Hooray for erasers

My favorite book store is Circle Books in St. Armand's Circle, a hip (although getting a tad touristy) little shopping district sandwiched between Sarasota and Long Boat Key.  Every time I walk out of Circle Books, I'm either empty-handed, having sternly reminded myself of the hundreds of books I already own and have not read, or I've got a bag or two and a great, big smile.  Good to support the independents, no?  (I'm not knocking amazon -- I happily buy books from any seller with a great selection.)

Last time I visited, I was with two of my favorite people. One was sitting on the floor of the travel section, his long legs criss-crossed and a stack of fantasy destinations in his lap. The other leaned against the check-out counter, her glasses sliding down her nose as she seriously discussed the merits of various young adult titles with the kind woman perched on a stool on the other side of the counter.

Me? I was hanging out in the children's books.

My latest find? The Eraserheads (Kate Banks and Boris Kulikov).

Here are a couple of lines from the story that make me smile:

• Often a letter was too large, or sometimes too small.
• But suddenly, the boy ran out of space.
• "Hooray for mistakes," cried the owl.

The strength of this story, though, comes in its illustrations.  All of the action  takes place on Max's desk (one I'd love to recreate), and it's clear, even amidst the math and vocabulary homework spread across the surface, that the boy's true love is art.  Or maybe it's imagination ... or adventure.

I wonder what my true love is?  Or my students'?  Or those two lovely people I spent the afternoon with at Circle Books?  What do the eraserheads love?  What is their purpose?  How about mine ... and yours?  And is a mistake something that should be crumpled up and thrown on the floor?  What are the consequences of ignoring them?  Can -- or should -- they be redeemed?

Most importantly ... if I was an eraser, would I be an alligator, owl, or pig?  Got it -- turtle.

Time to poke out my head and pour more coffee.  And then, perhaps drive down to Long Boat Key for another visit to Circle Books.

I just met Harold

And isn't he quite the cutie-patootie?  I'm referring, of course, to Harold and the Purple Crayon.  On the inside flap of the picture book where Harold lives, the audience level says, "Ages 3-7."  Hmmm, I think we could squeak a lot of thinking out of our older students with this little charmer.

Take, for example, page one: "One evening, after thinking it over for some time, Harold decided to go for a walk in the moonlight."  Now, here's a superb case of illustrations working in perfect unison with the text. If we had only the text, we might think, "Okay, interesting, let's turn in the page and see what happens." But instead, we look at the picture and see a child whose head easily comprises over 40% of his chubby, pint-sized body.  He looks like a standing eight-month old, right down to his footy-pajama'd toes.  So, before we turn the page, we laugh. A baby "thinking it over for some time?"  Funny.  And a good chance to talk about irony with our older students.

And then things get totally bizarre.  Every time Harold wants or needs something, he simply draws it with, I'm not afraid to say, his rather phallic-looking purple crayon (yes, he even holds it at "that" angle).  No moonlight?  Simply draw it.  Hungry?  Nine pies should do the job.  Can't find your way home?  Just draw home, window, and bed, and crawl right in.

Oh, the places we can go with this ... stream of consciousness?  Existentialism?  Sexual symbolism?  The hero's journey cycle?

In the hands of a mature classroom engaging in serious literature study, this book offers a wealth of possibilities for sophisticated conversation. Heck, scratch that.  Why not a rowdy group of ninth graders not sure how to establish a direction for their lives?  Or an art class where the kids are afraid to make their first mark on all that white space?

Glad to meet you, Harold.

A tidbit

I finished my independent study paper a few days ago.  There were days when I thought it was the most boring lump of tripe I'd ever read.  Other times, it seemed fairly interesting and, well, not bad for an old lady in graduate school.  No grade on it yet, but I believe today is THE day.

In any case, I thought I would post a piece of it that moved me when I wrote it. It is the conclusion of the section that addresses how early reading experiences have an impact on the use of picture books in high school.  I'd been tra-la-laaaing through sources that discussed reading stages in children, adolescents, young adults, etc.  Each stage so nicely builds upon the previous one, until voila, we have a fully formed adult who relishes all sorts of reading experiences. But what troubled me were the mental images of my students who had not had any decent early reading experiences at all. No adult took them to the library for story time or folded them up in their lap to point to the pictures, "do" voices, and sigh at the end of the story.  These kids ... well, they probably arrived in kindergarten pissed.  And by the time I got them?  They had figured out how to make dang sure I was so distracted by their nutty behavior that I wouldn't notice they were terrified I was going to figure out some truths about their reading.

Anyway, the independent study paper was terribly formal. But, in a couple of places, I shared my own thoughts.  And here was one of them:
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Many of the students who have walked into my classroom did not encounter positive early reading experiences. That loss is incalculable and most keenly observed in their deep resistance to independent reading. Time and time again, I’ve seen exactly those students open their eyes in wonder (and sometimes sadness, too) when I read aloud a picture book. During independent reading, they furtively reach for the picture books on my shelves. And when my classroom is empty but unlocked, it is the picture books that most often mysteriously disappear.

