At the beginning of January, we started fostering a dog named Wini — a 6-year-old (believed to be) dachshund/catahoula leopard dog mix. She is simply divine and we love her so! Here are some of her favorite things:

• Listening to classical records

• Baguettes (specifically the ones used for Banh Mi)

• Having her head on a pillow

• Parmesan

• The Little Women (2019) score

• Standing on my foot

• Monitoring your parking job with two paws on the center console

• Putting herself to bed at midnight

• Apples

• Sitting under the table while we eat meals

• Jaywalking

If you’re thinking “wow — she’s totally going to adopt this dog”... you wouldn’t be wrong. We recently made it official and Wini is now a bonafide member of the family! A delightful outcome for both parties (not to put words in her mouth…)

Moving on!

I intended to do this post around the end of December but alas, see excuses above. There were so many incredible picture books published in 2025- here are some (emphasis on the incomplete nature of this list!) of my favorites releases from the fall + winter:

1. Year Round by Audrey Helen Weber

   

   Starting off with a bang! I am truly obsessed with this book and pretty much anything and everything Audrey Helen Weber touches. I have fond memories of meeting Weber at the Northampton Print & Book Fair when I was in college, and plastering my walls with newly purchased prints of theirs, so you can imagine my delight when they started writing and illustrating picture books. This one is without a doubt my favorite one yet- a playful exploration of the four seasons through questions, feelings, wishes and thoughts. The illustrations are so richly textured and I love that the vignettes range from mundane to fantastical, making the simple concept feel fresh and imaginative. Looking forward to building a snowdog of my own tomorrow.

2. Zohran Walks New York by Millie von Platen

   

   As a lifelong New Yorker and someone who helped canvass for Mamdani's campaign, I can say with authority how well von Platen captured what that time felt like. Flipping through this debut picture book brings me so much joy. It feels like a genuine love letter to New York City and to a moment a lot of us won't forget.

3. Broken by X. Fang

   

   When I was in 5th grade I accidentally broke the closure on my grandma's jewelry box. I never fessed up, and spent the rest of the visit with my stomach in knots. Anxiety has and always will be alive and well! In Broken, a girl accidentally breaks her grandmother's favorite teacup and spends the rest of the book in a cold sweat about her finding out. A cat is (momentarily) blamed, but knows the truth. It's a sweet story about guilt and the courage it takes to come clean, and a gentle reminder that the stories objects carry are what makes them so special.

4. Aggie and the Ghost by Matthew Forsythe

   

   Aggie is not only fiercely independent and impeccably dressed, but also knows and respects her own boundaries. Learning your house is haunted would send many into a tailspin, but not Aggie — she is logical, reasonable, and quickly accepting of her new reality. Ghosts are ripe for a rebrand and this is it! This was my first encounter with Matthew Forsythe and most certainly won't be my last.

5. Take a Walk With the Wind by Xiong Liang

   

   I love Archipelago Books, and I have been equally taken with their children's imprint, Elsewhere Editions, which focuses on translated stories. They have been putting out some really magnificent books, and this one is no different! Inspired by a classical Chinese poem, this tale introduces us to the world of "Treelings," tiny beings that live in the forests, and what they get up to. It's a magical little tale and I would love to live inside this world for a day (or two).

6. A Spoonful of the Sea by Hyewon Yum

   

   I don't think I could really pick a favorite from this list, but if I HAD to (talk about dream scenario — being forced to choose favorite picture books) this might be it. Yum invites us into the world of Korea's haenyeo, the legendary women divers, and the tradition of miyeokguk, a seaweed soup served on birthdays as a way of honoring them and the mothers who brought us into the world. This book has it all: soup, diving, expectant mothers, and a multigenerational story that will leave you teary-eyed (I guarantee it!)

7. The Wound by Emma AdBåge

   

   Dark, funny, and deeply Scandinavian in a way I couldn't fully explain if I tried. This book is weird in the best possible way. It had me laughing out loud and transported me straight back to that very specific childhood fixation of obsessing over scabs. Honestly, what better subject for a picture book? The concept is brilliant, and the illustrations are fantastically, fittingly odd. Be sure to pick this book (and not your scab) up!

   Have you read any of these? What have been some of your recent favorites? I would be oh so pleased to know.

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Most trips include a visit to one of our favorite places of all: The Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art. Throughout college we spent many Sundays hopping on the PVTA bus for the 20-minute ride over to Amherst, our tense minds and bodies visibly softening the moment we laid eyes on this sign:

There are always three shows going on at the Carle: a show in the West Gallery centered on a certain topic or theme related to Eric Carle’s work, a small show in the Central Gallery (which connects East and West), and a rotating show in the East Gallery, typically focused on one author and/or illustrator.

Cooking with Eric Carle: I was most excited to see this show, and it most certainly did not disappoint. Carle + food illustrations? I’m all the way in. The show highlighted Carle’s love of food and being in the kitchen, and how this passion is reflected in his work. Here were some of the highlights:

Red Flannel Hash & Shoo-Fly Pie (1965): Before creating the books we know and love today, Carle began his career in books with art commissions for Red Flannel Hash and Shoo-Fly Pie (1965), a compilation of folk recipes from across the United States. The art was exclusively comprised of linoleum-cut prints, many of which (along with the blocks he carved!) are part of the Carle’s collection.

The night before our museum excursion, Elly and I had the most delicious dessert at our favorite local restaurant, Paul & Elizabeth’s—a cornmeal pudding that basically tasted like warm gingerbread and a hug. You can imagine my delight when, flipping through the book, I discovered the recipe!

Walter the Baker (1972): Carle often drew on childhood memories for his stories, and Walter the Baker is one of his most personal. When Carle was six, his family moved into the second floor of his grandfather’s house in Stuttgart, Germany, where his beloved Uncle Walter (surprise surprise, a baker!) lived downstairs. The book serves as both a tribute to this cherished “Onkel” and a nod to Germany’s rich folklore traditions.

Guest Checks & Misc. Gems: Carle was a regular at the (now closed) Sienna restaurant in South Deerfield, MA. He became close with the restaurant staff and always doodled on the guest checks. Oh, to have one of these in my possession!

Open + Shut: Celebrating the Art of Endpapers: If you read my piece on endpapers, you know my deep admiration for these picture book wonders. I even hinted at my excitement for this very show in that post! #OnBrand. Check these out:

The Art of Grace Lin: Meeting a Friend in an Unexpected Place: I’m gonna be honest—my familiarity with Lin’s work was minimal (which is especially embarrassing now knowing she’s written and illustrated more than 30 books!), so I went into this retrospective with zero expectations. Excuse me while I go catch up on the Ling & Ting series in its entirety!

The Reading Library is open any time the museum is, and is not to be missed. With a non-circulating collection of over 6,000 picture books, this treasure trove is basically heaven on earth and I’m still waiting for my invitation to move in (call me!)

No self-respecting museum-goer can leave without at least browsing the gift shop, and I’m no exception. I’ve spent countless hours in this store, yet I always discover new gems and (unfortunately for my wallet) have never left empty-handed.

Suffice to say, damage was done…

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When her publicist offered me an advance copy, I quite literally squealed with delight. I got the opportunity to chat with Jo this week to learn about her, her work (she does it all!), and about the process of creating this wonderful book.

This conversation has been edited for length and clarity. Please enjoy!

Jo: Hi, Sophie, it’s so nice to meet you!

