Listen to Jonathan Bean introduce and read from Building Our House.

In the two books he’s authored, the artist Jonathan Bean has placed a child in the center of a warm family and a bustling world. Yet despite all the activity surrounding his young protagonists, Bean’s stories exude a sense of quiet and comfort. In his most recent title, Building Our House (FSG, 2013), readers witness the construction of a house from laying the foundation to installing the fixtures. With the help of family and friends—and lots of hard work—Bean’s “small crew” transforms a “weedy place” into a home.

Author Jonathan Bean

So, tell me, were you one of those kids who had to stop and study every backhoe and pick-up truck you saw?

I don’t think I was. My grandfather owned an excavating company, so I have early memories of being on equipment with him and watching him work. Of course, this was always very exciting, but for some reason I wasn’t the sort to fall head over heels for machines even if, now, they are buckets of fun to draw.

Like your earlier picture book, At Night (FSG, 2007), the child in Building Our House is at the center of a loving home, and a wide world. Yet, despite all the activity happening around them, your characters (and stories) convey a feeling of serenity. Can you talk about that?

I am always happy to hear people say this! When I was a young, aspiring illustrator, Wes Adams, my future editor at FSG, told me my portfolio work was rather cold. I knew that that quality would never fly in children’s books, and so I set out to decide what to do about it. In the end, I realized I needed to be less controlling with my process, to allow some entry point for surprises, humor, joy, or empathy. In that way, I discovered that my illustrations or stories couldn’t be manufactured, that there needed to be a more organic connection between my work and the memories or feelings that were already there. I must have been on the right path, because it wasn’t too long before Wes offered me a contract for At Night, which was the centerpiece of my new portfolio.

The many details you include about building a home are so well integrated into House. They’re sure to fascinate children who want to read every book about construction sites as well as those who lean toward fiction. Did you set out to tell one story over the other?

No, I didn’t. In fact, I knew early on that I wanted to tell both stories. That was the biggest challenge, finding a way to fit all the essential house-building steps into the book without it becoming a dry instruction manual. Fortunately, I had all the family photos and stories to fall back on if things needed spicing up. For instance, the truck named Willys in House is the actual model of Jeep that my parents relied on to transport materials. (A tidbit like that could launch its own story.) I had the luxury of getting to choose from a smorgasbord of such details.

As well as illustrating the step-by-step process of building a structure, your art tells a few of its own stories: the addition of new family member, the change of the seasons, and the passage of time, while details such as a pine tree perched atop the house frame are so playful. Do you have a sense of where you are going with the art before you start? Which stories will be told through illustration?

Often those anecdotal stories develop as I sketch out the primary story. I like adding them, first, because it’s fun! But also because it creates the feeling that, like in the larger world, the little world of the picture book contains surprises and details that are there to be found, if only time is taken to slow down, look, and listen.

While no one would call this a message book, I think there are a few lessons that kids will take away. Families require teamwork (“small crew of four”), even the youngest can contribute, and that to create something solid–or of lasting value–takes time and effort. Were these ideas you were hoping to communicate?

I agree that those messages are there, but I couldn’t really say I thought about them much, if at all. On the one hand, creating a story is a process of intense concentration and awareness, but I also believe that it should contain an element of mystery, even for the creator. There are things I often learn looking back at the completed project, as I am right now.

There are also messages in your parent’s comments, “Measure twice to get it right” and “A good plan for a good house.” (Truisms educators are sure to appreciate.) Were these actually their maxims?

No, I made them up for the story. However, I have, many times, seen my dad measure two or three times to get it right, or watched my parents plan carefully for a new project. I have a lot of respect for them: they are generally more comfortable in the trenches than on the soapbox.

Author Jonathan Bean

I love the photos at the end of the book depicting the building of your family’s home. You were quite small in them. Do you have any memory of that time?

I do remember a few things. I recall quite well the trailer we lived in, since my sisters and I spent much of our time there. I also have a clear memory of climbing to the second floor of the unfinished house. That memory probably sticks because the stairs weren’t in yet and the climb up scaffolding, even with Mom at hand, was frightening.

