of childhood favorites makes everyone feel good. I love this new tradition. Helping build a new little person’s library is a lofty undertaking and one I hope has lasting effects. I love how customers approach this task. Some take it very seriously and really scour the shelves looking for those books that the family will love and the child will enjoy for years to come. Others just look for Goodnight Moon or Pat the Bunny. I’m not disparaging these classics, but I feel like everyone has them already. Some just stand in the picture book section scratching their heads because they don’t have kids in their lives and they’re overwhelmed. This is where booksellers come to the rescue. Part of our job is to make the picture book section seems smaller and easier to manage.
I ask guided questions of each gift giver that acts like a logarithm. Did you want something the baby can enjoy right away? Then we head to the board book section and look for books with bold colors. Are you looking to build a library for future use? Then I tend to lean toward the Caldecott case if they don’t have titles in mind. Do you want something that no one will get them, but they’ll love? Then I prowl around for a classic Bob Graham title or something funny like Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road? I often will go for fairy tale collections or something like My Very First Mother Goose. 
When the entire family gets involved, it’s a great baby shower gift. There’s nothing as heartening as seeing teenagers come alive when they start talking about the picture books they loved as kids. This kind of present is just so much more meaningful. My niece still loves the collection I gave my brother when she was born three years ago. There are so many modern classics that I love to give: Good Night, Gorilla; Ten Little Fingers, Ten Little Toes; Each Peach Pear Plum; and honestly, just about anything by Sandra Boynton.
So, readers, what are some of your favorite baby shower books?

I spent the weekend visiting my brother’s family in Chicago. As I’m wont to do, I spent some time at a local independent bookstore. I love doing this when I travel. There is something really fun for me in seeing other stores. I walk into a store and marvel at other ways stores are set up, how they merchandise sidelines, and the depth of inventory.

I was lucky to spend my time at a store I’ve always wanted to go: Women and Children First. My sister-in-law, Sara, and niece and my four-month old nephew and I showed up at 10:45, not knowing that they opened at 11am. We grabbed a coffee and then we were the first people in the store. And then something wonderful happened that every bookstore owner loves to see: within five minutes of opening the store was brimming, literally completely full of customers.
As if the inviting, full store weren’t enough, I met a wonderful bookseller, Selina, who is the reason indies are still thriving. Sara is working on a YA novel with a dystopian theme. I wanted to show her some books that buck the current dystopian trend. She immediately grabbed one of her favorite books, The Order of Odd-Fish, and started to book talk it. She spoke eloquently and with passion. I wholeheartedly bought the book just based on her joy about being able to talk about it, knowing it was the exact right book for my sister-in-law.
Selina clearly loves books and was a delight to talk to. She, and other staffers like her (everyone at Women and Children First was great), are what make indies different from shopping online or chain stores. As I was leaving we were talking about the big events the store has. They were gearing up for Diane Ravitch this week. They were expecting 500 at the event. The last thing I heard was that Diane had to cancel because she ill. I watched as the very well-oiled machine was about to kick into high gear to do what needs to get done when a huge event gets cancelled less than a week before its scheduled date.
I left the store happy to have been there and to have talked to Selina, and also secretly happy that I was on vacation and could just revel in being able to go to lunch where we all read our new books.
 
 

Normally, I focus on my bookselling self at the store and my author self at school and library visits and writing retreats. Obviously, there’s some overlap, since both selves are involved with children’s literature. But I’ll be honest: I’m always a little startled when someone comes to the store and asks me to sign one of my books. Of course it’s wonderful and flattering, but it feels a bit awkward to autograph a picture book and then ring it up. It’s like being both waiter and guest at a dinner party.
Today, I received a phone call from the bookstore at the end of the work day. I’d been at home working on the store’s annual holiday catalog. (It is impossible to get anything like that done at the store.) My co-worker, Sandy, was on the line. “I had to share the cutest story with you,” she said. She told me we’d had a call from a woman in San Francisco, wanting to order a signed copy of How Do You Wokka-Wokka? for her son.
Apparently, he started preschool this fall, and had a hard time separating from his mom when she dropped him off every morning. At some point, their teacher had read Wokka to the class, and this little boy took to it. Now he won’t let his mom leave him at preschool until they read the book together, because when she starts reading it, the other little kids drift over and listen and do wokka-wokka dances, and they all play. Once the book is finished, she gives him a kiss and he lets her leave without a fuss. I love thinking that the book is a comfort for him, and I will be honored to autograph his own special copy for Christmas.
Of course, the signature won’t mean anything to him; if anything, he will wonder who was allowed to scribble in his book. He is too young to understand the concept of what an author is or does; at that age, books just exist. And he may think his mother has simply taken away the preschool’s copy, since the notion of separate copies of the same book is also hard for tykes to grasp. But I love the thought that this book, which I will sign and we will wrap and ship all the way across the country, will land under the tree of a little boy who loves it for his own unique, mysterious reasons.
I’ll tell you, today, it was pretty nice to have my worlds collide.
 