Sophie: It’s so nice to meet you too! I’ve never done an author interview before, so this is thrilling! Also, this truly my dream book, so getting to chat with you about it really is the cherry on top. How have you been? Has the release been so exciting?

Jo: It’s been so special. It’s so sweet to have families and people reach out and say, “My kid loves it and is learning so much.” I just feel so proud. I’m like, “Yay! We did it!”

Sophie: So, this is your first book for your imprint. Did you always know you wanted to make this book? Was it always going to be a picture book?

Jo: Yes! I’ve been thinking about children’s books for as long as I can remember—I’ve had many different ideas over the years. I’m a very visual person, and I’ve always been drawn to children’s books, even before I had kids of my own. I actually had an idea in college to write a children’s book about a person experiencing winter for the first time, but I had never sat down and wrote one.

This book came out of necessity, and maybe that’s why I finally made it! For years as a midwife, families have asked for kids’ books to teach their children about birth and midwives. My [midwifery] practice was mostly hospital-based births for a while, but a few years ago, I pivoted to making homebirth the primary focus. That’s when the need for a children’s book became even more important—this kid might actually be at the birth and witness it! What better way to teach someone about life and tricky topics than through a book?

So I started buying all the books I could find on this subject, and I felt like they were just okay. Of course, there’s hard work in every book that gets made, but none of them aligned with me. A lot of the existing books felt dated and sterile. I would only recommend them with caveats like, “But I don’t love the pictures,” or, “They don’t use gender-neutral language.”

Sophie: It’s such a beautiful book and feels so good to hold in your hands. You can tell everything has been done thoughtfully and with a great deal of intention. As someone who would love to write a children’s book one day, I’m wondering—how do you go from “I would like to do this one day” to actually doing it?

Jo: I’d had this idea for a long time (to write a kids’ book about a midwife), but I wasn’t sure how to do it. I wanted to make it gender neutral, and that was my test to myself: “Can you write a book about what you do without using pronouns for the people you care for?”

Sophie: I loved that aspect because it doesn’t hit you over the head—it’s just like, “this is normal.” Which it is!

Jo: Exactly. The first draft happened fast. I woke up one morning and thought, “I know the book.” I sat down and wrote it, and it felt clear. I realized I could write about me and explain what I do from my perspective. Also, in doing that, I could easily omit pronouns for my patients.

Claudine Eriksson, who ended up doing the graphic design and art direction for the book, was a patient of mine and I delivered two of her babies. After her second baby, she said, “Jo, you’ve been talking about this book for both of my pregnancies. Let’s do it!” I told her, “Claudine, you just gave birth to your second baby and you’re eight weeks postpartum — I’ll call you in a while.”

Finding the right illustrator was actually the hardest part of this whole process. I’d finished writing—it changed a little, but the main parts were there in that first draft. I wrote several longer versions, but I kept coming back to the original, shorter one.

I worked with an illustrator friend for about a year and a half, but it fell apart. Finally, I reached out to Claudine again and said, “Do you want to help me? Because I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Sophie: What was that collaboration like?

Jo: We would meet outside of Stone Fruit (café in Clinton Hill, Brooklyn), still pandemic times, bundled up in many layers, brainstorming this book. She’d ask, “What’s the vision? What do you want, Jo?”

We had trouble finding illustrators until we connected with Haein [Kim]. I found her through an illustrator magazine—I saw these totally psychedelic drawings she did and thought, “Oh my God, this is it! She’s never going to respond to me, but I’m going to email her anyway!” She responded, read the story, and said she was game!

I had a clear vision for the book and had mapped out the story, but Haein took it to incredible places I could have never imagined. My priority was to make it gender neutral, inclusive to all families, colorful, and a little psychedelic. I tend toward a vintage 60s–70s aesthetic, but I also just love color. I wanted this book to feel like art—something beautiful.

Sophie: How did you come to the decision to publish it yourself and start your own press?

Jo: We sent our manuscript and a few drawings to various publishers. Most of them didn’t get it. They didn’t understand why this might be something people would appreciate. Maybe they thought the numbers weren’t big enough—not enough people having babies with midwives.

After enough of those conversations, I realized I wanted full creative freedom. We were having so much fun making it, and I was so committed to our little team that I wasn’t willing to budge creatively. I wanted to make this as a personal creative project. I also felt like I had enough of an audience on my own, so we said, “Well, screw it! Let’s make this into something real, maybe even something that could grow.”

Sophie: You’ve been a midwife for a long time—what was the experience like writing for a young audience? Did you have to unlearn some things?

Jo: Not really. As a midwife, I’m always talking about what I do, teaching people, and being conscious of pronouns, so it wasn’t too hard.

There were a few moments where I thought, “How do I describe the population I care for?” I spent a lot of time figuring out how detailed to go and how to make it as inclusive as possible, but it was a pretty fast process. I did end up with a few other versions where I go into the menstrual cycle and lots of other details—maybe that’s another book. I’d love to teach about the menstrual cycle from a pronoun-neutral perspective.

Sophie: As I was reading, I was like, “I want ten more books about adjacent subjects!”

I think this is my favorite spread in the book, it’s just so good:

Jo: That was Haein’s magic, honestly. We couldn’t figure that section out for the longest time. My vision was having it be a little like Amelia Bedelia—lots of movement, like “Midwife here! Midwife here! Midwife here!” Some Miss Frizzle/The Magic School Bus vibes too.

There’s also this book I read as a kid called Tell Me a Mitzi, and the illustrations are very movement-focused. Those pages are imprinted in my brain.

I explained what I was imagining, and she sent over some drawings and said, “How about this?” We were like, “Are you a genius? This is amazing!”

Sophie: It’s perfect. She really nailed it. The whole book is so unique—rich, atmospheric, exciting, and downright fun to read. I love the part where you’re called to a labor, get your backpack on, and are walking down the street. I was like, “Look at this magical woman going on an adventure!”

Jo: It’s the illustrations! They were all done in colored pencil. We gave Haein total creative freedom. As the book came together, Claudine and I kept saying, “More is more! The more pattern and color, the better!” Haein has such an incredible sense of color.

Sophie: Did you always know you wanted to include a glossary at the end? I think it’s brilliant and broadens how the book can be used across different age groups.

Jo: My husband kept saying, “You need a glossary!” I wasn’t sure, but we ended up with a few extra pages, so I added one. I’m so glad I did, it really took it to another level.

Sophie: Did you use your own kids as a sounding board while making the book?

Jo: Totally. But I also had other kids read it, because after a many instances of going to them for advice, my kids were like, “Ugh, do whatever you want!” So at first, yes, but then I widened the test audience.

I had friends’ kids read it to see how engaged they were. I added the surprise “The end!...Just kidding!” mostly because I wanted to include the placenta. That’s one thing missing from almost all the books I found, and as a midwife, it’s such a vital part of birth. It’s the moment we’re all waiting for to know everyone is safe and healthy.

When writing the book, I was also conscious of including all kinds of midwives—homebirth, hospital, birth center. I didn’t want to exclude anyone. I also wanted little nods to other midwives, like, “I know, I know. We’re all thinking about the placenta!” And kids love that part!

Sophie: You have so much going on! A thriving midwifery/gynecology practice, a shop, a product line with your sisters, and now Nettle Wellness Press. How do you see all these pieces fitting together?

Jo: It all feels like me. Everything fits within things that I love. Yeah, it’s a little nuts—everything kind of exploded at the same time—but these things have all been brewing for years.

