I’ve written on here before about picture books fighting the good fight (These Books Kill Fascists) and equipping kids with imagination and hope (The Hungry Typewriter), but in light of yesterday’s inauguration, I want to dip in to this subject once again. This time, to say I really, really want #kidlit to step up to the challenges before us. After seeing the world’s richest asshole give a Nazi salute on stage, I was reminded of the time author-illustrator Ludwig Bemelmans found himself, unexpectedly, in the company of a group of Nazi officers.

“In an ashtray on our table was a cold cigar butt about the size and shape of a small mustache. I stuck it under my nose, rose to my feet with great effort, and gave the Nazi salute. I also made a short speech. I can’t remember what I said, but I screamed some words of encouragement in that hysterical tone, that falsetto pitch familiar to radio listeners all over the world.”

Bemelmans’ first instinct was to mock the Nazis. Sure, he got a beer stein thrown at his head…

and the next day he was arrested and had his passport confiscated, but you know what? He 100% did the right thing.

As creators for children, I think picture book authors and illustrators lean heavily into leading by example and saying things like “books about kindness and collaboration are more important than ever”. But if I’m honest, I don’t think this is enough. Kids books that work in allegory, stories of blue people and red people coming to work together, are unequal to the challenges of our time. I think there can be (and should be) stories about bullies getting their comeuppance. To practice, don’t clutch your pearls, clutch your pens in a fist of righteous outrage and let loose with your best one finger salute. Start writing stories where the villain is called out for what he is and where he literally eats shit.

Now, I said that, and I mean it, but I also want to point this out.

The story about the Nazis takes place in Bemelmans’ collection of essays titled I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU, I LOVE YOU and I think this is a great framing. Love, kindness, and hope are our biggest and best weapons against hate. But there’s always room for calling out Nazis for the shit-eating chumps they are.

Listening to:

FOX ALL WEEK is on Fuse 8 n’ Kate!

I am thankful and honored Betsy paired this book with mention of my own but the star of the show is undoubtedly Fox. I won’t spoil the ending by saying what rating Kate and Betsy gave this book, but I will say I loved hearing how Kate described Marshall’s Fox (Kate had asked for a book where a Fox was the hero of the story):

“So, foxes are usually portrayed as the villain and I feel like we see different sides of this fox to make him a more three-dimensional character. Sure, he’s deceiving in the first story when he lied about being sick but we also see him being remorseful when he admits to lying about smoking cigars. We see him being helpful when he makes dinner for his mom and sister, we see him make mistakes—like giving away his grandma’s chocolates to a complete stranger. And finally, we see him being supportive of his friend who got braces. So, I think this is better than seeing a fox as a hero, we see the Fox as being a relatable character instead.”

So good.

To add to the discussion, here’s a link to 2014 James Marshall Fellow Sandra Horning’s blog post where she dives into the dummies for FOX ALL WEEK, taking special note of what Marshall considered a perfect funny ending.

The mystery of who Edward Marshall is is uncovered in another of Sandra’s blog posts, here. (I could tell you who Edward is, but what fun would that be?)

I’m offering four hours of my time for the #KidlitForCeasefire auction. I’m calling it a mini-mentorship, but I’m happy to tailor the four hours into any type of sessions that meet your needs.

From the auction description:

Four hours of Zoom time with Jerrold Connors, creator of Donuts for Everybody, author-illustrator of the upcoming James Marshall biography, JIM! Six True Stories About One Great Artist. The Zooms can be based on Jerrold’s popular and groundbreaking “Dummies for Authors” class (a course that teaches authors how to make physical drafts of their works in progress), or they can be centered on the winner’s needs. Where ever you are on your publishing journey (from querying, to subbing, to actively debuting), Jerrold can help elevate your work with joy, creativity and intention.

I will only add that the last time I offered this, my auction earned less than Kim-Hoa Ung’s Giant Pencil, a humiliation that was immortalized in this video. Please don’t let me suffer this fate again. Bid now! Bid early! Bid often!