 

This past week, I’ve been to three concerts: Elvis Costello, a local singer/songwriter competition, and David Cook. Loved all three for different reasons. What bound them together was the pleasure of watching people do what they’re passionate about, and do it well. I think I’ve written here before about losing it at Eric Carle’s studio, so moved by his deep, gentle joy in creating a simple bird for a small audience of booksellers that my eyes leaked until I needed to slip downstairs and get a grip. I don’t think there is anything more inspiring than being among passionate, creative, talented people sharing their love of what they do.
The singer/songwriter competition was especially inspiring, perhaps because the performers were, for the most part, younger and more raw and courageously finding their voices. There were nine contestants — the top three finalists from each of three first rounds. They were judged on a variety of criteria: singing, songwriting, stage presence, instrumental skill, etc. All nine, more or less, were at least enjoyable to listen to. Four of them (in my opinion) had notably interesting voices that rose a cut above the others, and two of them (again, my opinion) wrote lyrics that stood head and shoulders above the rest;* their writing had poetry in it, something magical that can’t be faked. Their songs transcended the simplistic “me, me, me” of many contemporary songs. Think of songwriters, master lyricists like Paul Simon or Leonard Cohen: they’ve got Voice with a capital V. Distinctive, individual, recognizable at 1000 paces.
Which is my problem, I think, with first person present tense. Bear with me; this may make sense in a second. I know I’m a lone voice in the wilderness here; first person present tense (FPPT for short) is what so many writers are using these days. Heck, I’m using it now. And there absolutely are FPPT novels with a beautifully distinct voice. But. Sometimes I’ll read a spate of YA novels and feel as though the narrator of all of them could be the same person (what I think of as the uni-voice), and I blame that on first person present with its limited close-up lens and necessarily internal focus. I don’t want every smart, observant, wry, misfit teen narrator to sound the same.
Even in the face of first person present, I want writers to knock my socks off, the way, for example, Franny Billingsley does in Chime.

Somehow Billingsley makes FPPT serve her purposes and ends up with gorgeous language and rhythm and — most welcome — strangeness in her writing.
Julie Berry’s recent extraordinary All the Truth That’s in Me has that kind of magic, as well. She plays with tense, mixing limited third past tense and first person present so masterfully it’s not noticeable unless you’re taking apart what it is she’s doing and how she does it so well. It’s almost impossible to isolate moments in this book to post here when so much depends upon what has gone before, and when sharing the most powerful, beautiful sections would be giving away too much; it’s unfair to share those with people who haven’t read the book. But here’s a little snippet. (It’s not really a spoiler to tell you that the narrator is talking about a horse.)

I hear a rustle behind me. I creep back to see, plying my way through willow branches like a swimmer. 

I can’t see her but I feel her there. The sweet dusty scent of her hide, the whoosh of her breath. It’s a wonder she didn’t flee at the explosions.

I don’t know her name, neither could I use it if I did. She is more shadow and fancy than flesh and bone. I christen her Phantom.

It’s inspiring to come upon books that make something fresh of the same old words we all use. Both the reader and the writer in me thrill to the magic of strangeness and beauty, to deep creativity.
Does anyone else encounter and feel frustrated by the uni-voice in contemporary FPPT novels? What advice do you have for avoiding it? And what first person present tense novels knock YOUR socks off?
* It must be disclosed that one of the two lyricists whose work so impressed me at the contest is Flying Pig bookseller Laura Heaberlin. She and her close friend, the other gifted songwriter with magic in her lyrics, took second and first, respectively, in the contest. Congratulations, Laura!