This book was in the making for about four years. The shop came out of the blue when I moved my practice from my brownstone I’d been practicing out of into a commercial space down the street. There was an extra room with a door to the sidewalk, and I thought, “That’s a little shop!” I filled it with things that make me excited—vulva creams, condoms, Plan B, and vintage kids’ clothes.

Sophie: Do you have more projects in the pipeline for the press?

Jo: Right now, no. I’ve been thinking about doing some educational posters, though. Also, I love a calendar—I think they’re wonderful. I love holding them, drawing on them, writing things down. And you get a new one each year! So maybe a calendar…

Sophie: You’ve got your hands full!

Jo: Things have to slow down a little for me in that regard. I’m trying to give this book as much attention as I can, but sometimes I can’t help myself—I love doing a bunch of things at once! It makes me happy!

Sophie: Since this is for a Substack about picture books after all, I have to ask—what are some of your favorites?

Jo: Tell Me a Mitzi was a big one as a kid—that was up there for me. Do you know The Brownstone? I’ve read it with my children so much. It’s about animals exchanging different apartments in brownstones. It’s really fun. I also love Ira Sleeps Over—those illustrations! They’re so beautiful.

As we established, Amelia Bedilia, and I’m also obsessed with The Magic School Bus. I spent so much time looking at those images—all the details! I’d spend hours learning about different topics and admiring Miss Frizzle’s outfits and shoes. I’ve loved sharing that series with my kids. I hope this book is a little nod to that.

I think the gold standard for teaching kids about reproduction is What Makes a Baby? They nailed it.

Sophie: One of the many reasons I appreciate your book is because, let’s be frank, there’s so much crap that comes out for kids these days! So many books with illustrations that look AI-generated just feel so unimaginative.

Flipping through your book, I can tell how much time and love went into each page. It’s magnificent!

Jo: Thank you! I really, really appreciate that. Doing this project made me really look at picture books again. I went through all of ours at home, and my old books from childhood and really sat with them. As a kid, I appreciated the illustrations, but I didn’t fully understand how much work went into them—the art, the lettering, the binding, every little detail.

Oh, and we chose not to have a book jacket because when kids open a book, all they want to do is rip it. And you know what? I get it!

Big thanks to Jo for taking the time to chat with me—I so enjoyed learning about all that went into creating this truly stellar book.

I highly encourage you to grab a copy ASAP, either at your local bookstore or directly from Nettle Wellness Press’ website.

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If you’ve never met him, Cipollino (Italian for “little onion”) is a plucky young bulb whose father is jailed by the tyrannical Prince Lemon for the heinous crime of (accidentally) stepping on his royal feet. What follows is a whimsical uprising of fruits and vegetables: an edible revolution in which produce becomes political and a child (albeit an onion-headed one) leads the charge against injustice.

As Tolstikova read the book’s cast of characters aloud, Avillez reached into a well-worn RISD tote and began pulling out the real-life ensemble: onion, zucchini, lemon, tomato. Each one got its moment in the spotlight, like actors taking their bow.

With over 20 characters in the book, Tolstikova created a reference sheet to track which fruit or vegetable wore which fashionable ensemble. A practical solution to a delightfully absurd problem.

She also gave us a glimpse into her process, showing us the hefty yellow binder she kept close throughout the years of bringing this project to life. Inside: the 243-page manuscript, marked up with her plans for which scenes required full-page illustrations and where smaller (but mighty!) spot illustrations would land. The result is an absolute triumph, a book with stunning, colorful illustrations on nearly every page—one sure to delight readers from 9 to 90.

Tolstikova has spent six years working on this project, but her affection for Cipollino hasn’t dimmed a bit. She described it as a cornerstone of her Soviet childhood, so deeply woven into memory that she can’t recall a time before it. She’s far from alone. In the USSR, Cipollino was a full-blown cultural icon, immortalized in cartoons, ballets, and even postage stamps.

But how did an Italian children’s story capture the Soviet cultural imagination? In an interview with Publishers Weekly, Tolstikova pointed to the “very optimistic idea of a nation building a better society” that the story seemed to embody. Cipollino offered the kind of moral clarity that made sense in an era of idealism (though, of course, the reality was far messier and more complex).

Its author, Gianni Rodari (1920–1980), was a writer and journalist. As a young man, he stumbled into teaching out of financial necessity and discovered that storytelling was the only way to keep a classroom full of squirming kids engaged. What began as survival soon turned into a philosophy: he saw imagination as a political act.

Too frail to fight in World War II, Rodari joined the Italian Resistance after two close friends were killed and his brother was sent to a German camp. After the war, he wrote for children in Communist Party publications, weaving politics into play. As Tolstikova put it, “Communism in its unadulterated state is about fairness and access. Rodari, an educator as well as a writer, was very interested in this—and these themes abound in his works for children.”

What set Rodari apart was his conviction that play could be a radical tool. Stories could teach children to think, not just behave. In the 1960s, he developed a series of games and exercises for children, asking what might happen after a fairy tale ends, or how a story changes if you add one strange new element. Through humor and curiosity, he trusted kids to wrestle with big ideas on their own.

In Italy, Rodari is remembered with the same affection English readers reserve for Roald Dahl or Maurice Sendak. He even won the Hans Christian Andersen Award in 1970. But his politics complicated his legacy: his books were banned by the Catholic Church, and as they traveled the world, different countries saw in them what they wanted to see.

The 1953 Soviet translation of Cipollino didn’t just adapt the text, it sharpened it. Scholars Daniele Monticelli and Eda Ahi note in Gianni Rodari’s “Adventures of Cipollino” in Russian and Estonian: Translation and Ideology in the USSR that villains became crueler, heroes purer, and the class struggle more pronounced. Cipollino was recast as the ideal Soviet child: brave, communal, revolutionary. A perfect little onion for the cause!

After the Soviet Union collapsed, Cipollino outlived the ideology that once claimed him. In modern Russia, he’s been banned for his revolutionary spirit; in Ukraine, he’s been revived as a symbol of resistance. Now, he arrives in America at a moment that feels almost fated.

The little onion boy who once fought against the produce monarchy now belongs to all of us. Once a story is out in the world, it can’t be contained; It grows wild, sprouting wherever someone needs it most.

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Long time, no toast! And for that, I sincerely apologize!

Summer is winding down (to be honest, the overwhelming feeling is: PHEW!), and I feel like I've begun surfacing for air after months underwater. I am starting a new job next month, and am deeply grateful and relieved for the security and stability it will bring.

Traveling was out of the budget for us this summer, but thanks to our lovely community we were able to spend some much needed time out of Brooklyn! I’m excited to share some (ahem: too many) of my finds from a recent week-long housesitting stint in the Berkshires.

Here are a few of the wonderful stores I stumbled upon and the treasures I picked up:

Yellow House Books in Great Barrington, MA

While staying in Great Barrington, our first stop was naturally Yellow House Books. True to its name, this beloved bookstore has occupied a butter yellow house right on Main Street for over 30 years. Though I was saddened to learn that Ripley, the resident cat, had passed away in March, I was eager to revisit what I remembered as an extensive collection of used and rare children's books. My memory served me well! Here's what I left with:

1. New At The Zoo by Peter Lippman (1969)

   I was struck by the red, blue and black color scheme on the cover. What can I say, sometimes you should judge a book by its cover!