And one last question: Is the house still in your family?

Yes, it is. In fact, for the first big book signing we had an open house publication party and invited friends from all over to see the actual house and hang out with my family.

Building Our House (Bean)
©2013 by Jonathan Bean

Listen to Jonathan Bean introduce and read from Building Our House.

Tanya Lee Stone’s search—for photos and facts—has led her in surprising and rewarding directions. “To me, visual storytelling is as important as the text,” Stone has said, and that is certainly true of Courage Has No Color: The True Story of the Triple Nickles: America’s First Black Paratroopers (Candlewick, Jan. 2013). Through text and images the author paints a fascinating portrait of the African Americans who trained as part of the 555th Parachute Infantry Battalion under First Sergeant Walter Morris. Seventeen of those 20 men came from the all-black 92nd Infantry Division, whose roots could be traced back to the Buffalo Soldiers of the Revolutionary and Civil Wars. The author spoke to Curriculum Connections about her research, and the Triple Nickles’ extraordinary legacy.

What attracted you to this topic? Did it have any relationship to your work on Almost Astronauts: 13 Women Who Dared to Dream (Candlewick, 2009)?
These stories are related in that they are both about extraordinary people, relatively unknown individuals, whose work paved the way for others. Change happens slowly—and it’s often due to individuals such as these. We owe them tribute.

When you begin a nonfiction work, do you have a sense of where you’re going, or do you let the research guide you?
The research did guide me, as did feedback from Marc Aronson and Hilary Van Dusen, who said, as they did with Almost Astronauts, “This story is too big for a picture book.” I tend to think cinematically, so I’m looking at the story through the points-of-view of the Triple Nickles’ and [their leader, First Sergeant] Walter Morris. What are the margins that inform those perspectives? That helps me shape my boundaries. Unfortunately, it took almost 10 years to write the book!

You interviewed Morris, as well as a number of the women represented in Almost Astronauts. It’s amazing to think that these events didn’t transpire that long ago.
It wasn’t that long ago. I think we have come a long way—and have a really long way to go. That’s why it’s important to highlight these stories. We can be proud of our achievements—and have them motivate us to do a whole lot more.

Your notes on your work on the identities of the Triple Nickles who did not graduate, and how you resolved inconsistencies discovered in your research, were fascinating.
That was so thrilling [figuring out the three men who hadn't graduated]! The first person I called when I made sense of that information was Ed Howard. He’s the historian at Fort Benning [where those first black paratroopers trained]. After the book was finished, Ed and I kept working to track down the information that was eluding me. I found two of the men through a document that noted who was paid when.

Is detective work also involved in photo research?
On occasion, a photograph is in opposition to a “fact” you have unearthed earlier. You have to use your journalistic skills to figure out the truth. Even in the archives, the labels are sometimes incorrect. There’s a photo of the 761st tank battalion (the camera is looking down into the tank as a man looks up), that has been mislabeled for decades. When I got to the 761st tank battalion section, I went back to the library. In the end, I agreed with who I believed was the most trusted scholar and relabeled the photo; [in my book] the label is different than the one attributed in the National Archives.

It is like being a detective. In order to be authoritative, everything must be verified.

Were there events that you uncovered that surprised you? I had no idea that balloon bombs launched from Japan were landing in western states such as Oregon, for instance.
I had no idea about the balloon bombs, either. I could have gone on and on about them. To include information about these weapons and to not provide background on the Japanese-American internment camps seemed wrong, [but] I also was aware that I had to balance these pieces with the rest of the story.

This is complicated material and the challenge was to select what was pertinent to the paratroopers’ story and would give readers the context they needed. There’s an unending wealth of stories to tell.

So many of the events we know of history depend on timing—when the many small actions of people come together, as you point out.
When change happens, we tend to forget that many events preceded it. There’s another parallel between Almost Astronauts and Courage, in that people sometimes say to me, “But [the Triple Nickles] didn’t get sent into combat” with a tone in their voice that suggests, “Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” What these men accomplished was of their time. If you’re looking at it through a 21st-century lens, you miss it.