Back in 1990 a memorial service was held for Jim Henson. The event was broadcast on PBS, where I watched it. I was invested in the moment because I was a big Muppet fan and (separate from just Sesame Street) found a lot of comfort in PBS. So there I was, in Revelstoke, in our home’s basement rec room, standing in front of the TV watching one of my heroes being laid to rest on my favorite TV station.

I grew up Catholic and was an altar boy for many years and served at a lot of funerals so much of the ceremony was familiar to me but I think I remember feeling detached. At some point, Big Bird walks down the aisle to deliver his eulogy. As he does he turns to someone in the congregation and does that funeral nod people do in these situations. I immediately think, “Ya ruined it, Big Bird. Ya ruined Jim Henson’s funeral.”

You see, Big Bird, at the time, was six years old. And if you’ve ever seen a six-year old tasked with this kind of responsibility, you know they perform it with an intense earnestness. A six year old would have fixed their eyes on the podium and made their way there solemnly. I would have.

Big Bird’s nod was not just an adult affectation, that kind of sympathetic “I know” people give to one another at funerals, it was also a specific kind of move that, to me, draws attention to the artifice of puppeteering. I didn’t know that the puppeteer who performed Big Bird was Caroll Spinney, an indisputable master of his craft, but in that moment I believed whoever was working Big Bird made a poor choice.

When a piece of art or performance grabs me, I go all in. Few people can suspend disbelief as high as I can—there’s video evidence of me shouting myself hoarse at professional wrestling matches—but if a piece of art doesn’t grab me, then all it takes is the slightest small thing (something as small as a nod) to make me say “Ya ruined it”. And I never know what that one thing is going to be.

So, why are we talking about this? Well, I went into this blog post with the idea of asking myself how I’m going to react to criticisms of my own work. JIM! is on the cusp of being reviewed widely (as of writing this, I have already received my first review… it was forwarded to me three days ago, it went live today) and I know the prospect of bad reviews are something that can cause a lot of authors a lot of stress. All the same, I’m not sure I have anything interesting to say on the subject! Maybe it sounds phony or falsely brave, but I’m less concerned with how many stars the book gets than I am with what the reviewer takes away from it. The aforementioned review… it was good. Very good. And I’m grateful. But what moved me most (and there’s video evidence of me being moved) was that the reviewer appeared to understand exactly what I set out to do with the book. I’m thankful for their review—if it’s not too corny to say it, I felt seen.

Perversely, I’m looking forward to the slightest small thing in JIM! that’s going to land the first “Ya ruined it, Jerrold!” in my lap. People’s personal peccadillos are unpredictable, but I think I know what’s going to do it:

Uneven wardrobe choices among my characters (eg. pants, no shirt versus shirt, no pants, versus completely nude). I mean, really, what was I thinking?!

Listening to:

Years ago, while doing some late night channel surfing, I wound up on PBS and caught the tail end of a documentary about the Stax Volt European tour. My friend Keith, who seems to know everything about music history, said the tour came at a moment when rock was rising and soul was waning (in the US, at least) and the performers weren’t sure what to expect in Europe. They were welcomed as heroes.

The video above shows a crowd of Norwegian teenagers and young adults grooving and becoming totally absorbed by the music. So much that towards the end of the concert, when Otis Redding builds towards the climax of Try a Little Tenderness, it looks like the Norwegian National Guard is called in for crowd control. I don’t know as much about music history as Keith, but this is one of my all-time favorite music moments. It’s also a video I like to turn to when I’m thinking about the power art has to move people.

In case you were thinking about the same, I hope this video inspires you too.

I’ll share one more funny detail from Halloween… among the 1,200 trick or treaters was a special visitor, a DHL courier who we all assumed was a grown-up wearing their work uniform as a costume but who was in fact an honest-to-goodness delivery person dropping off my printer proofs, fresh from China. I was engaged with kids, so my friend Anien accepted the package. It was only at the end of the night that I realized what had landed on my doorstep. Here’s my face when I did:

I was supposed to be writing a treatise on sasquatch urine but I started painting some color studies this afternoon and got carried away well into the evening. No regrets. Between coloring these and another half dozen pages, I think I’ve unlocked something in my usually trepidatious approach to watercolor.

A good feeling. Let’s see where these cows lead us.