A customer came in yesterday and said that we were holding a book for her that was a present. I looked and looked on the special order shelves and there was nothing. She was perplexed because her brother had told her to come in today, her birthday.
Janie gave my her brother’s name and I looked him up. But the inventory record showed that he hadn’t bought a book from us. I started scratching my head and Janie was about to call her sibling when I saw that I had his phone number. This led me to believe that he’d been here or phoned in an order. Sadly, I could find no special order for her or her brother.
Rather than keep her in the store while I tried to figure out what on earth had happened, I told Janie that I would call the minute I knew something. I started scrambling. I hate calling customers about orders until I’ve exhausted everything I know about looking up their book. I noticed he was entered in the computer system (we never sell our list, it’s a great way to enter folks in our frequent buyers club) in October. “Ah ha!” Now, I had something to go on.
Lo and behold, after looking up that day’s receipts in the computer I saw that he paid for a $100 gift card, which for some reason isn’t tracked as a purchase. With the information, I looked in the special drawer where we keep these things and, voila!, there was the gift card. I sprinted to the parking lot in the hopes that Janie hadn’t left yet. I saw a blue car about to enter traffic and I tapped on the window. Well, honestly, I knocked loudly. Poor Janie practically jumped out of the car. She rolled down the window and I explained what had happened.
She thanked me very much for my digging and we both started laughing as we caught our breath. I apologized again for scaring her and smiled as I walked back into the store. I suspect next time, we’ll be mailing her birthday gift card.

Every day I’m amazed at the ability of parents to handle cranky children in the bookstore. The weekends can be especially challenging. Yesterday, I saw a young mom skillfully handle a full-on tantrum.
A child has a tantrum for a myriad of reasons; they can be tired, hungry, overwhelmed, or feeling out of control, to name a few. This mom came in with her five-year-old daughter and almost immediately it was clear they were operating at cross purposes. The mom was browsing the sale table and the girl was looking at the princess books. There is something about an unattainable book with a glittery cover that can send even the most stalwart young reader into a tailspin. This little one had a case of the “I need it”s  and the mom was doing a pretty good job of redirecting her. All was well until the young one started to cry. At first it was the fake crying kids can do when they’re not getting their way.
The fake crying (you know it’s fake, because within the tears if asked a direct and fun question, they respond calmly) lasted longer than we were all comfortable with. But the mom held her ground, largely ignoring the laments of this princess fan. Then something changed. The mom had had enough and put her foot down and said very calmly, “If you keep asking about this book we are going to leave.” She was very clear and repeated that twice. My co-worker and I held our breath and waited to see what was going to happen. Often, these tantrums can get turned around with parents who hold their ground. Sadly, this was not the case.
The little one just totally lost it. She was sobbing and practically flailing at her mother who again remained so calm as she said, “Okay, that’s it. We’re leaving.” Shouts of, “No, Mommy!” rang out as they left the store. Honestly, it was heartbreaking. I think we can all remember when we were little and just felt tiny in a big world and really, really, really just wanted the sparkly book or toy. But the mom was right and I always applaud parents who stand firm in the midst of a whining child in public. As embarrassing as this was, the mom didn’t cave in to the demands of a five-year-old terrorist who was cute as a button.
Fifteen minutes later they came back to the store and I braced myself. The little girl had calmed down measurably and they browsed for 10 minutes. It was clear that guidelines had been discussed and the girl really understood that she was getting one book and one book only. She clutched her princess book little a protective blankie while her mother bought other books.
No one said a word about the meltdown. I was really tempted to give the kid a shiny sticker, but thought the better of it. They left the store with a bag full of books and the little one practically skipped out of the store and all was good with the world again.

Maybe it’s just me, but lately I’ve been getting a lot of awkward cold calls. I know this must be a thankless job, as we all resist the urge to just hang up the minute we sense it’s a solicitor call. I’ve got some pointers for people who want to have success.
– Do not ask the person answering the phone, “Can I talk to the boss?” It’s rude and dismissive of the person on the phone. How about a nice hello? And then ask if a manager is available.
– If you ask the above question do not ask “if he’s around.” It’s rude to assume that the boss is a man. And when calling bookstores, it’s very likely the boss, is in fact, a woman.
– Do not say this call will only take two minutes, when, in truth, you know it’s going to be at least 10.
– Everyone’s time is valuable. Tell me why you’re calling at the outset. If you’re looking for a donation, get to that early on. If it’s a cause I care about and the store hasn’t exceeded its giving budget for the month, I might just give you a gift card.
– Do not call any retail establishment in December looking to buy your product or switch my phone service. None of us has time. We are not being rude when we cut you off, you need to know when to call.
– Contrary to what’s been happening, Monday morning is not a good time to call.
– Lastly, we know your job is hard, but if I ask you to leave you a message for the boss, or the “person who makes buying decisions,” please do that. Not being able to call someone back when there might be interest in what you’re selling is irritating. And honestly, I don’t trust people who won’t leave a message.