Many children aren’t [aware of how the rights we enjoy now] were achieved. That’s why I spend the amount of time I spend on background.  With context, on their own, children can get to, “Wow, that’s a big deal.”

Listen to Tanya Lee Stone introduce and read from Courage Has No Color.

How did you feel when you found out you had won Edublog’s Lifetime Achievement Award?

I had totally and utterly forgotten I had been nominated. At one o’clock in the morning someone tweeted “Well done!” And I have to admit, I asked, “What have I done?”

What do you do on your blog?

The blog is a record of all of our events and training days at schools and conferences. We also put up links to resources we’ve discovered. Most of them are free and, hopefully, useful. But it’s not about the resources, it’s how they can be used. That is the basis of my being: enabling children of all ages and abilities to take off and fly.

Can you tell us about your background?

I taught for 25 years, eight of which were spent in a school located in the third highest social deprivation area in the south of England. That’s where I learned the majority of my craft. I had to find ways to engage, motivate, and inspire those children; to change their perceptions of themselves into people who can be, and want to be, writers and learners. These were children who had possibly never seen what enjoying learning looked like. That is a crucial part of what we encourage teachers to do now: when doing our demo teaching sessions, in schools and around the world, we encourage colleagues to sit in among the children, mucking in, modeling the enjoyments of writing, and so much more.

In 2005 I was nominated for a BECTA (British Educational Communications and Technology Agency) ICT in Practice Award. Increasingly, I was being asked to work with schools and educational authorities to find ways to use technology to raise teaching standards. For the last seven years, I’ve been traveling up and down the UK all around the world with my partner, Sarah Neild, presenting and looking at bringing the curriculum even more alive.

How did you come to start using games in your teaching?

About 12 years ago, I was diagnosed with I have Adrenomyeloneuropathy (AMN), which began attacking my central nervous system. It’s not stopping me yet! I now walk with a cane, which forms an interesting lesson starter, as children come up with inventive things to say about my stick, which I call “Mr. Walker.”

Around the time I was first diagnosed, I was given Riven, the second game in the Myst series. While my daughter, Ellie, sat on my lap, wandering through these worlds and talking about these beautiful landscapes in such an expressive way—even though she was only little—I realized that I could use them in school to encourage my children to pick up words, and juggle them, too.

Now you’re known as “the Myst man.” Why?

Yes. I find that slightly surreal, as we do a huge amount of other things too. The Myst games form a significant part—but only one part—of what we do. We work with schools on the games-based side of learning but also looking at lot of different online technologies, always with an essential permanent focus on the learning that springs from them.

How do you use gaming worlds to help children write?

We use games as a stimulus. When we are teaching writing, the idea is to get children talking about the game and to gain confidence, find words and play with them, and from that springs an amazing amount of inventive compositions.

Children are very plot centric-when they are writing. It tends to be “and then I, and then I, and then I.”  What I do is try to help them develop, often without them even realizing, a sense of setting, character, and atmosphere as priorities to bring plot alive.

While teaching, we project one of these moving worlds up on a large screen, a remarkable living world, perhaps with leaves struggling to escape the bushes, and birds dancing with the wind. I think I then startle people by making no reference to it for a long time. We talk about everything else but the world behind me, such as guessing why Mr. Walker is full of holes.

We slip into the landscape almost without them knowing it. By then they’re desperate to talk about what’s on the screen. But now it is no longer a screen; it forms part of where we are. The key element is that we don’t move for a long time. We aren’t playing the game. Quite a while in, I might ask, “Shall we go for a walk? Before we go, how about we have a go at remembering where we are now? Do you know, one of the best ways to remember something is to write it down? Can you squeeze in a simile here or a metaphor there? Go for it! Write like the wind (only neater, because the wind has dodgy handwriting)!”

Without realizing it, even the most reluctant writers are writing. As they do so, I reassure them of one or two things. One: There is no right or wrong idea. Two: Don’t worry about your spelling. And I really do mean, “Don’t worry. Get it down. Go for it!” I don’t want them to fret and mess up a stunning description.

Can you share an example or two of how this works in the classroom?

