Alice Cary

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Every parent knows you have to pick your battles, and here's a book to help you choose yours: Picking Your Battles: Winning Strategies for Raising Well-Behaved Kids, by Bonnie Maslin, Ph.D. Maslin, a psychologist and mother of four, writes about a broad range of ages, from birth to 11. Many books are written about babies, toddlers, preschoolers and teens, so it's useful to have a reference directed at 5- to 11-year-olds, a group that's often not addressed.

Maslin earns her audience's trust by admitting, "flawless parenting is not my stock-in-trade. The vantage point of Picking Your Battles is the trenches, not the exalted heights. I wrote this book because I made every mistake in it and fortunately learned from it." Maslin has many strategies for avoiding those plentiful moments we parents aren't proud of, those Battles Royal, or, as she puts it, moments when we turn into "parental lunatics." What parent couldn't benefit from "Seven Steps to Getting Good at Getting Angry"? Step 1, for instance, is an easy-to-remember, invaluable tool: "Respond Rather Than React." In addition to helping moms and dads with their own reactions and discipline style, Maslin includes a helpful section on how parents can help develop their children's moral compass. '

 

Every parent knows you have to pick your battles, and here's a book to help you choose yours: Picking Your Battles: Winning Strategies for Raising Well-Behaved Kids, by Bonnie Maslin, Ph.D. Maslin, a psychologist and mother of four, writes about a broad range of ages, from birth to 11. Many books are written about babies, […]
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No matter what age children you have, problems happen. Problems that leave you stumped, forcing you to turn to others for advice. Whether your brood is in the potty-training phase or in those scary post-pubescent years, here are some new books to help you keep your head above water. Take a parenting time-out, and instead of screaming, try reading.

Expectant parents and parents of infants especially first-time parents frequently turn to books for help, and often several books. As a mother of three, I kept a trusted stack by my bed during those early years. A good volume to add to your collection is The Kidfixer Baby Book by Stuart J. Altman, M.D. An instructor at NYU Medical Center and the Albert Einstein Medical Center, Altman is also a practicing pediatrician with a Long Island pediatric group called Kidfixers. Perplexed parents would love nothing better than being able to chat with a physician about their worries. Reading The Kidfixer Baby Book is the next best thing. Avoiding what he calls "techno-speak," Altman writes in an informative and often entertaining style. Adding to his book's humor are a handful of James Thurber-like line drawings scattered throughout, the work of illustrator Zacharyl Judd Scheer.

Topics (there are many) are clearly organized, covering everything from pregnancy issues to sleep and feeding difficulties, immunizations, symptoms and special concerns of working parents, divorced parents and parents of multiples. A look at some of the chapter subtitles reveals how informed and reassuring Altman's insights can be: "Some common lumps, bumps, and spots"; "Don't panic fever is a good sign"; and "Why your child always seems sick, and some straight talk about antibiotics." And when all seems impossible, be heartened by Altman's conclusion that raising a child is "not impossible" and "certainly easier than programming a VCR."

No matter what age children you have, problems happen. Problems that leave you stumped, forcing you to turn to others for advice. Whether your brood is in the potty-training phase or in those scary post-pubescent years, here are some new books to help you keep your head above water. Take a parenting time-out, and instead […]
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If your young readers are fans of the Little House books or any type of "westward-ho" narrative, they're bound to enjoy Deborah Hopkinson's A Packet of Seeds. In this picture book, Pa announces, "Folks around here are getting close as kernels on a cob." His wife doesn't want to leave her family and friends, and the book's narrator, daughter Annie, is attuned to her mother's unhappiness. When they finally arrive by covered wagon at their new plot of land, Annie notes, her mother asks: "This is it?" By spring, a new baby has arrived, but Annie's mother is too depressed to even name the child. As Annie thinks of her mother's garden back at their old home, she comes up with a way to help, remembering: "[Momma] says friends and flowers are a lot alike. No matter how bad your troubles, they gladden your heart." Annie and her brother Jim struggle to dig a garden for their mother, and it's soon ready for the seeds her mother received as a parting gift from her family. The new garden is just the right tonic for Momma, and she even names the baby Janice Rose, after her sister and in honor of a rose cutting given by their new neighbor. Hopkinson [a regular contributor to BookPage] provides a note at the end, explaining that she was inspired by pioneer narratives and by an article about pioneer roses. She adds that women traveling on the Oregon Trail are thought to have brought along about 20 different kinds of roses.

Bethanne Andersen's gouache and oil illustrations are executed in a primitive style that beautifully conveys the vast, empty space of the prairie. This is a perfect little history lesson for older preschool and young elementary students, a book that introduces the idea of westward expansion and gives real insight into human emotions as well.

Alice Cary writes from Groton, Massachusetts.