2. La Cuisine est un Jeu d'Enfants by Michel Oliver (1965)

   I cannot for the life of me remember how or when this French children’s cookbook first came on my radar, but it’s been filed away in the back of my mind ever since. You can imagine my delight and surprise when I walked into the children’s section and saw it propped up on display! There was no world in which I left without it.

3. The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams & William Nicholson (1922)

   This is a book I always assume I own and go looking for in my collection, only to discover I in fact do not. This slim paperback version for $2 certainly fit the bill!

4. The Enormous Crocodile by Roald Dahl & Quentin Blake (1978)

   I’ve never come across this one and adore Quentin Blake so it was an immediate grab. Also, I love an inscription. David may no longer own this book, but I hope his memories of the Pittsburgh Zoo are fond and vivid!

5. Katy No-Pocket by Emmy Payne & H.A. Rey (1944)

   H.A. Rey’s work (outside of Curious George) really came onto my radar after spotting many of his books at the Antiquarian Book Fair back in April, so I was quite pleased to stumble upon this one!

6. The Seed by Ann Cameron & Beth Cameron (1975)

   I’ve never met an out-of-print, obscure, borderline creepy picture book from the ’70s that I didn’t adore. This one is no exception. The anthropomorphized seed will undoubtedly haunt my dreams, and you know what? I welcome her impending visit.

Shaker Mill Books in West Stockbridge, MA

I discovered this gem through Picnic Style, where Eleonore shared, “My ideal book shop. It’s in a small town, there's a cashier who takes too long to do anything, it’s meandering, and it’s filled with new and used books. No notes.” Every word rings true! Sprawling across two buildings, this place feels endless in the best way. Children's books aren't centralized in one section, instead, I delighted in discovering pockets of treasures (rare editions, international titles, etc.) tucked into surprising corners throughout the multiple floors and rooms. I exercised remarkable restraint and limited myself to just three!

1. Letters to Children from Beatrix Potter by Judy Taylor (1994)

   Will I ever forgive myself for missing the Beatrix Potter shows at the Morgan Library not once but TWICE? Probably not, but in the meantime, I’m happy to fill the void and dive into this perfect encapsulation of two of my favorite things: children’s illustrators and sending mail.

2. Fables of Aesop illustrated by Alexander Calder (1967)

   I love Aesop’s Fables. I love Alex Calder’s line drawings. This one was a no-brainer!

3. Les Chaises by Louise-Marie Cumont (2009)

   Shaker Mill Books had a surprisingly robust selection of international children’s titles, and lucky for me, this wordless book posed no barrier to entry! I’ve never encountered anything quite like it—the quilted illustrations are so finely detailed, I can almost trick myself into believing I’m running my fingers over real pieces of fabric.

Librarium in East Chatham, NY

My trusty Google search for "used bookstores near me" has yet to fail me! Calling Librarium "off the beaten path" is an understatement. You'll wonder if you've taken a wrong turn and ended up in someone's driveway (which in a way, you have!) Sharon Lips opened this remarkable shop over 45 years ago, and it's a true bibliophile's paradise. Also, I had the good fortune of chatting with Sharon for a while, and she’s an absolute gem! Did I leave with more books than I should have? If you’re reading this newsletter, you already know the answer.

1. Richard Scarry's Silly Stories (1966)

   Richard Scarry, you’re simply the best!

2. One Wide River to Cross by Barbara Emberley and Ed Emberley (1966)

   Most people know Emberley for his classic how-to drawing guides, but a few years ago I caught a retrospective of his work at the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art and left a deep admirer. The colors in this book are electric, and the animal prints are nothing short of remarkable. Also, the author’s inscription might just be the best I’ve ever come across?

   

3. Smashed Potatoes: A Kids-Eye View of the Kitchen by Jane Martel (1974)

   I am so obsessed with this book I want to buy every single copy I can find and stuff it in the Christmas stockings of everyone I love. Ending the ingredients list with “Whatever else you need”? Genius. “Some people have milk to drink and some have Martinis.” Inclusivity at it’s finest!

4. Don’t Get Me In Trouble! by Steven Kroll and Martin Glass (1987)

   Sharon graciously let me climb up on her ladder (pictured above) and look through the shelf of books that were listed for sale online, and I was quite pleased to snag this one. Dogs riding a cat carousel!? Paw-sitively perfect.

5. The Story of Paul Bunyan by Barbara Emberley and Ed Emberley (1963)

   As if Barbara and Ed were looking down on me, I left Librarium with TWO of their stunning books. His woodcuts are so detailed and the blue and brown color scheme is striking. Also, have I mentioned how much I love an author/illustrator husband/wife duo? Swooning hard over this one.

6. Farmer Palmer’s Wagon Ride by William Steig (1974)

   “An hour before sunrise, Farmer Palmer tip-hoofed out of the house and went to the barn to wake up his hired hand, Ebenezer” may very well be the greatest opening line of all time.

7. Plum Pudding for Christmas by Virginia Kahl (1956)

   In a valiant but doomed attempt to "be good" and shrink my mountain of selections, I put this one back… only to email Sharon the next day in a panic, begging her to ship it to me. Thankfully, this tale has a happy ending (unlike my attempts at restraint).

   Do you have any of these books on your shelves? Have you been to any of these wonderful bookstores? Drop a note in the comments, I want to hear it all!

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In an age of moral rectitude and instructional tales, Edward Lear's A Book of Nonsense offered neither lesson nor correction. As Sara Lodge writes in her insightful 2018 biography, Inventing Edward Lear, it "eschews didacticism" in a way that would have shocked its earliest readers. Victorian children's books were small, tidy, and preachy. Lear's was expansive, joyful, and wonderfully strange. With this book, Lear created space—literal space on the page—for children's minds to run wild.

Lear gave each limerick a full double-page spread, a layout that defied contemporary publishing norms. As both illustrator and designer, he gave his characters room to truly move. Bodies leap, tiptoe, and split in half. Limbs extend beyond margins. These weren't merely decorative illustrations but Lear's co-conspirators. "For Lear," Lodge observes, "word and image are not discrete entities… but organic branches with shared roots."

Yet something deeper lurks beneath the silliness. Lear's nonsense isn't simply childlike, it creates a bridge between childhood and adulthood. He famously sent "nonsense letters" to both children and adult friends, casting himself as a character who "chats with slugs, clings to wild sheep horns in Crete, or dangles in conversations with frogs." These letters, Lodge argues, "open up a channel of communication between the child-self and the adult-self." They seem to whisper: come back. Return to the version of yourself who once trusted the fantastical, whose imagination knew no bounds.

This vision of children as naturally imaginative, rebellious, and deserving of unfiltered joy distinguished Lear from the moral seriousness of his contemporaries. As Lodge writes, "Childhood is a state to be relished and cherished rather than reformed." Lear didn't try to correct children. He joined them.

Enchanted Lion's forthcoming release, The Boy Who Became a Parrot: A Foolish Biography of Edward Lear, Who Invented Nonsense, written by Wolverton Hill and illustrated by Laura Carlin, arrives July 29th and promises to share Lear's whimsy and wisdom with a new generation.

Biographies written for children often fall flat, reduced to sanitized timelines that drain the life from their subjects. I approached this one warily, fearing another dutiful march through dates and achievements (though, an Enchanted Lion title has yet to disappoint). Instead, I found myself immediately drawn in, my apprehension melting away in an instant.