We use many other things as a stimulus. I often take children into Epic Citadel, a free app on the iPad, to create an unpopulated setting, and then we populate that place with characters. I begin to tell a story while we’re doing that, and the children get involved in the storytelling. I use stories as boxes in which to put lots of tools and techniques. We might use iPad apps, such as Pottery HD Lite, to create objects that bring the story alive. We might explore a site like Snappywords to discover alternative vocabulary. The tools and the stories are constantly changing.

How has your work impacted kids on an individual basis?

I often work in special schools. We were at a school for children with profound learning difficulties, and I took children on a virtual trip to the beach using a projected computer game. We were in a land from the game Myst III: Exile and were experiencing a stunning beach setting. We also had buckets of water in the classroom, sand, and hair dryers for the wind.

There was a seven-year-old boy in the group who had never spoken a word in his life. He was making sand castles against the virtual backgrounds, making sounds like “Puttitin puttittitin.” He was so desperate to talk that his teaching assistant was kneeling down with him, crying. He was building a sand castle and “putting it in.” Then, with his sandy hands, he discovered the interactive whiteboard showing the beach. He found my laptop and discovered that if he pressed the up, down, left and right arrows he could navigate around this virtual world. He found the mouse and began exploring even more. He was so calm about it. The rest of the class was standing around him, talking about this place. He then figured out how to open a virtual door and exclaimed, “I did it!” He could control a virtual world. Those are small steps for a majority of our children, but this was enormous for him.

Another time we were at a school for children who had been excluded from other schools for behavioral reasons. There was a boy who’d displayed severe violent behavior elsewhere. I had created a scene using Myst IV: Revelation and we were standing in front of a quite ominous scene, with an upturned ship.

Within seven minutes, he was asking questions, and, by the end of the session, he was producing writing of such beauty it would melt you.

He said to me afterwards, “I just didn’t think I could write anything like that. This is first time I’ve ever done it. Hopefully I can knuckle down to it and remember how do to this in all of my other challenges.”

What tips do you have for other teachers who might adopt your method?

You have to be very careful about age-appropriateness with any game or online tool you use. But then, take your time. Don’t rush forward. An amazing amount of learning comes from even tiny movements in a digital sense.

What are some of your favorite worlds to work with?

Jules Verne’s Return to Mysterious Island, Dear Esther, Wild Earth, and Wild Earth: African Safari, a Wii game.

Any apps you especially like right now?

Tag Galaxy, which builds wonderful collections of images, as the basis of non-linear discussion. Lino, which enables children to plan or record the results of research collaboratively. Tagxedo, which creates living, dancing word clouds. It’s like the marvelous Wordle, but with even more style. It isn’t all about the words, though: tools like Psykopaint and Tiltshiftmaker allow us to bring worlds alive in imaginative ways too.

The golden bow tie that Paul O. Zelinsky created from gold Caldecott stickers.

To mark the upcoming 75th anniversary of the Caldecott Medal, School Library Journal is speaking with past recipients of the prestigious award. Here, illustrator Paul O. Zelinsky, winner of the 1998 Caldecott for Rapunzel (Dutton, 1997) and three-time honor recipient for Hansel and Gretel (Dodd, 1984), Rumpelstiltskin (1986) and Anne Isaac’s Swamp Angel (1994, both Dutton), talks about his working process, the awards ceremony, and “the call.”

Tell us how Rapunzel came to be.

As soon as Rumpelstiltskin was published, people were telling me how much they liked my book Rapunzel. I would say, “Thank you very much, but I think you mean Rumpelstiltskin.” Eventually I decided that if I actually did a Rapunzel, I wouldn’t have to keep correcting people.

I also wanted to follow Hansel and Gretel and Rumpelstiltskin with a third tale from the brothers Grimm. Why Rapunzel? I thought the story was compelling and mysterious, and I was interested in learning to paint hair.

What was it like receiving the phone call telling you that Rapunzel had won?

I had been called to jury duty, and if the judge hadn’t released me, the Committee’s call would have reached my answering machine.

I was curious to know which books would get awards, but confident that one of them wouldn’t be Rapunzel. After all, Hansel and Gretel had been a Caldecott Honor and so had Rumpelstiltskin, and that was clearly enough.