If your young readers are fans of the Little House books or any type of "westward-ho" narrative, they're bound to enjoy Deborah Hopkinson's A Packet of Seeds. In this picture book, Pa announces, "Folks around here are getting close as kernels on a cob." His wife doesn't want to leave her family and friends, and […]
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Susan Wojciechowski has devised a newfangled fairy tale from an ancient holiday. The premise of A Fine St. Patrick's Day is neatly summed up on the opening page: "For as far back as anyone could remember, the towns of Tralee and Tralah had been rivals. Every year on St. Patrick's Day, they held a contest to see which town could decorate best for the holiday. And though the people of Tralee tried their hardest, they never won."

So what will happen this year? The answer comes from Fiona Riley of Tralee, a "wee lass of six" who suggests that the town paint everything bright green. The townsfolk agree, and little Fiona picks out a shade called Limerick Lime. Suddenly, however, preparations are interrupted by a strange little man with a long red beard who gallops into town on a big white horse. He goes from door to door, first in Tralah, begging for help, because his cows are stuck in the mud. At every house in Tralah, he is turned away. Folks there are much too busy preparing for the contest, trying to beat their rival. Over in Tralee, of course, it's a different story. Everyone readily agrees to help the stranger rescue his cows. I won't say what happens next, but the conclusion is fitting, with the contest resolved in an unexpected, pleasing way.

Tom Curry's illustrations, painted in acrylics, are marvelous, with textures so rich they seem like collages. The many hues of green in the book provide the perfect backdrop for the comings and goings of the citizens of Tralee. The world Curry has created feels like that of a traditional fairy tale, but it has a decidedly funky atmosphere.

A Fine St. Patrick's Day provides a great starting point for discussions with young readers about the history of St. Patrick's Day, the nature of fairy tales and the good and bad aspects of competition. No doubt the many shamrocks inside the book will bring readers a fine helping of good luck!

Alice Cary writes from Groton, Massachusetts.

Susan Wojciechowski has devised a newfangled fairy tale from an ancient holiday. The premise of A Fine St. Patrick's Day is neatly summed up on the opening page: "For as far back as anyone could remember, the towns of Tralee and Tralah had been rivals. Every year on St. Patrick's Day, they held a contest […]
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Winter is all about the juxtaposition of cold and warmth, and Laura Whipple's poetry anthology, A Snowflake Fell: Poems About Winter, is sure to warm hearts of all ages. This collection is one of those rare volumes that I can share with both my four-year-old twins and my 10-year-old son. So, as Whipple advises in her introduction, "pop some corn; put your fuzzy slippers on, and use your imagination to experience the sharp smell of winter air, the sound of ice skates on a frozen pond, the touch of snow on your face and even the taste of the first snowflake as it falls from the sky."

Whipple's book features a wonderful selection of poems about animals and the natural world, including Jane Yolen's "Winter Song of the Weasel," Douglas Florian's "The Winter Tree" and Ted Hughes' "Goose." Marilyn Singer's delightful "Deer Mouse" replicates the rhythms of a deer mouse scampering over the snow to gather food: "get get get get get/get/out of the nest/get/into the cold." Older readers will recall how it feels to be a kid during winter when they read Jack Prelutsky's "My Mother's Got Me Bundled Up." Few poets can rival Prelutsky's humor: "It's hard to move, and when I try/I waddle, then I flop/I'm the living, breathing model/of a walking clothing shop." Richard J. Margolis' "Downhill" is a funny ode to the question of who steers on a sled, while Bobbi Katz's "Skiing" speaks wonders in its quiet simplicity: "Skiing is like being/part of a mountain."

Tying the myriad poems together are the splendid illustrations of Japanese artist Hatsuki Hori. The endpapers of the book swirl with snow falling on evergreens and deciduous trees, and Hori's soft touch captures the bluish shadows of snow and the yellow glow of a warming fire. Whether she's illustrating a deep blue sky over a snowman or the northern lights over a snowbound cabin, Hori makes winter's icy world appealing.

Stash away a copy of A Snowflake Fell for those winter moments when the kids complain that there's nothing to do. Pour some hot cocoa, and you'll be ready for a literary feast.

Alice Cary writes from Groton, Massachusetts.

Winter is all about the juxtaposition of cold and warmth, and Laura Whipple's poetry anthology, A Snowflake Fell: Poems About Winter, is sure to warm hearts of all ages. This collection is one of those rare volumes that I can share with both my four-year-old twins and my 10-year-old son. So, as Whipple advises in […]
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With The Tree of Life: Charles Darwin, award-winning children's author and illustrator Peter Sís offers a top-notch picture book biography for young readers. Sís, who has also written about Galileo and Columbus, says he aims to discover "the human element" behind each hero, and he succeeds here. He starts the story off with a bang, beginning on February 12, 1809: "Charles Darwin opens his eyes for the first time! He has no idea that he will (a) start a revolution when he grows up, (b) sail around the world on a five-year voyage, (c) spend many years studying nature, and (d) write a book that will change the world." How's that for an attention-grabbing opener?