“Out of print” is one of the saddest phrases I know. Every year, I compile a list of Rescued Treasures heralding the return of beloved books that had been sent to pasture. I am always on the hunt for these, and turn to publishers like Purple House Press, who are responsible for some of my all-time favorite reprints, such as Miss Suzy by Miriam Young and Arnold Lobel, Old Black Witch by Wende and Harry Devlin, and The Brothers Lionheart by Astrid Lindgren.
This year, Purple House is bringing back The Marvelous Inventions of Alvin Fernald by Clifford Hicks in paperback, The Giraffe That Walked to Paris by Nancy Milton and Roger Roth, and two more popular books by the Devlins, A Cranberry Halloween and A Cranberry Christmas.
(Side note: speaking of Halloween, I have to say I really miss the Georgie books by Robert Bright. A couple of them came back into print in the late 90s, but are back OP again.)
Harper is celebrating the 75th anniversary of Gertrude Stein’s The World Is Round (illustrated by Clement Hurd) with a facsimile edition of the original — meaning that it features the original blue and white line art on rosy pink paper. Ahhhh, lovely. I discovered this picture book in college and was taken by its distinctively Steinian repetitions and convolutions. Thacher Hurd has written an introduction for the new edition.
As blogged about early this year, Random House, much to my delight, is re-issuing the Ruth Chew everyday magic books, beginning with What the Witch Left and No Such Thing as a Witch. Wahoo!! I love these books, and so do young readers.
I know there have been many more delights reissued this year. Publishers, feel free to add yours in the Comments section! Let us celebrate your reissues.
P.S. It’s a sad truth that often, reissues just don’t have the kind of sales and marketing budgets allocated to new titles, so all too often, they fade back OP again because the teachers and librarians and nostalgic parents who might have snapped them up don’t ever know they were available again. I wish there were a better way to get the word out! If anyone has a brilliant idea, let us know.

Ever since my first trade show in 1996, Carol Chittenden has been a mentor. I have learned so much from her book wisdom, her kindness and her intelligence. I often marvel at her seemingly boundless energy and fount of creativity. Just when I think she can do no more, I get a video in the mail created by her staff, featuring none other than Carol as Charlotte from Charlotte’s Web, a perfect literary match, celebrating books.
The staff at Eight Cousins clearly love their jobs and what a great staff they seem to be. So: crank up the volume and get inspired and enjoy. Now, if I could just figure out how to get as much done as well as Carol in a day, I’d be set.