Hill's deep knowledge of and love for Lear transforms what could have been a static portrait into something vibrant and alive. Rather than presenting a distant historical figure, Hill invites us to walk alongside a man whose struggles with depression, social anxiety, and the search for belonging feel startlingly contemporary. In a recent interview with Betsy Bird for the School Library Journal, Hill shared, "times have changed, but the fundamental challenges of growing up haven't. Lear met kids where they were, made them laugh, and showed them how the imagination can be an antidote against boredom, sadness, and injustice."

Crucially, this book refuses to sanitize the darker chapters of Lear's story. Financial hardship forced him from the family home as a child, leaving him to be raised by his sister. Epilepsy plagued him throughout his seventy-five years, a condition he called his "Demon." Despite public acclaim for his natural history illustrations, a persistent sense of not quite belonging shadowed him. As he aged, loneliness deepened, shaped by relationships and longings largely unspoken in the historical record. Hill handles these complexities with sensitivity, allowing readers of any age to grasp Lear's profound isolation without needing to explicitly state the truths his era demanded he conceal.

Hill's prose and Carlin's illustrations exist in seamless harmony. The artwork pulses with the same cadence as the narrative, forming a visual story that complements and elevates the written word. Carlin wields color like an emotional vocabulary—browns, blacks, and grays speak to melancholy and exclusion, while vibrant yellows, oranges, reds, and blues pulse with creative energy and connection. Most ingeniously, she weaves Lear's own artwork throughout, from his precise natural history drawings to the playful doodles that danced around his limericks.

Hill writes, “Nonsense offered a fabulous refuge from a real world that too often made no sense.” Today, when the horrors of reality feel unimaginable, this biography doubles as a survival guide. We need more than Lear’s permission to befriend slugs and chat with frogs. We need his defiance. Because in a world more absurd than any limerick, nonsense isn’t escapism. It’s perhaps the sanest response we have.

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The small auditorium filled quickly, turning to standing room only as panelists took the stage with the casual air of intellectuals arriving straight from another engagement, tote bags still slung over their shoulders. The lineup included: M.T. Anderson, the New York Times bestselling author who spans children's, teen, and adult literature; Tracy Hurren, VP Editorial and co-owner of Montreal-based Drawn & Quarterly, the publisher behind Moomin's North American editions; and Lauren LeBlanc, a writer whose recent Atlantic piece examined Jansson's NYRB-reissued novel, Sun City.

The conversation meandered through wide-ranging topics but inevitably always returned to the woman of the hour, Tove Jansson. A woman who lived with fierce independence and an uncompromising sense of self. A woman who wrestled with life's heaviest questions through storytelling, creating worlds that served as both a mirror and refuge from the tragedies that surrounded her, as if by innate obligation.

Below are some excerpts from conversations between the delightful panelists.

On the concept of “responsibility” in Jansson’s work:

TH: “In hindsight, looking back at her work through a queer lens, this idea of chosen family is so strong. Everyone is welcome at the Moomin house, and if someone wants to come for dinner, you enlarge the table, and if someone wants to live there, you build a new bed. It really is the most welcoming, generous idea of family and community that she's represented in this world. But I have a hard time thinking about that as a responsibility—more so, I think it's inherently who she was.”

LL: “She was in her early 30s. This was a time in which people were probably looking at her and wondering, ‘Why aren't you settling down? Why aren't you having children?’ And I think the response, perhaps, to that conflict was to write these books that were speaking to children—but, you know, were really speaking on universal levels to, ‘What does it mean to bring children into a world where there is always going to be war?’”

M.T.A: “She actually wrote an essay in 1961, a really interesting essay called The Deceitful Writer of Children's Books, where she says, ‘If you think that I'm writing these stories for children, you're mistaken. I'm writing these stories for myself.’ It's like she basically says, ‘I write the thing I need to do for this child within me.’ And it happens to connect with other people, is sort of her attitude. So even there, there's a certain kind of defiant individuality.”

On the structure and mood of Jansson’s work:

M.T.A: “Many of her books follow the same structure, which is a very simple one on the surface. She tends to have an opening event that unsettles the Moomins from the sort of bourgeois run of their world. And they are thrown into some kind of catastrophe, and then the chapters that follow are almost like little short stories, in many cases, each one focusing on a different character. And then there are a few chapters at the end where the plot really kind of coalesces again, having been somewhat loose along the way. What I think is wonderful about that structure is the mood it creates for a child, and the way that children experience the world as a series of very small adventures that do take place in the neighborhood. These places, these sites, like the library, become a place where a certain kind of adventure happens. The deli becomes a place where a certain kind of adventure happens. And it's the way that children start to kind of piece together a world that becomes larger and larger and larger as you grow older and older.

TH: "There's also like a restlessness to it as well that I find really charming. And I think there's a restlessness to Tove in her larger body of work. Maybe restlessness sounds negative, but I think of it in a very positive way.”

LL: “I think of a character like Snufkin, who comes and goes as they feel. And reading these books again recently, I was thinking, what a lovely introduction for children to understand that people will come and go from your life. And if they're meant to be a part of your life, they'll come back. And you have to have a certain element of trust there to know that they will return, but that they should have, and need, freedom. And it's that early sense of, you know, of understanding our interdependence and our independence in the world. What a wonderful thing to view that as a child—to see the world as a series of adventures, and not as something we need to accomplish, checking things off the list or, you know, reaching certain milestones or thresholds. What matters is the journey, and what matters are the people that you need to sweep in along the way, and how we treat one another. And is everyone enjoying themselves? And did everyone have cake? And at the end of it all, did—how does everyone find themselves? And will we do this again?”

M.T.A: "The last book, for those of you who haven't read it—Moominland in November—is a wonderfully bizarre, almost expressionist kind of thing, where the Moomins are largely absent. These people go to Moominvalley, and the Moomins aren't there. So you're waiting for the Moomins the whole book. It's sort of like French existentialism or something. But sadness is also so potent and so real that, as you get older, it is wound into the fabric of the party too: ‘We’re together right now. We're not always going to be together.’”

After the talk concluded, we were invited upstairs for a preview of Tove Jansson and the Moomins: The Door Is Always Open, the first-ever U.S. exhibition dedicated to Jansson. This free (where would we be without the public library!?) show explores Jansson's creative universe through immersive installations, rare archival materials, and international editions of her work, tracing the Moomins' global journey from the original 1940s publications through theatrical, television, and musical adaptations. The exhibit also explores Jansson’s personal life, following her path from a young political satirist to a queer woman navigating life in postwar Europe.

I’ve thought of Jansson often these past few days, her marvelous characters perpetually dancing through my mind. I’m continually struck by her complexity, her boldness, her commitment to artistry, and her insistence on expressing herself on her own terms, in her own time. As Alix Ohlin writes:

“Jansson was an artist and a businesswoman, an idealist and a pragmatist. She initially proposed to a man before making her life with a woman. She felt trapped by the success of the Moomin stories at times, but was too practical to walk away from it. She was able to take whatever strangeness she found in her own life and parlay it into stories, endlessly.”

I came to the library on Friday night already steeped in Jansson’s world—her chapter books and comic strips, her novels, even a memorable exhibition at Copenhagen’s GL STRAND in 2017. And yet, the panelists’ thoughtful reflections and the exhibit’s subtle details still managed to surprise me, offering unexpected intimacies and quiet revelations. It felt a little like discovering a hidden room in a house you thought you knew by heart.