To Grow Pale

My research has unearthed a TON of picture books suitable for high school use. One title that keeps cropping up is Roberto Innocenti’s Rose Blanche (1985).  Sunday, this book and I spent some quality time together—and I know it won’t be our last visit.

I often tell my AP Lit students to carefully consider the title of a book.  Allow those musings to float around in your minds as you read, I tell them, and then, when you are finished reading, perhaps some interesting insights will occur to you.  And certainly be ready to revise your initial speculations.

I tried this technique with Rose Blanche and want to share here how that impacted my reading.  So, my thoughts about the title as they occurred to me …

On the cover, there’s a girl looking out of a window. I realize Rose Blanche must the girl’s name.  These are old-fashioned names, ones a grandmother might have, yet she’s young.  So the book is set, perhaps 50 or more years ago.  Other details on the cover confirm this, as she appears to be in some sort of a makeshift military hospital, and the uniforms of the wounded men place the story in either WWI or WWII.

Then, I began to read and to look at the pictures. Rose Blanche appears in almost every illustration.  And with one exception, she always wears a large, pink bow in her hair.  “Ah,” I think, “Pink!”  In French, the word for pink is rose.  So now I ponder the word blanche … and voila, the French word for white is blanch/blanche.  Suspicions confirmed; Innocenti is asking us, though his title and illustrations, to think about color in connection with his story.

I keep reading …

The illustrations at the end of the story verify my theory that color matters.  Here’s why: throughout the book, Innocenti relies almost exclusively on browns and dark greens—specifically, army green and dirty snow brown.  Although most pages contain a tiny bit of a surprising pastel, the vast majority of every page is given over to muddy, hopeless colors. But this is not true of the illustrations on the last two pages. Although there is still plenty of green, it’s new-life spring green.  In fact, the last sentence of the text reads, “Spring sang.” And now, too, the pastels abound.  Wildflowers dot the fields and wind up their way around the fences that have, at last, been destroyed.

So … a bit more ruminating on the colors.  In the face of the horrors of war, Rose Blanche exists as a tiny, bright spot, much like the bits of color scattered throughout the text.  More interesting ideas could certainly evolve from this line of thinking (the importance of maintaining hope in the face of evil, for example, or how beauty impacts survival).

Yet, a new idea began to nag at me by the end of the story.  And it, too, connects with color.  The word “blanch” also means to grow pale.  Because of the privations of war, Rose certainly does grow paler and thinner as the story progresses.  And too, she gives  most of her food to the children in a nearby concentration camp.  So the reader literally witnesses Rose Blanche blanch.  Eventually (spoiler alert), she grows pale because dies.  A sweet rose of a girl turns white in death.

Rose Blanche sacrifices not only her food, but also her safety.  Perhaps Rose Blanche’s sacrifice saves some of the children in the story; we do not know for sure.  But we do know, I think, that Innocenti wants his readers to consider the idea that not all soldiers wear uniforms. 

Just by contemplating the title and its implications, readers of all levels and abilities have much to gain from this story.  I have barely scratched at the surface of Innocenti’s brave book.  At the very least, in my classroom, I will pair it with Hemingway’s A Farewell to Arms. I find it incredibly interesting that both authors use extremely spare style to address the notion of innocence, sacrifice, and loss.  And both writers offer up a wealth of clues to rich meaning through the simple words in their titles.

It's time, it's time ... did she just say it's time?

There's a great stanza in a Veggie Tales song called "Promised Land" that goes like this:

It's time, it's time, did he just say it's time? (boom, boom, boom, boom)
We didn't have a lot of fun in the desert.
We didn't have a lot of fun in the sand.
But saddle up your cow and fall behind us now,
Because we're goin' to the Promised Land.

Whenever it's time for me to get cooking on something, I think of those lyrics.  Yep, it's time. And we're going to the Promised Land ... the land of Lit. Review.

The time has come at last for me to write a THE paper that synthesizes all I've learned about using picture books in high school classrooms. I have a fat, white binder that is bursting with my notes from 27 sources, notes that are contained on my brand new iMac, my old-but-reliable Sony laptap, and a couple of flash drives (that I hope I can put my hands on in the next few minutes).  I have sections of it written in various places, but pieces I have yet to draft.  All told, I believe the paper will exceed 30 pages, and it might be a heck of a lot closer to 50.