Readers then learn how Darwin's mother died when he was eight, how his father wanted him to be a doctor, or failing that, a clergyman. Young Charles, however, preferred shooting, riding, collecting beetles and exploring the countryside. In fact, when Darwin was asked to voyage aboard the Beagle as a naturalist, his father objected, and only through the mediation of an uncle was he allowed to go. Sís seamlessly blends myriad details into the story and into his illustrations. For instance, it's remarkable to learn that aboard the Beagle, Darwin occasionally became seasick. Only lying in a hammock and eating raisins gave him comfort. He also grew tremendously homesick during the journey. Darwin once wrote that he wished he had learned to draw. But Sís draws as though he were Darwin, using text from the naturalist's writings, as well as maps and charts on each page.

Later in the book, Sís divides the naturalist's life into public, private and "secret" including his work on trying to prove his theories about evolution with all three categories appearing on the same page, so readers can quickly grasp how events coincide. In lesser hands, such cataloging might become dull, but Sís never loses sight of the magic of the man.

Finally, Sís never preaches he lets the details and the story speak strongly for themselves. Here is a book that will entertain and educate readers time after time.

Alice Cary is a contributing editor for Biography magazine.

With The Tree of Life: Charles Darwin, award-winning children's author and illustrator Peter Sís offers a top-notch picture book biography for young readers. Sís, who has also written about Galileo and Columbus, says he aims to discover "the human element" behind each hero, and he succeeds here. He starts the story off with a bang, […]
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A Tiger Called Thomas is a sweet story that climaxes on Halloween night, but it's much more than a holiday tale. First published in 1963 and re-illustrated here by Diana Cain Bluthenthal, this children's classic focuses on the heart how a boy named Thomas worries about making friends, and how a tiger costume helps him learn that he is, indeed, liked and known by all in his new neighborhood.

Young Thomas has moved into a new community, where he sees many interesting people, but he simply sits on his stoop, too shy to venture out, because he's afraid he won't be liked. He won't play with young Marie, or say hi to the lady with the black cat, and he's afraid to reach out to a lonely boy named Gerald.

Thomas sits and watches: "He watched the sparrows and the grackles and the blue jays in the trees. He watched the black cat look up at the sparrows and the grackles and blue jays. But he never went off the stoop to play." With lines like these, Charlotte Zolotow a legendary author as well as children's literature editor and publisher advances her story while showing what good writing is all about, even at the preschool level, even when nothing much is going on.

Everything changes for Thomas the night he puts on a tiger costume and goes trick-or-treating, no longer afraid of rejection because of his disguise. He is surprised that everywhere he goes, the neighbors seem to know him already. "That's funny," he says to himself. "She called the tiger Thomas." This goes on at every stop, until Thomas comes home. The story ends with a revelation for our hero: ”I guess they all like you,' his mother said. Thomas looked at her. Suddenly he felt wonderful." Diana Cain Bluthenthal has produced timeless drawings with a modern-day feel. Thomas himself is reminiscent of the lovely young boy in Ezra Jack Keats' classic, The Snowy Day. Bluthenthal brings interest to her simple illustrations by adding wonderful collage-like texture to the pictures. When is a Halloween story not a Halloween story? When it's by Charlotte Zolotow and the emotions and discoveries transcend the holiday. The tale of Thomas is treat enough for any reader.

A Tiger Called Thomas is a sweet story that climaxes on Halloween night, but it's much more than a holiday tale. First published in 1963 and re-illustrated here by Diana Cain Bluthenthal, this children's classic focuses on the heart how a boy named Thomas worries about making friends, and how a tiger costume helps him […]
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Two Old Potatoes and Me is a lovely story about a father and daughter who plant two potatoes that they find growing sprouts in the back of a cupboard. "Gross," the girl proclaims, as she dumps the mess in the trash, but dad stops her, and soon the two set off for the garden. John Coy's text is a great how-to lesson on growing and caring for potato plants, with each step carefully explained. Carolyn Fisher's artwork is high-energy innovation, mixing media in ways that make white-purple potato sprouts and vivid green plants jump off the page. Fisher's dirt is so dark and textured you can practically feel it between your fingers. Coy covers every stage of the growing process, from weeding and composting in June, to picking potato beetles off the plants in July.

One important aspect of the story is nicely understated, though. The book begins with the words "Last spring at my dad's house," so careful readers surmise that the narrator's parents are divorced. The subject is mentioned one more time, as father and daughter sit in front of the garden in September, and the father inquires about his daughter's room at her mother's house. The girl replies that she and her mom have painted it periwinkle, and "You can see it on Friday when you pick me up." In a sweet response, the father says, "It will be Periwinkle Friday." Thus, families facing the issue of divorce can share the dilemma with Coy's characters and see how one parent and child forge ahead in new ways, growing together. On the other hand, readers simply interested in the gardening lesson won't be overwhelmed by the subtle divorce theme.