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A few months back, I made my usual beeline to the children's section of a used bookstore and discovered a shelf dedicated entirely to Caldecott winners. Thumbing through the collection, I wasn't surprised to find nearly all the tried-and-true classics we'd reflexively name in a "Quick! List five children's books!" challenge. But it did get me wondering: Who was the man behind the medal?

Randolph Caldecott was born in Chester, England, in 1846. At 15, he left school to work in a bank but continued pursuing his passion for art, taking night classes and getting his drawings published in local newspapers. When he was 26, he made the leap: he quit his banking job, moved to London, and was soon elected to the Royal Institute of Watercolour Painting.

In 1877, Caldecott's career took a pivotal turn when Edmund Evans, a leading wood-engraver and color printer during the Victorian era, asked him to fill Walter Crane's absence and illustrate two Christmas books: The House that Jack Built and The Diverting History of John Gilpin (both published in 1878). Their instantaneous success led to Caldecott collaborating with Evans on several more books until Caldecott’s early death in 1886 at just 39 years old.

Randolph Caldecott was one of the three most significant children's book illustrators working in 19th-century England, alongside Kate Greenaway and Walter Crane (whom he had to thank for his fortuitous start!). Caldecott's illustrations were pioneering in their humor and tone, with an extraordinary ability to convey movement that nearly jumps off the page. His work set a precedent for everything that followed.

Maurice Sendak was a devoted admirer of Caldecott, arguing his contributions could not be overstated: "Caldecott's work heralds the beginning of the modern picture book. He devised an ingenious juxtaposition of picture and word, a counterpoint that never happened before. Words are left out—but the picture says it. Pictures are left out—but the word says it. In short, it is the invention of the picture book."

The Newbery Medal, established in 1922, honors authors of the most distinguished American children's books each year. But by 1937, it became clear that this focus on literary excellence was leaving out a crucial group: the talented artists whose illustrations are essential to the stories we know and love.

Frederic G. Melcher, a notable publisher, recognized this oversight and proposed a solution: a second annual medal specifically honoring the illustrator behind the most distinguished picture books, named after Randolph Caldecott.

It was a natural evolution that acknowledged what many already knew—great children's books are often the result of both exceptional writing and illustrations working hand in hand. The American Library Association enthusiastically embraced the idea and continues to award the medal to this day through its division, the Association for Library Service to Children.

As I combed through my collection, I (unsurprisingly) found plenty of those shiny seals tucked into the corners of book covers. Here are a few of my favorites (in no particular order):

The Moon Jumpers by Janice May Udry and Maurice Sendak (1959)

Sylvester and the Magic Pebble by William Steig (1969)

A Chair for My Mother by Vera B. Williams (1982)

Time of Wonder by Robert McCloskey (1957)

Finders Keepers by William Lipkind and Nicholas Mordvinoff (1951)

Swimmy by Leo Lionni (1963)

Tar Beach by Faith Ringgold (1991)

Do you have a favorite of the bunch? I think mine may be Vera B. Williams’ A Chair for My Mother, which was one I was obsessed with as a child, and has only become more evocative with time. I can’t imagine a day when I’ll stop looking at those illustrations in absolute awe.

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sources for this post:

• https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Randolph_Caldecott

• https://web.archive.org/web/20160309022629/https://www.highbeam.com/doc/1G2-3443200010.html

• https://www.gutenberg.org/files/14077/14077-h/14077-h.htm

• https://www.ala.org/alsc/awardsgrants/bookmedia/caldecott

• https://www.abaa.org/blog/post/a-short-tribute-to-randolph-caldecott

"Sophie, you need to toast!"

These are the words my sweet boyfriend has uttered repeatedly over the past three weeks, as day after writing-less day slipped by. And yes, in this house (read: small, overpriced apartment), "toast" is a verb with an entirely different meaning.

I started warm as toast a few months ago during a period when I had—for better or worse—a lot of free time. These days, my schedule is jam-packed—working a traditional 40-hour/week job plus babysitting many evenings. I've never been someone good at juggling a full plate. I easily fall into the hole of overwhelm, which manifests as an unproductive paralysis of sorts. The cycle goes something like this:

I have so many ideas for posts to write! → Hmm, that sounds like a lot of work → It’s too much! Instead, I'm going to write nothing! → I'll do it tomorrow... → It's been too long! I'll have to explain my absence…

And so, here we are: ripping off the band-aid and reminding myself why I started this Substack in the first place—as a soothing balm for my overworked mind and soul (and if I'm doing it at all right, yours too).

While I may have paused my writing, exquisite new picture books certainly haven't taken a break from entering the world! I've amassed a lovely, ever-growing stack, many of which I’m excited to share with you today.

Let’s dive in, shall we?

1. The Bear Out There by Jess Hannigan (April 2025)

I have been eagerly awaiting Hannigan's latest release, as I am a massive fan of her 2024 debut, Spider in the Well. This book checks all the boxes for a perfect picture book: vivid, rich imagery, a conversational tone, and plenty of suspense and surprise.

Children's books aren't only for children (a point proven by the existence of this very Substack!), but the best ones are deeply aware of their audience: a small person, curled up in the lap of an adult, being read to. A while back I listened to Taylor Sterling's conversation with Hannigan where she discussed the five books that shaped her, one of which was The Monster at the End of This Book by Jon Stone and Michael Smollin (1971). The Bear Out There in no way feels derivative, but it does feel like a love letter to one of the gold-star read-alouds of our youth. Plus, I’m a sucker for a classic turned on its head—something Hannigan pulls off in spades with this gem. I can't wait to see what she cooks up next!

2. Otto and the Story Tree by Vivien Mildenberger (April 2025)

Slipping off the dust jacket to reveal this magical cover was quite the delightful surprise:

This one’s sweet. So sweet, in fact, that after reading it to myself, I immediately forced my boyfriend to sit down so I could read it aloud to him.

Otto is a cranky, reclusive bird who’s let himself and his home fall into disrepair—until a tree begins to grow inside his house, changing his perspective along the way. Night after night, Otto regales a rotating cast of creatures and critters with fantastical tales—a true testament to the power of storytelling! Mildenberger's pencil and watercolor illustrations are dreamy and expansive, effortlessly transporting you to Otto's world.

3. Mouse by the Sea: A Vacation in Nature by Alice Melvin (April 2025)

Many of my childhood favorites can transport me instantly with the crack of a spine, but it’s rare for a new book to do the same. Enter: the magic of Alice Melvin.

This is the third in the series (after Mouse on the River and Mouse's Wood, neither of which I was familiar with), but due to its illustration-heavy nature, really stands on its own. Peppered throughout the book are die-cut flaps that open to reveal colorful, detail-rich interiors. I, a grown woman, practically squealed with excitement each time I uncovered one—a level of joy scarcely felt these days.

Pick up this title (or any in the series) for a child in your life (or for yourself!), and prepare for the ensuing delight as they explore the worlds Melvin has so meticulously crafted.

4. Where Are You, Brontë? by Tomie dePaola & Barbara McClintock (May 2025)

I am a big Tomie dePaola fan (in my world, “Strega Nona Fall” is a perpetual state of being) and was equal parts excited and skeptical when I heard about this book. Where Are You, Brontë? was the last manuscript dePaola completed before his death, but it remained unpublished without illustrations—until now.

