Children’s Books to Movies

September 7, 2013 / still a dreamer

As I’m sure you might agree, books that have been made into movies can have a rather spotty success rate. In my experience, rarely has a movie based on a book been as fulfilling as the book itself though there certainly have been some, and a few surprisingly good at that. There also have been some disastrous movies that had I not read the book first would have dissuaded me from ever reading it. But what about children’s books?

I recently took the plunge and watched movies based on two of my very favorite children’s books, both middle grade – Skellig by David Almond and A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle. That the Skellig movie had to add on a tag after the title – “the Owl Man” – should have been my first tip off, but I was open. David Almond is a brilliant writer and won the Printz Award for this particular novel. One of the things that sets him apart is the sense of the unexpected, of magic, that he brings to everything he writes. Where this movie failed for me is that in attempting to reach its audience it felt it necessary to define and explain the unexplainable. The beauty of Skellig the novel was that you were left at the end still not knowing who – or what – Skellig was. Was he a man? both man and bird? an angel? The reader never knows. In the movie, he is more or less defined. And then there were several hokey, (to me anyway), visual machinations, such as Skelling taking Michael for a ride on his back while he flies, and in two instances a kind of spinning in the air where he heals Michael’s hand and later the baby sister. Plus the movie barely touches upon the wonderful and unique character of Mina and her relationship with Michael , nor of that with his friends. In sum, there were interesting things about the movie, but as a reflection of the novel, Skellig the movie fell far short for me.

A Wrinkle in Time fared a bit better in my estimation, but again, the movie couldn’t really compare to the book. I think the movie did a pretty good job of showing the characters of Meg and Charles Wallace, and I enjoyed Alfre Woodard as Mrs. Whatsit, Alison Elliott as Mrs. Who and Kate Nelligan as Mrs. Which. The visuals of the children traveling through the tesseract to get to the different planets couldn’t have had too many ways to show it, I suppose, but it was a stretch. The interesting thing about this movie, made in 2003, is that it was a made-for-TV movie. I suspect it could have been more successful if actually made as a true movie. A Wrinkle in Time, like Skellig, raises bigger issues than the surface story, in this case, an adventure to save the children’s father. It’s a coming of age story for Meg but also asks what’s most important in life and how can evil be overcome. I think the movie did a very good job of making that clear, especially in the scene where Meg is able to pull Charles Wallace back from the tenacious evil of It. What I particularly enjoyed is that in the Bonus Features that were on the DVD there is an interview with the late Madeleine L’Engle. That alone may have been worth getting the DVD.

Why We Read, Why We Write … the Inspiration

February 24, 2013February 24, 2013 / still a dreamer / 8 Comments

I count myself very fortunate. Reading was an important and integral part of my life from when I was very young. Everyone in my family read – parents, grandparents and us kids – we always had a book, a magazine, a newspaper or all of the above. If we wanted something to do and the parents were busy, the answer was “Then go read your book,” and it was never a punishment.

In my pre-toddler years I was ensconced at one side of my Mom while she read to my older brother sitting on the other. I was soaking up those words like nobody’s business, and as a result I was reading … and writing … at a very early age. To this day, I am deeply grateful for this gift. It has served as a firm foundation for my never-ending love of reading, learning and writing.

When I was old enough to have a library card, and I believe that was at 5 years old and in kindergarten, I was part of the weekly trek to the town library, where my brother and I would each return with a stack of books. It was one of my greatest thrills to go to that library. And I remember it well because the original building was unlike most others in our little town. The Dixon Homestead Library was an old Dutch Colonial stone house with a gabled roof. (In doing a little research, I found that it was built between 1780 and 1790 by Derick Banta, a Revolutionary War soldier whose birth home on this same site was burned down by the Tories.) When I was a bit older, an adjoining addition for children was built and I remember being able to walk from one “house” to the other.

As a result of my love of books, I also loved to write and still do. Today, as I picked up Bird by Bird – Some Instructions on Writing and Life by Anne Lamott, and after finishing The Smoke Jumper last night, I couldn’t help but think about why we write and why we read.

I believe we read to learn about another’s experience … to be transported into another world in which we feel something that is meaningful to us, whether that is romance, terror, curiosity, amazement or intellectual enrichment of all kinds. We want to experience that which another knows and/or feels and can bring us through words. A good writer touches some part of us that says, Yes! This speaks to me.

Is this, then, why we write? If we are true to our hearts, I would have to say yes because we are at our best when we write what we know. Our writing has the most impact when our reader is drawn in to the world we create and wants to stay. I am aware that when I write, I want to make a difference to a young reader; whether he or she is 5 or 12 years old, it is my fondest hope that her life will be enriched in some way by my words. As I embark on a new writing project, I know I have a lot to think about and learn. I will have to revisit memories and feelings that will make a story come alive. But in this way, I hope to carry the torch of so many amazing authors that have inspired me, touched and enriched my life over the years.