In the end, father and daughter sit side by side, happily digging into a bowl of mashed potatoes sprinkled with nutmeg for good luck. (There's also a recipe for mashing your own.) Two Old Potatoes and Me is all about being together as family members about growing and turning what you have into gold. In this case, Yukon Golds!

Alice Cary writes from Groton, Massachusetts.

Two Old Potatoes and Me is a lovely story about a father and daughter who plant two potatoes that they find growing sprouts in the back of a cupboard. "Gross," the girl proclaims, as she dumps the mess in the trash, but dad stops her, and soon the two set off for the garden. John […]
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Visit the Web site of author/illustrator Judith Byron Schachner, and she proclaims, I live in a constant state of third grade bliss making up stories and drawing pictures. Isn't that what we all did as children?" The same could be said for the heroine of her new book, Yo, Vikings!, a young girl named Emma who immerses herself in a world of imagination and drawing when she prepares a speech for her class' World Discovery Day about Erik the Red, the hot-tempered Icelandic explorer and founder of Greenland.

With the help of her young brother, Ollie, Emma heads to the library, where a kindly librarian named Mr. Sigurd guides her research. Suddenly Emma's mind and journals are filled with Vikings, runes, swords and sailing ships. One day, she discovers that an actual Viking ship is for sale, so she and Ollie pool their money and baseball cards to try to purchase the artifact. They send off a letter and wait patiently for a reply. Meanwhile, Emma tells all her friends that she is going to get the ship for her birthday. Her pals are used to her wild tales and simply call this latest Viking voodoo." I won't spoil the ending, but I assure you that this book perfect for elementary school children is a superb blend of imagination and reality. Emma's enthusiastic undertaking of the school project is just the sort of approach to a history assignment that every youngster should have. In fact, Schachner reveals that she was inspired to write this story by an actual Viking ship that somehow ended up in her own backyard (she doesn't say how), becoming the site for many wonderful hours of fun and learning for her two daughters. Schachner's characters have beautiful, realistic features with big eyes and round faces that lend a certain old-fashioned air to her art. Yet her colors and details are lively and modern, practically swirling off the page with enough humor and intrigue to keep a sophisticated young audience spellbound. There are countless picture books for very young readers, but not as many for a slightly older audience. This is a book that caters to the older crowd with intelligence and fun.

This year my son enters third grade. I'm hoping he'll be inspired by Emma and her gung-ho approach to exploring history. Yo, Judith Byron Schachner!

Alice Cary writes from Groton, Massachusetts.

Visit the Web site of author/illustrator Judith Byron Schachner, and she proclaims, I live in a constant state of third grade bliss making up stories and drawing pictures. Isn't that what we all did as children?" The same could be said for the heroine of her new book, Yo, Vikings!, a young girl named Emma […]
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It’s rare that two greats come together, but when they do, the results can be magical. For years Maurice Sendak had hoped to collaborate with his dear friend, writer and illustrator James Marshall. He finally got his chance, but, sadly, work didn’t begin until after Marshall’s death in 1992. Marshall, the author of numerous classics such as the George and Martha books, left behind an unpublished manuscript called Swine Lake. It’s a comical story of a wolf who attends the ballet in hopes of devouring its porcine performers but becomes so enchanted that he joins them onstage and receives rave reviews.

Now, years later, Sendak has completed the illustrations, and HarperCollins has released Swine Lake, which very well might be a new classic from two giants of children’s literature.

Such a plot was a natural for both men, who often attended the theater together. Sendak has been a stage fan since his childhood, and, in addition to writing and illustrating, has been designing sets and costumes for operas and ballets since 1970. He founded The Night Kitchen, a national theater company, to develop children’s productions, and is currently collaborating with choreographer Twyla Tharp on a full-length ballet for children.

"The story was perfect," Sendak says from his Connecticut home. "I’ve done a big ballet and a small ballet, and I know how to make professionally fun of it. I know where it’s silly, and I know where it’s wonderful. And all of Jim’s ballet scenes were deliriously funny."

Despite the many pluses, Sendak found the project hard to begin. The initial problem was Sendak’s sadness over losing his friend. "He is a great man gone," Sendak says. " I don’t think there are many in the profession who were Jim Marshall. I so much admired his work and treasured his friendship." But once Sendak felt ready to tackle the work, fright set in. " It scared me, he confesses, because this was not a picture book. Jim had done more story books than picture books, and I’m used to much fewer words and more amplification of images than he was permitting me. So I got worried about how to divvy up the book, and where the dramatic moments were. But I found that when I got to do the dummy, happily, I had been thinking about it more than I thought, which often happens. It began to fall into place." Sendak also credits editor Michael di Capua and designer Cynthia Krupat (the greatest designer living, Sendak says), who had both worked with Marshall, for successful progress on the book.