In the Illustrator's Note, McClintock writes:

"Every morning when I walked into my studio, I felt Tomie's spirit was there, at my elbow, teaching me about speaking volumes through simplicity. I tried to blend my drawing style with his and walked that tightrope between being true to myself while also getting inside his head and hand."

My skepticism quickly gave way to admiration. McClintock accomplishes the impossible: creating a book that feels authentically dePaola while leaving room for her own sensibility. I especially loved the nods to dePaola’s previous characters—a little I Spy opportunity for longtime fans. This book is a tender tribute to dePaola’s beloved dog Brontë, and in turn, to dePaola, too.

5. George & Lenny Are Always Together by Jon Agee (May 2025)

   

   Agee's latest will charm fans of Frog & Toad, the sufferers of separation anxiety (raises hand), and those who love them alike. Lenny and George are inseparable, that is, until one day when Lenny raises the possibility of spending some time on his own. The back and forth that ensues is silly and touching, and serves as a perfect reminder that oftentimes prioritizing your own needs allows you to show up for your friends and loved ones in even more meaningful ways.

Have you come across and/or read any of these titles? Have you made any recent discoveries not on this list? Please do let me know in the comments.

As I hinted at earlier, I’m rethinking the form and cadence of this Substack. I haven’t made any decisions yet, but promise to keep you in the loop.

Wishing you a warm (literally and figuratively) week ahead.

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Apologies for my absence last weekend—I was away for the weekend and needed to unplug. It was a wonderful time! I got to go to a farmers market, eat delicious food, spend money I don’t have on books I don’t need, and encounter animals galore (goats, cows, and a domesticated therapy duck named Marv, to name a few…) Anywho, I’m back! Better than ever? Wouldn’t go that far.

With the passing of time comes the inevitable accumulation of things (spring cleaning? I don’t know her!) Unsurprisingly, I’ve acquired a lovely little stack of books that I’m so excited to share with you all today!

1. Mr. Popper’s Penguins by Richard and Florence Atwater & Robert Lawson (1938)

   This was one of many delightful anniversary presents from my sweet partner (he knows me well!), and I’ve so enjoyed flipping through it. Most of the drawings are in black ink, but a handful of Lawson’s full-bleed illustrations include the most stunning blue. J’adore! Come to judge Mr. Popper’s financial ineptitude and flighty parenting, stay for the penguin hijinks that ensue.

2. The Cow Who Fell in the Canal by Phyllis Krasilovsky and Peter Spier (1957)

   

   I found this one at a used bookstore years ago, didn’t buy it (what was I thinking!?), kept it in the back of my mind, and practically squealed with excitement when I stumbled upon it this past weekend (shoutout to Book Barn in Niantic, CT). Hendrika— you are the Dutch cow of my dreams! Float on, girl!

   The two-page spreads are especially magnificent. The colors! The movement! I feel as though I’m right there, shoulder to shoulder with my fellow townspeople, watching the bovine spectacle in awe!

   

   

3. La Scala Segreta (The Secret Staircase) and Storia D’Autunno (Autumn Story) by Jill Barklem (1980 & 1983)

   

   My mom dug these up for me—two of the Brambley Hedge books by British author/illustrator Jill Barklem that she had picked up on a trip to Italy before I was even a figment of her imagination. Barklem is truly the queen of mouse interiors (shoutout @mouseinteriors—a truly perfect Instagram account that I urge everyone to follow immediately)—look at this magnificent architecture and interior design! While the specifics of the stories remain a mystery to me (3 months of Italian DuoLingo for nothing!?), all I care about are the delicious jams stacked high in a perfectly messy kitchen and impossibly cozy mouse bedrooms.

4. My First Nursery Book by Franciszka Themerson (1947)

   

   A moment of silence for the endpapers, please…

   

   This was another Book Barn grab—tucked away at the bottom of a pile on a high shelf. From my preliminary research (I feel an impending deep-dive), Themerson was a Polish renaissance woman who trained as a musician, graphic designer and painter in Warsaw, and made multiple experimental films with her husband. She worked in multiple disciplines throughout her life, including theatre, drawing, painting, illustration, and book design.

   The illustration style and color choices are so striking. I can’t stop looking at this one. It takes a real magician to make classics like Goldilocks and the Three Bears feel fresh and exciting, but she’s done it in spades!

5. Robert Francis Weatherbee by Munro Leaf (1935)

   

   I saved the best for last—in addition to this book just being generally fabulous, this copy in particular is extra special. Signed by the author/illustrator, replete with three (!!) illustrations. I just know Bitsy treasured this one, and I vow to treasure it too.

   

   Leaf (of The Story of Ferdinand fame, an unfortunately penguin-less book illustrated by Robert Lawson!) managed to create a book so simple and so deliciously odd. I adore the layouts in this one—small illustrations on one side, large, spaced out text on the other—as they always say on The Great British Bake Off, “it’s quite effective!”

   

   

   

   The colors! The proportions! A main character inexplicably so unique in his appearance! Count me in!

And there you have it! Do you also have a weakness for impulsive book purchases (whether IRL or during a late-night eBay peruse)? Have you encountered a remarkable therapy animal of your own? (Marv has set the bar pretty high, I must say...) Let me know what you're reading, collecting, or admiring these days.

Until next Sunday, when I'll undoubtedly have acquired even MORE books I don't need (but absolutely do)!

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Birthdays don’t stir up especially strong emotions in me. I greet their approach with quiet enthusiasm, but they’ve never carried the reverence some others seem to feel. Truth be told, I find more joy in the slow build-up than in the day itself. The looking-forward is half the fun.

Still, around 2 p.m. yesterday, a soft wave of sadness crept in. It’s my birthday! What gives? The Great Birthday Pressure had arrived—that quiet, insistent voice asking: Am I squeezing every drop of special from today? Should my plans have been grander? Shouldn’t each moment feel extraordinary? How is it already this late in the day?

With each passing year, I’ve gotten better at recognizing this uninvited guest and gently showing it the door.

These birthday emotions inevitably conjure memories of that Berenstain Bears classic, Too Much Birthday, where Sister Bear orchestrates the birthday party to end all birthday parties. Too many friends crowd the house. Too many games demand attention. Too many sweets overwhelm her tiny GI tract. Midway through what should be her perfect day, she crumbles into tears. Another victim of Too Much Birthday.

As a child, I simply liked the story. Now I see it as my first lesson in emotional intelligence—a therapist disguised as a picture book, whispering a permission I didn’t know I needed: that feeling overwhelmed during supposedly “perfect” moments isn’t just normal, it’s profoundly human. A natural response to the impossible weight of expectation.

Whether you greet birthdays with open arms or cautiously approach them with subtle dread, they’ve undeniably inspired some of the most delightful picture books. That alone is cause for celebration.

I’ll leave you with this: at my birthday party Friday evening (which, thankfully, ended tear-free!), my partner hung a big sheet of kraft paper with a simple prompt: What was your favorite book as a kid? Some of the answers genuinely surprised me, and I loved quietly lurking while friends paused, smiled, and scribbled their responses. If you feel so inclined, I’d love to hear yours in the comments.

Wishing you days ahead free from the grip of Too Much Week.

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I hope your week has been going well! Or, as well as it can be in this authoritarian hellscape (too much for a newsletter dedicated to children’s books?)

Here is the promised part two of my post about the 65th Annual ABAA New York International Antiquarian Book Fair I attended last weekend. I’m not entirely confident I can fit it all in this post, but, here goes!