My wife Deborah had hopes for Rapunzel that I didn’t. I was taken completely by surprise. Words can’t describe how little I expected the call from the committee.

When I picked up the phone and a man’s voice asked to speak to Paul Zelinsky, I suspected it was some long-distance phone company trying to get me to switch carriers. It was John Stewig calling from New Orleans with the Caldecott committee, telling me that Rapunzel had won. Then in the background, the committee cheered.

I got very dizzy and confused, but I gathered myself together. When I hung up, I phoned Deborah’s school (she was teaching second grade in our local public school), to give her the news. When she saw a school aide come into her classroom holding a note, she began to cry.

Do you recall any other highlights from the ALA conference that year, aside from the awards ceremony?

My wife lost her wallet in a taxi. We had breakfast with a classmate I hadn’t seen since high school. My daughters were 14 and 10.

The conference and banquet were at the Washington, DC, Hilton Hotel. In a private back room they served very big, strong drinks before the beginning of the dinner. There was a passageway from that room to the stage area of the ballroom, which had been walked by all sorts of presidents and amazing historical figures whose photos lined its walls.

What do you remember about the ceremony? 

Karen Hesse was the Newbery winner, and Russell Freedman received the Wilder Award. There were a lot of speeches. I made sure to use the rest room beforehand, having had one painful ALA experience many years before.

The Caldecott Committee members came wearing silly hats representing either long blond hair or the cap my Rapunzel prince character wore. They were carrying huge plastic scissors to cut the hair.

I came to the dinner in a garment I had bought at a garage sale in college for $5. It was a tuxedo from the 1930s, which fit perfectly. I was wearing a cummerbund I’d made from gold Caldecott stickers. By sticking the medals to each other, front to back, with a little bit of overlap linking one to the next, I made a nicely sturdy-feeling swath of gold. I also made a golden bow tie out of the stickers.

When I was at the podium and delivering my speech, the cummerbund started to come unstuck. My body heat was loosening the glue. I kept surreptitiously pushing the medals back together as I gave the talk.

How did winning the Caldecott impact your career?

I felt like I was already in a pretty privileged situation before the Caldecott, with three honor books. But I think this still made a difference in terms of attention, speaking requests, and so on. I don’t believe it really affected what books I took on, or was asked to do, or how I worked on them. The medal also increased the number of people and organizations coming to me with charitable requests.

Where do you keep your medal?

It came in a beautiful wood box, lined in blue velvet, which I keep on my dresser.

Do you think there is more public awareness of the award today?

I remember one librarian whose great mission was to eliminate these awards. Her principle was that they encourage a personality cult based on winning, which is alien to the actual purpose of children’s—or any—literature.

She had a good point. I visited one school where I was introduced as someone who was famous and had won a prestigious medal, and if the students only work hard enough, they could also be famous and win medals. But the Caldecott leads children to read books, and eliminating it would hardly make the world a better place.

I sourly regret that the Today Show has stopped bringing in the Caldecott and Newbery winners on the air the morning after the awards are announced. But awareness of the Caldecott and Newbery is huge. I don’t know whether any other award, literary or otherwise, does as much to support the sales and lifespan of a book.

Do you have a favorite young illustrator that we should be watching as a future Caldecott contender?

Questions about favorites almost always stump me—see, for example, the Favorite Color page on my website. A lot of amazing illustration is being done these days, and naming young illustrators would make me feel that I was skipping over the large number of not-so-young ones who deserve the Caldecott even more. That said, a couple of names, very unfairly leaving out a talented multitude, might be You Byun or Julian Hector.

Any other special Caldecott memories?

The Caldecott Medal spawned a whirlwind of a year for me, and I loved it.