"I don’t think anybody outside the business understands the complexity of collaboration between the editor and the designer and the printer," Sendak explains. "So many people are part of this, and I end up having my name on the book, but they don’t."

Sendak’s tributes to Marshall are evident throughout, such as a newspaper bearing the title of one of his friend’s masterpieces, The Stupids Die. "That’s the only thing I truly envy Jim for," Sendak laments. " Deep envy. I think The Stupids Die is the best title ever. I can’t forgive him for having that title. I used to tell him that. I bought the original poster for the book, and it hangs in one of my rooms." Sendak adds that he put as much Jim-ianna in the book as possible, as a way of expressing his deep love for him and respect for his work. "I stole things from Jim," he elaborates, "like putting the pigs’ eyes close together. I would just faint from laughter every time I saw the way he drew those eyes—you know the way Prince Charles’s eyes are almost like a Cyclops. I’ve always been a vigorous thief, but I’ve always felt that if you steal, you’ve got to turn it into you. If you just steal, then you’re nothing but a lousy crook."

Indeed, Sendak added many of his own touches, including numerous puns and comic references in his artwork, such as naming the theater the New Hamsterdam and a newspaper headline announcing "Titanic IX Bombs at Box Office." What’s more, under Sendak’s direction the wolf became part of a new subplot, evolving as a down-on-his-luck character who lives in squalor yet yearns for culture and the theater.

In fact, the wolf took on a distinct personality of his own, that of Sendak’s dog, to be precise. While Sendak was working on the book, he adopted a 17-month-old German shepherd who had been abandoned. Several pages into the book, Sendak says, the wolf turns into his dog, taking on his facial expressions and behavior.

Sendak hedges when asked the dog’s name, then explains that the animal already had a name when he adopted him; Sendak doesn’t like the name, but the dog wouldn’t answer to anything else.

In short, his dog is named Max, just like the hero of Where the Wild Things Are.

"To think I’d be so fatuous as to name my dog after that character," Sendak scoffs. Yet both the wolf and Max the literary character are plagued by conflicting yearnings while Max struggles between being a good boy and a wild thing, the wolf vacillates between being an art lover and a pork chomper.

Have the two learned a lesson by the end of each book?

Sendak practically snorts. " I promise you that two days later Max is going to wreck his house all over again," he says. " I never wrote a book where I taught a lesson. And the wolf is going to eat those pigs eventually. He just doesn’t do it in this book." Sendak says it’s much easier to illustrate books written by others than to illustrate his own because his gestate forever. When asked whether one of his own is in the works, he says, "I am pregnant, but it hasn’t kicked yet."

Nonetheless, his pens and paints have been far from neglected. A year or so ago he illustrated a novel by Herman Melville, Pierre, and he’s just illustrated a play called Penthesilea by the late great German playwright Heinrich von Kleist. He plans to work on two more children’s books, a reissue of Bears, by Ruth Krauss, and an unpublished lullaby found among the papers of Margaret Wise Brown.

Involved with books, theater, ads for Bell Atlantic, and work with animators, Sendak is extraordinarily busy. Luckily for his many fans, he says, "Although I’m getting old, my curiosity is strangely young, and I can’t shut it up."

Alice Cary writes from her home in Groton, Massachusetts.

It’s rare that two greats come together, but when they do, the results can be magical. For years Maurice Sendak had hoped to collaborate with his dear friend, writer and illustrator James Marshall. He finally got his chance, but, sadly, work didn’t begin until after Marshall’s death in 1992. Marshall, the author of numerous classics […]
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Many have likened novelist Anne Rivers Siddons to Margaret Mitchell, a comparison that prompts a chuckle in Siddons, the author of such blockbusters as Outer Banks, Colony, and Peachtree Road. "We don't write remotely about the same thing," Siddons says, only to reconsider, "Well, she wrote about the profound loss of one society and the need to live in another one, and I have too a little bit, but we really are not the same. I guess it's because we're both from Atlanta and we both write long books."

However, they won't be from the same city for long. In November, Siddons, her husband, and their four cats will move from Atlanta to the heart of historic Charleston, South Carolina. "It's an enormous move," Siddons admits. "I have lived in this area for seven generations and in this house for 30 years. I may end up in Prozac City. Who knows? We have lots of friends in Charleston, but it's going to be an enormous shock."

Readers can get a hearty helping of the Charleston vicinity in Siddons's latest book, a page-turner called Low Country, about the perennial war between natural beauty and coastal development.