Each year, as many of you know, the Flying Pig publishes a 16-page full-color catalog (which we inaccurately refer to as “the newsletter,” even though it’s rare we disseminate actual store news in its pages). We feature around 125 books, which strive to comprise a mix of the best of the best books published this year, staff favorites to recommend to children and adults. As I get closer and closer to the newsletter deadline and try to cram more and more books in so I don’t miss something spectacular, my reading mix becomes increasingly strange. More on that in a bit.
In addition to choosing only the best of what we’ve read this year, we also want a range of genres and styles. It would be easy for the middle grade picks to be overrun by fantasy and high-concept wackitude, the kinds of books that grab attention away from quieter solid titles about everyday adventures, friendship, animals, etc., books that are less flashy but might have an equal or greater lasting impact on young readers’ minds and hearts. (I myself am a big fan of fantasy and wackitude, so I have to beware of not overloading my selections in those areas. Also, I do know that fantasy and wackitude can also be powerful and meaningful. But you know what I’m getting at.)
We also want to include small press titles, quirky finds, and books that lie outside my own personal interests but are treasures for other kinds of readers. I want to make sure there’s a healthy balance between fiction and nonfiction, since some customers read almost solely one or the other. Happily, having a staff of booksellers also reading and recommending books for the newsletter makes for a lot of diversity. We range from 17 to 70, both male and female. Not too shabby. We could be more diverse (this is Vermont, after all), but we try to cover our bases thoughtfully.
All of which brings me to today. While this morning and afternoon’s reading hasn’t included any nonfiction or quirky small press offerings, it has been decidedly … unusual. So far, I have read the following: Prisoner B-3087 by Alan Gratz, Fortunately, the Milk, by Neil Gaiman, and Lockwood & Co.: The Screaming Staircase, by Jonathan Stroud. I think it’s safe to say that never have I had a stranger muddle of emotions after a day’s reading.
Prisoner B-3087 is really powerful stuff, the somewhat fictionalized true story of Yanek Gruener, a Jewish boy in Poland who spends years under the worst of the Nazi regime, first in the Warsaw Ghetto and then in multiple successive work and death camps. He loses nearly all of his family, and all of his friends. He survives because, as his Uncle Moshe urges him, “We cannot let these monsters tear us from the pages of the world.” The book does an admirable job of holding up the horrors of the Holocaust to a clear, un-sugarcoated light without tipping into the kind of gruesome detail that tends to flip such unimaginable terror almost into unbelievability, the kind of experience we, as 21st-century privileged and relatively safe Americans, just cannot absorb as having been possible. Does that make sense? It is a feat to describe something so utterly alien and horrible, tragic and enraging, into a picture that we can even take in. It is unbearable to live in Yanek’s skin, and yet Alan Gratz makes it possible, allowing us to glimpse what made this boy a survivor, a combination of pure luck—there were so many close brushes with death—intelligence, resourcefulness, character, and sheer determination. For the real-life Yanek Gruener (who goes by “Jack” in America) to have survived, fallen in love with his wife, Ruth, also a survivor, have come to the U.S. and raised a family, to spend their lives working and traveling to speak of these experiences is a testament to courage and generosity of spirit. There are so many powerful books about this time in history, and Prisoner B-3087 is another fine addition.
I will say that, while intended for readers ages 10-14, I can’t think of too many 10- and 11-year-olds I’d unhesitatingly hand this book to, as good as it is. There are other introductions to the horrors of the Holocaust that provide a less steep ramp into the everyday unimaginable nightmares and terrors people endured. And yet, at some point, we all must face this past and its many lessons and questions. For those ready to handle it, Prisoner B-3087 is an unforgettable book.
It was hard to shift gears to another book after that. It felt disrespectful to leave Yanek’s world so quickly, without the proper time for the grief and reflection such a story deserves. But the newsletter deadline calls, and great stacks of books await, and so next I found myself with The Screaming Staircase in hand. I could not have read something realistic and wrenching after Prisoner B-3087, so a middle-grade novel about ghostbusters in old-fashionedy London seemed perfect. There’s a lot of death in this one, as well, though, which made me ponder once again how casual and normalized death has become in children’s books, especially adventure and fantasy. Not just off-screen references to death, but live-action descriptions of violent ends and decaying corpses and other things that would have given me nightmares as a kid, but which today’s youth (with sensitive exceptions, of course) seem largely inured to.

But that’s just a teeny part of the delightful, suspenseful world of The Screaming Staircase. Why is old-time London so eternally cozy to American readers? Stroud, who showed his irresistible character-creating chops in the Bartimaeus books, has done it again with Lucy and Lockwood and George, three young ghost-fighting agents who each bring their special psychic or other gifts to the practice (Lucy can Hear, Lockwood can See, and George, well, George researches and prepares and does most of the worrying). Stroud also excels at crackling dialogue and wry humor. And pacing! He knows how to fling a good cliffhanger our way, and moves back and forth in time, keeping the story propelled briskly forward while also deftly painting in the background details of plot and character backstory. Fans of Philip Pullman’s Sally Lockhart mysteries are likely to enjoy The Screaming Staircase, which skews just a tad younger (um, and has ghosts). The story is pure protoplasmic adventurous fun, a mix of spectral spookiness and dashing recklessness, high stakes building to a truly creepy climax.
I must say it was a strange experience to leave the very real kind of dark evil in Prisoner B-3087 only to encounter supernatural evils (brought on by old murders and other dark deeds) in my next read. And then it was on to a much sillier realm created by Neil Gaiman.
Fortunately, the Milk (see book cover at top of post) is an example of perfectly executed, exalted wackitude. Basically, a British dad goes out for milk for his tea and his children’s breakfast while Mum is out of town. The kids wait a looong time for his return, and when he gets back, he has a wild tale to explain his delay, one involving time travel and pirates and space aliens and “wumpires” and exploding volcanos and a volcano god and piranhas and a hot-air-balloon-flying professorial stegosaurus and galactic police officer T. Rexes and gems and all manner of appealing staples out of children’s adventure stories, all turned on their heads in one way or another with a wink and a nod to readers. Oh, that Neil Gaiman! He made me smile all the way through with this book’s antics and wordplay and the fact that the entire crazy adventure is resolved by spoofing its own genre. Brilliant!
I shudder to think how these stories will intertwine in my dreams tonight, but I don’t regret a single word.