Listen to Karen Cushman introduce and read from Will Sparrow’s Road

Author Karen Cushman is no stranger to the medieval and Renaissance world. Her first novel, the Newbery Honor book Catherine Called Birdy (1994), examined the period from the perspective of a noble-born girl waiting to be married off, who feels frustrated by her limited role in society. Though Cushman’s latest work, Will Sparrow’s Road (November 2012; Gr 5-8, both Clarion), is set during 16th-century England, its title character lives a life that Birdy could only “[fantasize] about as she sat inside embroidering.” Bold and impetuous, Will Sparrow does whatever he must to survive. After being sold to an innkeeper by his father, the boy narrowly escapes a fate as a chimney sweep. Later, he stumbles upon a fairground where he works for a charlatan and a magician before joining up with a traveling sideshow of oddities that features a dwarf, the preserved body of a mermaid, and—strangest of all—Grace Wyse, a girl whose hirsute countenance resembles that of a cat. In this story of a young boy’s journey, Cushman immerses fans of historical fiction in the vibrant, stimulating world of the Renaissance fair.

You’ve written several books set during Medieval and Renaissance England. What compels you to return to this setting so often?

My fascination with this time period has been around for years. I started long ago with Anya Seton and Rosemary Sutcliff and progressed through medieval music and fairs, and collecting things like the 15th-century illuminated manuscript page that hangs on my wall. My father’s family is Polish, my mother’s German and Irish, so the English were certainly never heroes to either side of the family. But somehow England, the England of long ago, spoke to me.

Renaissance fairs, as recreated these days, are tremendous fun, with their period costumes, flowery “Milady”-laden language, drinking mugs, and roasted turkey legs. These events, alive with music and dance, archers and knights on horseback, are based on the traditional ones of medieval and Renaissance England, equally colorful, raucous, and outrageous. I thought it might be an interesting setting for a book.

Then while researching broadsides and ballads for Alchemy and Meggy Swann (Clarion, 2010), I discovered an odd but popular genre of broadsides—those illustrating birth defects, or, to use the language of the time, monstrous births, both human and animal. Such anomalies were often displayed at these spectacles and, presto, the two ideas came together as Will Sparrow joins a troupe of “oddities and prodigies” traveling from fair to fair in Elizabethan England.

In your author’s note, you mention that though you ordinarily write female characters, a girl would not have survived long on her own during this period. Was it a challenge to create a male protagonist?

I think the times were still brutal enough that a girl traveling alone would have been in grave danger. And in a world with so little privacy, I do not believe she could effectively disguise herself as a boy. So Will Sparrow was born. It was indeed a challenge to try and get inside the skin of a boy. In my first attempts I fear Will was more like a girl who wore pants and spat. It took a lot of observation and research before I could come up with what I hope is a not a stereotype but a realistic boy.

How much did gender shape the story? Will Sparrow’s Road has a very animated, lively tone, whereas Catherine Called Birdy evidences a more cloistered feel.

I’m not surprised that Catherine Called Birdy has a more cloistered feel. The lives of young women in medieval England were much more circumscribed and rigid than the life a young male would enjoy. It was important to me to build a world for both Birdy and Will that was honest and believable, true to their character, their gender, and the times.

Over the course of the novel, Will is sold to an innkeeper by his father, makes theft a regular habit, and often goes hungry. Is it freeing to write historical fiction, where you can place your young protagonists in far more dangerous situations than in books set during the present?

I fear some children today face situations just as dangerous as those of the past. What historical fiction does free me to do is to write about children alone, on their own, with no one responsible for them. There were no orphan homes or social workers or Child Protective Services. The options for a homeless child were dismal. Writing about children of long ago allowed me to explore the idea of being entirely on one’s own. I think young readers (and many of us older folks) are intrigued by the idea of who we are as individuals separate from our families, from our homes, from any adult help. What would we do if left to our own devices? How would we survive? Would we be whiny victims or resourceful and courageous? Would we be the same people we are now or would we grow to be different? What kind of family might we create for ourselves?

Will initially views Grace Wyse, the girl with the “face of a cat,” as monstrous but comes to realize that she is fully human. Would someone of the period be able to look beyond Grace’s appearance?