Low Country's heroine, Caroline Venable, has one precious thing left in her life: a pristine island inherited from her grandfather. In addition to the family cottage, it's home to a small Gullah settlement, a band of wild ponies, and other wildlife, including a mysterious panther. Caroline's husband, Clay, has made a fortune developing resort communities in various locales, but when his empire faces bankruptcy, he is convinced that financial salvation lies in developing Caroline's island. For Caroline, this is unacceptable, which means she must face one of the biggest challenges of her life.

The seeds for the plot were born years ago when Siddons worked as a copywriter for the first island resort on Hilton Head, South Carolina. "I watched the land turn from almost primeval forest to what it is now, which is Manhattan South," Siddons remembers. "It isn't that any developer sets out to ruin a place, it's just that even the best and most ecologically sensitive plan requires something fragile to be lost. I have always wanted to write about this clash."

Once Siddons knew she was moving to Charleston, she began spending a lot of time in the surrounding islands, especially in the vicinity of Ace Basin. Describing the area as primeval, she says: "It's a real experience to go out on a warm summer night. You come back thinking you've been back to the dawn of the millennium. It's one of the wildest places I've ever seen. And the idea that someone might build a Disney World-type place there is just abhorrent. I really would like to do what I can to help the area stay intact."

Specifically, she applauds the efforts of a group called the Carolina Coastal Conservancy for buying and preserving large tracts of wetlands. Meanwhile, she preserves the feel of such natural treasures in her fiction, having Caroline, who has faced great tragedy in her life, find solace on her island, where she is free to relax and paint.

Ironically, when Siddons herself seeks peace, she heads north instead of south, to a peninsula on Maine's Penobscot Bay, a summer retreat that's been in her husband's family for years. "I'm very drawn to that severe, cold, rocky beach [of New England]," Siddons says, "and I'm equally drawn to that blood-warm water [of the South]. But I'm never so happy as I am on the waters of Maine. I have a sense that whatever is looming or bothersome can be put off until I get home. Also, it's physically a long way from any other entanglements I may have, so if anybody gets upset and needs to be comforted, it had better be good."

Why do islands have such prominent roles in her novels? "I think it's the idea that they're totally apart from the world," Siddons explains. "An island has some sort of magnetic pull. It makes all these promises that it will keep you safe and nurture you. Of course this is not true, but I still never sleep as soundly as I do on an island or on our little peninsula in Maine."

Caroline, like several of the author's heroines, risks losing the core of her existence. "I think my heroines will always be ordinary women who have made a journey," Siddons says. "Maybe it doesn't happen so totally and drastically to most of us, but I haven't seen many women fall into middle age without losing something that has always been a very important part of their lives, and either having to make a life around that, or find a way to go on, or change in order to go on. It seems to me that women are left to do the changing and accommodating."

Siddons's own transforming journey occurred 15 years ago, when she battled severe depression that lasted three years, leaving her unable to write. "It was mostly a matter of brain chemistry, but I didn't know what it was. It was totally crippling. I could hardly exist. We finally found a drug that worked and a wonderful woman therapist. It felt like one of those things you either survive or you don't — there aren't too many in-betweens."

Finally, she had an idea for a book, and slowly, hesitantly, began to write. "If I couldn't write, it would have killed me," she says, "but I had to try." The result was Homeplace, followed by a string of additional bestsellers.

Siddons has not only survived, but flourished. She excitedly talks about the prospect of moving into the antique Charleston single house, which is one room wide, two stories high, and about eight rooms deep. "The idea of living in a city with that kind of resonance and beauty is so exciting," she muses. "I feel spoiled to be able to keep that much of everything I love about the South. It's like a fairy tale."

Alice Cary writes from her home in Groton, Massachusetts.

Many have likened novelist Anne Rivers Siddons to Margaret Mitchell, a comparison that prompts a chuckle in Siddons, the author of such blockbusters as Outer Banks, Colony, and Peachtree Road. "We don't write remotely about the same thing," Siddons says, only to reconsider, "Well, she wrote about the profound loss of one society and the […]
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"If you live and pay attention," says writer Julia Alvarez, "life gives you so much to write about." Alvarez has indeed been paying attention. As a child, she and her family fled the Dominican Republic to escape the harsh dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo (her father had secretly been involved in the underground). Many miles and many years later, she speaks from an office at Middlebury College in Vermont, where she is writer-in-residence and the author of books for both adults and children, such as the award-winning How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents, In the Time of the Butterflies and Something to Declare.

Her latest is Return to Sender, a novel for nine- to 12-year-olds about a sixth-grade boy on a Vermont farm who befriends the daughter of undocumented Mexican workers.

Alvarez and her husband live on their own small farm, along with cows, rabbits, chickens and a new barn. She speaks on the day before America’s presidential election, prompting her to muse, "When I get to vote, I get weepy. I know what it costs to get to this. Members of my family died so I could have this day."