But then … I also write because I simply love to write.

Children’s Book Illustrator Bagram Ibatoulline

February 21, 2013August 23, 2015 / still a dreamer

While purchasing novels at ridiculously low prices at book sales is great, books featuring the work of outstanding illustrators simply must be bought new and treasured. In this category, I cannot say enough good things about Bagram Ibatoulline. He has become one of my favorite illustrators over the last few years.

In Crow Call by Lois Lowry, a Newbery Medal winner, Ibatoulline brings to life both the characters and the autumn quiet of the woods and fields of rural Pennsylvania. Liz is the shy daughter reconnecting with her father who’s been gone a long time to war. They slowly re-establish their relationship with “Daddy” taking Liz out for a very special breakfast and then a trip to the woods where she calls the crows to wake up and come to her. Daddy has brought his gun to hunt, but easily sees where Liz’ heart is. The story itself is touching, but the illustrations are magnificent.

The feel of the woods and the trees, the capturing of the crows in flight, and the beauty in facial expression and body language of Liz and Daddy are just superb. Ibatoulline was born in Russia and is the illustrator of many acclaimed books, two of which will welcome Crow Call to my bookshelves, Scarecrow’s Dance and The Miraculous Journey of Edward Toulane. His illustration graces picture and middle grade books of all kinds from fairy tales to history to wonderful stories by some of our best modern day authors and poets.

If you are a fan of brilliant children’s book illustration, Bagram Ibatoulline will certainly inspire and delight you.

The Restless Reader

January 3, 2013January 3, 2013 / still a dreamer / 2 Comments

Have you ever experienced periods of time in which you wanted to read … well, everything in sight? Yet at the same time, you couldn’t find exactly the book you wanted to read? It’s a special and odd kind of frustration.

Here is but one bookshelf of books all waiting to be devoured … but I can’t make a choice. These are largely from the library’s annual book sale, but a couple are purchased or from a friend, and I really do want to read every single one, but I can’t choose.

But wait – there’s more! Like one of those TV infomercials in which you can get twice as many items for the same price if you’ll just order NOW, there are more books waiting to be read! Some of these are middle grade, some YA and some adult … some from my friends’ book swap … and all are calling to me as well. (And we don’t want to know, there is another small group on top of another bookcase.) Plus I’m still in the middle of another fabulous book, Paradise by Toni Morrison. So what’s with the restlessness? Are you experiencing this, too?

I’m thinking it might be the holidays – schedules are completely off for work, rest, entertainment, visiting … and distractions, wonderful as they are … are at a yearly high. Sometimes we just have too many choices. But if fabulous books that cost me little or nothing are what I have too many of, well … it sure could be worse.

Things are settling back into some semblance of a routine and the evenings have become particularly chilly. Seems like the right time to cozy up with a hot cup of cocoa and open up a good book. That and the sound of so many fabulous authors calling my name is becoming deafening.

Coming Around

September 24, 2012 / still a dreamer / 6 Comments

Coming around to myself, that is. I almost remember me!

As I’m sure any of you reading this can avow, there are periods in our lives which are especially challenging, (and that is a euphemism for what I’d really like to say, but we’ll leave it at that.) These periods may be short and intense, blowing in and shaking us hard like a sudden squall and just as soon blowing out, leaving us crumpled in their wake. They may be prolonged periods of seemingly endless things to cope with, large and small, which pick at us until we seem a mass of tiny scabs.

This is life. We accept it in all its glory and beauty and also in its times of travail. And when we are in the latter, there inevitably comes a day, only a moment perhaps, when something feels a little different, as if there’s been a barely noticeable turn in the universe somewhere and we know we have paralleled it and turned some corner ourselves. It may be ever so tiny; it may not grow overnight; but it happened.

The weather is now getting cooler, the days getting shorter, and the warming sun flows inside earlier and earlier. I have worked all day, and that western sun was drawing me, drawing me, to it and I succumbed. I brought my just-delivered copy of the SCBWI Bulletin, enamored of the cover illustration by Eliza Wheeler, to the back porch. I sat in a chair, my feet up on another, and indulged myself in some reading with the sun full on my face. The cats next door came to be petted and then sprawled on the porch, taking advantage of both the sun and the company. I read till my cheeks burned hot, loving every second of it.

There are times when we put everyone and everything else ahead of ourselves. Sometimes by necessity, sometimes by natural inclination. And there are times that we are called to come around to ourselves. It may be but a whisper, but listening is always exactly what we need.