Grace Wyse was inspired by the portrait of Antonietta Gonzales on the cover of The Marvelous Hairy Girls (Yale University Press, 2009) by Merry Wiesner-Hanks. Antonietta, her father, and most of her brothers and sisters suffered from hypertrichosis, an extremely rare genetic condition that made them unusually hairy. There have been 50 documented cases worldwide since the 16th century. The Gonzales family is probably the most famous because of the number of paintings, books, and medical case histories that feature them. Unlike most people marked with such irregularities, the family was not shunned or mocked; dressed in ruffs and elaborate jewel-trimmed gowns, they were welcome visitors in the courts of Europe, though sometimes treated more like pets than people.

Most “oddities and prodigies” would have had a much more difficult existence than the Gonzales family. Few people were accepting of those who were different, who were often considered cursed, marked by the devil, or punished by God. Even physical disabilities called for abuse as Meggy Swann with her crooked legs learned. Will Sparrow was fortunate enough to spend a great deal of time with Grace and so get to know the person behind her extraordinary appearance.

TeachingBook.net resources on this interview »»»

Listen to Karen Cushman introduce and read from Will Sparrow’s Road

What trends are you seeing?

Vampire books seem to have eased off a bit, but there are witch books aplenty. (I recommend Burn Mark by Laura Powell.) Postapocalyptic and dystopian novels remain abundant. While thought-provoking and engaging books continue to be published in this genre (Flash Point by Nancy Kresson), I have to agree with a baseball-playing middle schooler I recently spoke to on the subject. He said there were just too many bleak “future” books.

Anything else?

Speculative fiction as a whole seems to be stretching in new directions with more sci-fi, more sci-fi/fantasy mixes, and pleasantly, more humor (The Last Dragonslayer by Jasper Fforde). As we read for our spring 2013 list, we are seeing a bit more ethnic diversity in fantasy novels—a trend I hope will continue to grow. We seem to be seeing more female protagonists in classic, non-paranormal thrillers such as The Night She Disappeared by April Henry, Don’t Turn Around by Michelle Gagnon, and Ten by Gretchen McNeil.

What about for younger readers?

For younger readers, there are sequels and prequels to classics and long-running series, and authors returning to characters from some time back. (Examples include Return to the Willows by Jacqueline Kelly, Third Grade Angels by Jerry Spinelli, One Year in Coal Harbor by Polly Horvath, Princess Academy: Palace of Stone by Shannon Hale, and Paula Danziger’s Amber Brown Is Tickled Pink,  a sequel written by Bruce Coville and Elizabeth Levy that fully captures Paula Danziger’s and Amber’s voice and spark.)

We are seeing humor used in pleasing ways to convey information, notably in two graphic novels by Nathan Hale One Dead Spy and Big Bad Ironclad!; in Michael Townsend’s Where Do Presidents Come From?: And Other Presidential Stuff of Super-Great Importance (also in graphic format); and It’s a Dog’s Life: How Man’s Best Friend Sees, Hears, and Smells the World by Susan E. Goodman. Don’t be fooled by the title of What Body Part Is That?: A Wacky Guide to the Funniest, Weirdest, and Most Disgustingest Parts of Your Body by Andy Griffiths . Hilarious it is, but as the author freely admits, it is also “99.9% fact free.”(As you can see from above, long and lively subtitles and taglines are trendy!)

Any changes in picture books?

Picture-book illustrations seem to include more sophisticated and stylized approaches. (Infinity and Me by Kate Hosford, illustrated by Gabi Swiatkowska, and Abe Lincoln’s Dream by Lane Smith, for example.) While there are still plenty of cute picture books, even some of these have a little edge. (Nighttime Ninja by Barbara DaCosta, illustrated by Ed Young; I’m Bored by Michael Ian Black, illustrated by Debbie Ridpath Ohi; and Otter and Odder: A Love Story by James Howe, illustrated by Chris Raschka.)

What are some of your favorites?

From the fall season, I love Twelve Kinds of Ice by Ellen Bryan Obed, illustrated by Barbara McClintock. The language and the illustrations are evocative and perfectly matched. It feels like an old book, a classic, but while there’s a palpable longing for the ice of days gone by, it is so compelling that readers of all ages will want to experience the different kinds of ice, the ice-skating, the family, the winter. Fortunately, the world created in the book is so well-realized and immersive that reading it is experiencing it.