When 10-year-old Alvarez and her family arrived in New York City in 1960, books and later writing became her ticket to freedom. "We had landed in this land that I had always heard was the home of the free and the brave, but I didn’t find it very friendly at all," Alvarez remembers. "The kids on the playground called me ‘spic,’ they made fun of my accent, and they told me to go back to where I had come from." 

Salvation came in the form of reading, guided by teachers and a librarian—and reading was something new. "I came from an oral culture," she says. "I was surrounded by the world’s greatest storytellers, but we were not readers. I never saw my mother or father reading a book."

Eventually, Alvarez became a writer, realizing that there were some stories only she could tell. She says her books usually start with what she calls "the pebble in my shoe." "It’s something that I try to shake," she elaborates, "but I keep going back over it. It’s usually something that has unsettled me."

Return to Sender began when a farmer brought a Mexican farm worker in to see her husband, an ophthalmologist. Alvarez and her husband soon discovered that undocumented Mexicans were doing most of the milking on the dairy farms in their county. They met some of these workers, and Alvarez was asked to help with a schoolgirl who didn’t know enough English to communicate with her teachers or classmates.

Certainly Alvarez could relate—on more than one level. She notes: "It’s not just down in the border states that [immigration] is an issue. It’s reached Vermont, and it’s so much the issue of our times: mass movements of people from one place to another. As we globalize, people become aware of other opportunities and possibilities, and want to create a new story for themselves—and therefore leave everything to remake their story."

As Alvarez began to help out in the classroom, she realized that not only was the Mexican girl disoriented, but so were her classmates. Over time the children befriended each other, until the girl suddenly returned to Mexico with an aunt, while her parents continued to work in Vermont.

"The kids were really traumatized that their classmate had disappeared," Alvarez explains. "This doesn’t happen in their United States, that somebody disappears because they’re not supposed to be here, and their parents could be rounded up and they would be deported and put in holding. All of this can be very troubling stuff in fourth and fifth grade. And I thought that we need a story to understand what’s happening to us."

Return to Sender tells this tale from both sides, using the voices of Tyler, a Vermont farm boy, and Mari, who was born in Mexico and now lives in a trailer as her dad and uncle work on Tyler’s family farm. Tyler’s father was injured in a tractor accident and can no longer handle the daily chores by himself. Mari’s mother has been missing for nearly a year, and Mari and her sisters aren’t sure if she is dead or alive. Their mother returned to Mexico when her own mother was ill, but she hasn’t been heard from since attempting to secretly cross the border to return to the U.S.

Does Alvarez worry about introducing such heavy concepts to young readers?

"I’m not just a writer," she replies. "I’ve also been an educator for three decades. And a story protects us in a way. In a sense, it’s a safe world in which to consider what’s going to hit you broadside in the real world. You give kids the things that are bombarding them in their real lives, but it’s within a safe context. It gives them a way to navigate through the world."

Alvarez navigated herself through many different parts of the U.S. early in her career, working as what she calls a "migrant writer," teaching poetry wherever grant funding was available, including Kentucky, California, Delaware, North Carolina and Massachusetts. Now that she’s settled in New England, she still travels to the Dominican Republic about six times a year, to see family and to visit Café Alta Gracia, a 60-acre coffee farm that she and her husband own.

"The mountains here in Vermont remind me of the mountains of the Dominican Republic where we have our farm," she says. "We don’t have winter there, of course, but the lush greenness of the mountains and a certain kind of accessible mentality—there’s something that’s very simpatico about the Vermont culture and my Dominican culture."

Although Julia Alvarez has found a place to call home, she continues to write about people caught between cultures. "Displacement is just part of the human story," she says. "You don’t have to be an immigrant to write about that, because we’ve all felt it."

"If you live and pay attention," says writer Julia Alvarez, "life gives you so much to write about." Alvarez has indeed been paying attention. As a child, she and her family fled the Dominican Republic to escape the harsh dictatorship of Rafael Trujillo (her father had secretly been involved in the underground). Many miles and […]
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Eve Bunting wants to spread an important message: picture books aren't just for tots anymore.

As the author of more than 150 books, Bunting has written something for every age group — everything from young adult novels to picture books, on subjects ranging from homelessness (Fly Away Home), a modern-day look at a Civil War battlefield (The Blue and the Gray), the Irish village of Maghera where she was born (Market Day), and Smoky Night, about the Los Angeles riots, illustrated by David Diaz and winner of a Caldecott Medal.

Plenty of Bunting's books are pure fun and joy, such as Sunflower House, Scary, Scary Halloween, Dog Detective, or the forthcoming Ducky, about a yellow plastic duck. Bunting notes, however, that titles addressing what she calls "tender topics" such as poverty and racial prejudice seem to get the most attention from reviewers and readers.