Here are the sections the review will include (but not be limited to and not necessarily in this order):

• Introduction explaining how I got involved in this project
• Definition of picture book; this will actually be a fairly lengthy section, as the components of a picture book are many and complex.
• Discussion on the importance of calling picture books "picture books" (I've run across some pretty silly alternatives, my favorite of which is "everybody books" -- uh, no.)
• How to choose quality picture books
• DOs and DON'Ts for using them in high school classrooms
• Theories about why they work; this section will include a description of efferent and aesthetic reading events, as well as read-alouds and visual learning.  Oh, and also situated perspective (yes, I'm perusing my fat, white binder right now). OH!  And also the stages of reading!
• Cross-curricular lesson applications (This will also be a pretty chunky section.)
• Teacher anecdotes (May or may not use -- have not decided on this yet; if so I'll spread them throughout; they'd certainly add interest to the paper, but they lack science.)

This is the basic idea. Lots to write. And I think it will be a whole heap of fun. I'm saddling up my cow ...

I wasn't going to cry ...

But I did.


I just read Pink and Say (Polacco, 1994).


This is a story about two injured boys fighting in the Civil War on the Union side.  One is white, and one is black.  One wants to continue fighting, and one does not.  One is educated, and one is not. One will lose everything, and one will gain an entirely new way to look at the world ... and an unforgettable story.


Here's the line that got me: "I know this story to be true because ..."


And here's the other line that got me: "This is the hand, that has touched the hand ..."


Read this book to your students.


Pink and Say has obvious teaching implications for American History. But I'd consider it, too, for:

• language arts, to study dialect and narrative structure
• a war unit for any social studies or literature class
• studying differences (relevant in any subject)
• the psychology of fear
• health sciences

This book would make an incredible companion piece to A Long Way Gone, Memoirs of a Boy Soldier.  Publisher's Weekly begins their starred review thus: "This absorbing account by a young man who, as a boy of 12, gets swept up in Sierra Leone's civil war goes beyond even the best journalistic efforts in revealing the life and mind of a child abducted into the horrors of warfare."


Our students often tell us they want to read books that are relevant.  And we know from experience they love to have their minds opened to new ideas.  Pink has something to say to us.


Have tissues ready.

Well! Then I'll share it here instead

Several days ago, I began the process of submitting a proposal to the International Reading Association for presenting at their conference in the spring. Cool, huh?  My thesis advisor suggested I go for it, or I honestly would never have considered myself qualified. Anyhow, about a week ago, I went to the appropriate web site and wrote down the questions for which I would need to write responses.

Then, I freaked out. FREAKED OUT!  The issue is that, the number of characters allowed for each prompt is high -- really, really high. They vary from 5,000 to 10,000 characters, for, oh, um,  like a dozen or so questions. Friends, that's a LOT of writing.

Dr. Wellman nicely told me to chillax and assured me that the proposal reviewers like brief submissions (thank you, Dr. Wellman).  So I spent a couple of days crafting what I hope is an excellent proposal.

Funny thing, though ... today, when I went to upload it (a rock solid 33 hours before the deadline, I want to point out), one of the prompts I'd written down had just disappeared.  Last week, there was a section called Classroom Implications (or, at least, I thought there was).  Today, nada.  No Classroom Implications.  Zip.

But, since I took the time to write an answer to that section, I'm going to share it here instead.  (And, Dr. Wellman, if you're reading this, you'll see something shockingly close to it in my lit. review.  We'll call that "efficiency.")

So, here are the classroom implications for the session I hope to present at the International Reading Association conference:

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The potential impact to classroom experiences for students and teachers alike is significant, most importantly in that picture books, when well integrated into unit lessons, offer pathways to deeper emotional connections and higher order thinking for high school students.  There are many reasons why this is so, including:

·      Picture books provide a way to connect with highly visual learners (Carr et al, 2001).

·      Well-chosen picture books provide background knowledge and context (Carr et al, 2001).

·      When illustrating a real-world concept, they provide a situated perspective for students, connecting classroom content to life outside of high school (Putnam and Borko, 2000).

·      When read aloud to students, picture books create a bond between the reader and the student that reinforces the power of words (Giorgis, 1999).

·      Picture books provide non-threatening access to tougher concepts (Gewertz, 2009).

·      Using picture books to increase vocabulary acquisition is effective because it encourages students to discover words based on their perceptions and experiences (Polette, 1989).

·      Teachers report that the personal connections students make (i.e., experiencing revulsion at disturbing historical events, recalling impactful memories, identifying dreams and hopes, bridging cultural differences) are unique to picture book use (Matthews et al, 1999).

·      Picture books tap into students’ earliest reading experiences, thus offering an aesthetic reading event (Rosenblatt, 1982).

·      Picture books have a unique power to create experiences and summon feelings (Florida Online Reading Professional Development, 2006).

These practice-grounded theories show that, a classroom environment that includes picture book use, taps into a compelling learning vehicle.  Once teachers make a connection with students using picture books, a connection facilitated by mutual trust, sharing early reading experiences, comprehension of an accessible text, and enjoyable engagement, they find that students’ minds are particularly ready for the link to rigorous concepts.

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And there you go.  The proposal is finished, and I am a happy woman.