THE WIDOW'S BROOM

By Chris Van Allsburg

(Houghton Mifflin, 1992)

Oh, what a talented man, that Chris Van Allsburg!  His realistic, yet fanciful black and white illustrations are masterpieces, works I can marvel at, feeling simultaneously calmed and inspired.  But he adds to the awe through clever story ideas, compellingly written.  In fact, the opening sentences of The Widow’s Broom caught my attention even before the art:

                       Witches’ brooms don’t last forever.  They

                       grow old, and even the best of them, one

                       day, lose the power of flight.

 

What a concept, what an introduction.  Immediately, we think of a broom as a character.  The introduction further entertains:

                           Fortunately, this does not happen in an instant.  A witch can feel the

strength slowly leaving her broom.  The sudden bursts of energy that

once carried her quickly into the sky become weak.  Longer and longer

running starts are needed for takeoff.  Speedy brooms that, in their youth,

outraced hawks are passed by slow flying geese.

Pardon the pun, but now we’re fully swept up in our imaginations.  We consider the life of a broom.  We empathize with such brooms whose glory days were long ago.  Moreover, we visualize without Van Allsburg’s illustrations.  How fun to imagine a witch making unsuccessful running starts in hopes of flying!  How amusing to picture the same exasperated witch falling behind a flock of honking geese!  (And oh how those of us with clunker cars can suddenly identify with a witch!)

One day a worn out witch’s broom lands in—or plummets into—a widow’s garden.  Naturally, it comes with a witch, but she makes a witchy exit, abandoning the useless broom.  To the widow’s surprise, the broom retains some of its magic, displaying its skills as an obsessive sweeper.  With a little redirection, the widow comes to welcome the broom.  However, her neighbors, particularly Mr. Spivey, feel  differently.  “’This is a wicked, wicked thing,’ he said.  ‘This is the devil.’”

This is a story about superstition, about suspicion, about refusing to modify one’s black-and-white views of good and evil.  This is also the story of triumph, not so much the broom’s but the widow’s.  Indeed, superstitious beliefs can be manipulated.

Children will easily connect with the broom and side with it when it is taunted, perhaps even bullied.  (Though I would argue the broom is never the victim.  There is no imbalance of power.  If anything, the broom has the upper hand.)  It is only at the end or during a repeated reading that an audience will view the story more from the widow’s point of view.  This is a wonderful book to use with students in discussing perspective taking.  Think as the broom, as the Spivey parents, as the Spivey children and ultimately as the widow.  All of these characters have different reasons for their thoughts and their behaviors.  A fanciful book like The Widow’s Broom can shed light on real situations, on the notion of fear, on the utility of objects and on how cleverness may prevail.

SCRIBBLEVILLE

By Peter Holwitz (Philomel Books, 2005) Oh, how I love this book! Every time I read it, I need a moment. I need to savor the awe I feel toward Peter Holwitz’ work. I need to ponder how he created such a glorious picture book, one that addresses differences, prejudice and societal change in a common sense manner, so easy to grasp. As the story begins, Scribbleville is a pleasant little community where everyone has a certain sameness. Everything in their little world is comprised of swirly black doodles, from the houses to the bicycles to the actual people and their clothes. And then something disturbs the peace. A truck pulls into town. It is quite the sight: all straight lines and curved lines. There are no swirls whatsoever, not even spewing from the exhaust pipe. But it gets worse. The driver of the straight truck also lacks any scribbles to define him. Like the truck, he’s created by straight and curved lines, too. How utterly different. Of course, this makes the townsfolk very uncomfortable. Why would a man so straight and so slim Want to live in a town where no one’s like him? The Scribblers shun the newcomer with the newly erected straight house and straight picket fence. But then someone visits Mr. Straight’s house. [A] woman walked up. Her hair was a mess. She wore a big smile and a red scribbled dress. And, as if it were the perfectly normal thing to do, the straight man and scribbly woman begin a conversation. Perhaps as a nod to Nathaniel Hawthorne’s The Scarlet Letter, the red-dressed woman is the first character to appear in color. To be sure, she stands out from the rest of the Scribble People. That single encounter changes everything. While the townsfolk judge her, she straightens much of her scribbly hair. He, in turn, buys “a new shirt he might not have before”, one comprised of blue and yellow scribbles. Scribble People respond with hysteria. This won’t be the last of The Straights! They’ll invade! “There’ll be more of them than there are of us!” As with many changes, the children prove most ready to accept. One boy mixes scribbles and straight lines in a drawing and his peers see how both styles combine to make something better. And then there is no turning back. It’s tough to say—to pick one day. Things never change overnight. But before too long, what once felt wrong, started to feel a bit right. Yes, everything about Scribbleville feels right. I love many picture books, but this is one of my all-time favorites. For teachers, there are so many instances when this book can be used. I have used it in grade one classes and the children are dazzled by the style of drawing. After I read it, they excitedly draw scribble pictures, straight pics and scenes that include a bit of both. The less confident artists find the scribble style quite freeing. (Include me in that “less confident” cluster!) I would love to use this book as a tie-in to discussions on immigration, racism, prejudice, mixed families and homophobia. Like The Dot, it’s a title can be pulled from the shelf for repeated readings. I don’t see how anyone would tire of it! A special thank you to school librarian Lisa Strong who heard me rave about Scribbleville a year and a half ago and kept looking for a copy. The fact this book went out of print offends me. Scribbleville should become a classic for both its entertainment value and its potent message.

METROPOLITAN COW

By Tim Egan

(Houghton Mifflin, 1996)

I don’t know why, but boys like cows. They find them funny. Last year, I supported a grade four writing group and one boy insisted on adding at least one cow to every story. Before long, other boys were creating cow characters. They enjoyed making others laugh from their writing and one of the easiest gags was to think of a human action and make a cow do it instead. The Far Side’s Gary Larsen would approve.

I picked up Metropolitan Cow from the local library simply because of the title and the cover image of a cow family, each member standing on two legs and dressed as cows would before heading out for a night at the symphony. I am confident the cover will catch a young reader’s attention. The story, however, has an important message, though Tim Egan provides cheeky commentary to keep the reader smiling.

Bennett Gibbons is a young cow living a life of privilege. All is well except there is no one for him to play with near his urban abode. All the other cows are significantly older and mud-sloshing pigs are…well, they’re pigs. Cows play with cows, pigs play with pigs.

Things change when a pig family becomes the new neighbors. Bennett befriends Webster the pig who is roughly the same age and has the same interests. When the two are outside, Webster suggests they jump in the mud, but Bennett echoes his parents’ long-established directive. “I can’t. I’m too dignified.” Webster asks, “What does that mean?” to which Bennett replies, “I have no idea.”

The two continue to hang out while avoiding the temptation of frolicking in the mud. One day, however, with his parents watching, Bennett can resist no more. Who wouldn’t want to play in the mud? This, of course, causes grave concern. This is why cows don’t play with pigs.

Metropolitan Cow is a story of prejudice, opinions forming from lack of contact with groups deemed different. It may be skin color, religion, family structure (think Benny Has Two Bucks) or first language. Bennett and Webster are typical youngsters. They are open to acceptance, but susceptible to following inexplicable rules that continue to keep those who are different at bay. Sometimes, as in this story, the adults need to learn from the younger generation.