"Editors are brave," she says. "I may have had books turned down because they're not good, but I've never had one turned down because it was saying something some people might consider not suitable for children."

The roots of her social consciousness date back to her childhood in Ireland. "I was aware that there was discrimination," she recalls, "although I didn't know there was anything to be done about it." She remembers that Protestant children like herself weren't supposed to play with Catholics, although her parents encouraged her friendship with a Catholic girl. Later, political and religious "troubles" between the two denominations helped convince Bunting and her husband to emigrate to the United States in 1958 with their three young children.

"We had it pretty hard at the beginning," Bunting says of their move. "At least we spoke the same language. But I do feel I'm entitled to write about migrant workers and immigrants."

Success came to the young Irish mother a few years after the family settled in California, where she continues to live. Feeling homesick and in need of diversion, she enrolled in a community college course in creative writing.

Her first published books were retellings of Irish folk tales. Since then she's branched out in diverse directions, even writing a few nonfiction books about whales and sharks for Sea World in San Diego. The nonfiction work was an exception — Bunting's chief interest is "telling a good story." She begins to write after an idea hits her with a "jolt."

Despite her many interests and concerns, however, some subjects are too much for her. For instance, when one editor confided that she'd like to have a picture book about child abuse, Bunting replied, "I just couldn¹t because my stomach wouldn't allow me to do that." And when a parent asked her to write about the Oklahoma bombing, Bunting said she couldn't tackle the tragedy.

How, then, do ideas jolt her? Recently, inspiration struck in a San Jose museum, where Bunting's daughter had taken her to see a mummy collection, a subject that had long been of interest. "I remember looking at one mummy and thinking, 'Once you were beautiful.' That was the beginning of an idea."

The fruit of the extensive research that followed is I Am the Mummy HEB-NEFERT, illustrated by David Christiana. This picture book with spare, lyrical text is a prime example of one written for older children, ages 7-12. Heb-Nefert, whose name means "beautiful dancer," tells the story of a mummy¹s life and death, how the woman once was the adored wife of a pharaoh's brother and how she came to lie wrapped in ancient linen, under glass in a museum, for all to see.

"When I finished," Bunting recalls, "I asked my editor if we'd get into trouble for saying to young people that you too will die. She said, 'What's wrong with that?' "

Bunting tells Heb-Nefert's tale so convincingly that a Canadian publisher and Egyptologist told Bunting that she must have lived in Egypt in a previous life. "She was absolutely serious," Bunting says. "She said that book is written as though you were living there and you knew every detail. I told the publisher that while I was writing, I was.

"I've led a few lives in my time," Bunting adds, laughing. One was aboard a sinking ship, as evidenced by her novel SOS Titanic, inspired by a visit to the Belfast Museum of Transport. Her husband's father and uncle both worked in the shipyard where the ocean liner was built. At the museum, a commemorative exhibit helped Bunting and other visitors feel as though they were in lifeboats, gazing at the sinking ship.

"I stood there and watched that ship in its death throe," Bunting recalls. "I felt almost as if I had been there. It was breathtaking. I started writing the book while I was still visiting Ireland."

Although many such endeavors require meticulous research, surprisingly, Bunting calls herself "an unstructured person." "My files are a mess," she confesses. "I always have a moment's panic when someone asks me to find something. And I'm not structured about my working habits, not at all. . . . I don't have set hours for work. I don't really make myself work if I don't want to. Fortunately for me," she adds, "I usually want to."

Her favorite format is the picture book. "My daughter says that's because I like instant gratification," she says, "and maybe that's true. I love to be able to say what I want to say succinctly."

And say it she does, with such productivity that it's difficult to keep track of each book. Also new this spring is Bunting's On Call Back Mountain. A collaboration with National Book Award-winning painter Barry Moser, it is the story of two boys who live with their parents at the foot of a mountain with a fire tower and their friend Bosco, an old man who returns each summer to work as lookout in the tower. The story of their friendship, of looking for wolves that have disappeared after a forest fire a few years ago, and of Bosco's sudden death is both realistic and a beautiful credit to the human spirit. Bunting's words and Moser's art capture the emotional rhythm of the story in an unforgettable combination.

One of several forthcoming will be a Christmas story called December, published by Harcourt Brace and another collaboration with David Diaz, which Bunting says Diaz describes as "his best work yet."

As for her own achievements, the ever-modest Bunting says, "I have succeeded beyond my wildest dreams," she says. "My success has been a constant surprise. I often think 'How can all these things happen to this little kid from Maghera?' "

Alice Cary writes from Groton, Massachusetts.

 

Eve Bunting wants to spread an important message: picture books aren't just for tots anymore. As the author of more than 150 books, Bunting has written something for every age group — everything from young adult novels to picture books, on subjects ranging from homelessness (Fly Away Home), a modern-day look at a Civil War […]

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