H.O.R.S.E.: A Game of Basketball and Imagination by Christopher Myers is playful both conceptually and visually. Two kids try to outdo each other on a basketball court and their incredible shots, which they brag will go as far as outer space, will make readers smile. I also love the humor in Joe Hayes’s bilingual Don’t Say a Word, Mama / No digas nada, mamá . With striking paintings by Esau Andrade Valencia, it is a beautiful book!

An extraordinary book for the older end of the age spectrum is My Book of Life by Angel by Martine Leavitt. The subject matter definitely made it difficult to read—I’d rather not face the fact that girls are forced into prostitution. However, I grew to love and admire Angel as she found a way to save herself as well as an even younger girl. Leavitt’s writing is powerful and flawless.

I feel like I am leaving out so many other strong fiction titles: Prairie Evers by Ellen Airgood,  Chickadee by Louise Erdrich, The Vengekeep Prophecies by Brian Farrey, Homesick by Kate Klise, Pinned by Sharon Flake, The Diviners by Libba Bray, Endangered by Eliot Schrefer, Such Wicked Intent: The Apprenticeship of Victor Frankenstein, Book Two by Kenneth Oppel among them.

What are your nonfiction favorites?

There are so many great nonfiction books this year, that it is hard to choose favorites. Among my nonfiction favorites are Island: A Story of the Galápagos by Jason Chin and Nic Bishop Snakes by Nic Bishop—both are gorgeous and full of insight. Bomb: The Race to Build—and Steal—the World’s Most Dangerous Weapon by Steve Sheinkin is a book I cannot stop talking about or recommending. It’s a riveting recounting of a thrilling time in history. Here are some other standouts: Moonbird: A Year on the Wind with the Great Survivor B95 by Phillip Hoose, Beyond Courage: The Untold Story of Jewish Resistance During the Holocaust by Doreen Rappaport, The Impossible Rescue: The True Story of an Amazing Arctic Adventure by Martin W. Sandler.

Any newbie authors/illustrators who we should keep an eye out for?

I’m eager to see more from David Nytra the author/illustrator of The Secret of the Stone Frog. As well, I am looking forward to future books from Debbie Ridpath Ohi, the illustrator of by Michael Ian Black’s I’m Bored, Lana Krimwiede, author of Freakling, and Irfan Master, who wrote A Beautiful Lie.

I see some familiar faces like Mo WIllems are back. 

Mo Willems has definitely done it again with Goldilocks and the Three Dinosaurs as has Jon Klassen with his latest hat book, This Is Not My Hat. Among more serious—and memorable—picture books are Each Kindness by Jacqueline Woodson, illustrated by E. B. Lewis, and Sarah Stewart and David Small’s The Quiet Place.

Is there anything unique or different this year? 

There seem to be an increasing number of books requiring visual literacy, from Look . . . Look Again! by John O’Brien or wordless stories like The Giant Seed by Arthur Geisert to the proliferation of graphic novels. We discovered an all-ages book on the Chronicle adult list Stick Man’s Really Bad Day by Steve Mockus, which tells a story using the wordless cautionary signs posted near roads and machinery.

Were there any surprises?

Well, we were pleasantly surprised by Sara Pennypacker writing for an older audience with Summer of the Gypsy Moths and Hilary McKay writing for a younger audience with Lulu and the Duck in the Park. We didn’t expect the mix of realism and fantasy in Prairie Thief by Melissa Wiley and What Came from the Stars by Gary D. Schmidt. Karen Hesse’s photographs and gently idyllic approach to dystopia in Safekeeping was also something new.

Are you seeing more graphic novels than previous years?

Yes, definitely. I am so glad that more children’s publishers are publishing this incredibly versatile and appealing form of storytelling.

Some of my current favorites are Little White Duck: A Childhood in China by Na Lui and Andrés Vera Martinez, Cardboard by Doug TenNapel, and Sumo by Thien Pham. I also like the strength and substance of the adaptations of two novels, The Supernaturalist: The Graphic Novel by Eoin Colfer, illustrated by Giovanni Riganoand, and Madeleine L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time: The Graphic Novel adapted and illustrated by Hope Larson.