First editions of beloved classics: Many of the children’s books I spotted at the fair were first editions in near-pristine condition of the widely known and adored titles we all read as children.

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My sincere apologies for being absent from this space—a combination of starting a new job and nursing a cold left little room for writing (or anything else outside the bare necessities of my day-to-day).

I also want to welcome all the new subscribers who have joined since I posted last—welcome! I’m so glad you’re here. Seeing so much engagement with warm as toast has been incredibly energizing, and my list of ideas for future posts grows longer by the day.

Housekeeping ✔️

I spent much of yesterday weaving through the aisles of the 65th Annual ABAA New York International Antiquarian Book Fair (that’s a mouthful!) hosted at the Park Avenue Armory. It’s been on my radar for years (my dad is a bit of an antiquarian book enthusiast), but this was my first year attending. Once a year, “exhibitors from across the world convene at New York City's historic Park Avenue Armory, presenting a trove of materials including rare books, maps, illuminated manuscripts, fine bindings, illustrations, historical documents, photographs, prints, memorabilia, and ephemera.”

I didn’t know exactly what to expect by way of children’s books, but I was met with abundance! Now you might be wondering (as was I): Sophie, weren’t you tempted to spend copious amounts of money (that you don’t have?) The answer is, fortunately, NO! The prices of most of these books (as you’ll see below) were so wildly high that the question of purchasing anything didn’t even cross my mind. My brain processed the experience like it would a trip to a museum, not a shopping opportunity.

Here are some of my highlights from yesterday’s adventure:

Maurice Sendak: I was utterly delighted by the sheer volume of Sendak offerings, and spotted a few titles I’d never even heard of!

I also spotted some amazing original drawings (be still, my heart!)

There were also many special first editions of beloved classics:

And I would be remiss to exclude these two gems:

Beatrix Potter: A large portion of the exhibitors were from the UK, and lucky for me, brought with them many one-of-a-kind Potter treasures.

Had to include these sweet editions of some favorites:

Tove Jansson: I anticipated coming across a fair number of Jansson/Moomin books but only found two. They were both non-English editions, which I hadn’t seen before!

There’s just something about her signature *swoon*

Margaret Wise Brown: Perhaps some of the most exciting finds of the day were two Wise Brown titles I’d never heard of, let alone seen IRL.

This one was so special I practically had to pry it out of my own hands and sprint out of the stall (and haven’t stopped thinking about it since…)

Ludwig Bemelmans: I have to admit my Bemelmans’ familiarity begins with Madeline and ends with his bar at the Carlyle Hotel, but I was so excited to stumble upon a few of his lesser-known (and sadly for my own library, very scarce) titles.

Perhaps the coolest find of the day was initially spotted by my lovely partner (I’ve trained him well)— an original mock-up copy of Parsley from 1948. As you can see below, the text and illustration are pasted in, as a guideline for later publication (a unique glimpse into the book design process!)

Another exhibitor was selling a first edition of the same title, and it was so lovely to hold the final product in my hands after just seeing the mock-up.

H.A. Rey: Much like Bemelmens’ oeuvre, my Rey exposure doesn’t extend much beyond Curious George. Also, I’m a sucker for an author/illustrator husband and wife duo, so the Rey’s are ripe for a deep dive!

I’m cutting myself off here, but what I’ve shared above is probably about 1/3 of the photos I took- there was SO much to see! All so fabulous! How to whittle it down!?

If money was no object, which of these would you take home? I shudder at the (implausible) thought of owning one of these and the anxiety that would come with caring for it. Fortunately, I don’t see it being a problem for a long, long time.

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PS: Because I want to share everything (or nearly everything!) I saw with you, I will be releasing part two of this post later in the week for paid subscribers. Please consider upgrading your subscription if reading that (and supporting all the work that goes into these posts) is of interest to you!

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As a native New Yorker, I've grown up riding the subway and have always been captivated by the vibrant, detailed posters displayed in the cars—The Whale being a prime example. Like the poster in the kitchen, I never spent any time interrogating their existence but rather let their wonder passively wash over me.

Through the MTA Arts & Design Poster Program, five to six artists (many of which are illustrators of beloved children’s books) are commissioned each year to create artwork for subway display and sale through the New York Transit Museum. The MTA explains that the program, established in 1991, aims to "celebrate the diverse communities that make up the New York region." These commissioned works by painters, printmakers, and illustrators explore transit-related subjects and the places discoverable through mass transit, offering artists a broader public platform and providing commuters with engaging visual art.

I'll be the first to criticize the MTA (delicate infrastructure and incessant delays to name just a few), but as one Reddit user perfectly put it: "Say what you will, but the MTA knows how to commission some beautiful art."

Which poster is your favorite? Is there any illustrator's work you would like to see plastered in the subway cars of tomorrow? Let me know your thoughts in the comments!

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Mary Blair’s vibrant illustrations are seared into my brain, and despite having not opened the book in roughly 15 years, I can still recite it word for word, cover to cover. I remember memorizing each page and “reading” it aloud long before I could actually read. I can do anything, including fooling adults into thinking they are in the presence of a child prodigy.

I’m not sure why this particular book was on my mind today (I can’t seem to locate my childhood copy, and couldn’t tell you the last time I remember seeing it), but it did get me thinking about Little Golden Books, and I felt compelled to do a bit of research.

If you were a child at any point in the last 80 years (a safe assumption, I’d wager), chances are you’ve encountered a Little Golden Book at some point. What you may not know is that these books revolutionized children’s literature, making reading accessible to families across America.

Amid World War II and the aftermath of the Great Depression, Georges Duplaix, head of Artists and Writers Guild Inc. (a division of Western Publishing), had a groundbreaking idea. Partnering with Simon & Schuster, he envisioned a new kind of children’s book—smaller, sturdier, and significantly more affordable.

In the fall of 1942, the first 12 titles in the Little Golden Book series hit shelves. Among them was The Poky Little Puppy, which went on to become the best-selling children’s book of the 20th century, with nearly 15 million copies sold by 2001.

Before Little Golden Books, children’s books cost between $2 and $3—the equivalent of about $38-$50 today. As Leonard S. Marcus notes in Golden Legacy: How Golden Books Won Children’s Hearts, Changed Publishing Forever, and Became an American Icon Along the Way (2007), “At that price point, children’s books were a luxury for many families.” Little Golden Books shattered that precedent, launching at just 25 cents (about $4.20 today when adjusted for inflation).

Their distribution strategy was just as revolutionary. Instead of being confined to bookstores, Little Golden Books were sold in department stores, drugstores, and supermarkets—places families already shopped. Parents could give in to their child’s pleas without a second thought about the extra 25 cents on their receipt.

The success was immediate. Within five months, 1.5 million copies had sold. By 1945, most titles were already in their seventh printing.

It is worth noting that not everyone embraced this literary shift. Many librarians, long the gatekeepers of children’s literature, viewed the books with skepticism, wary of their simple plots and full-color illustrations—qualities reminiscent of comic books, which were then seen as lowbrow and even culturally corrosive.

Despite their affordability, Little Golden Books attracted top-tier talent, including Margaret Wise Brown, Clement Hurd, and Richard Scarry. Their covers notably omitted author and illustrator credits, focusing attention on the vibrant imagery, while the distinctive gold spine became an early example of branding in children’s publishing.

A signature feature quickly emerged: the “This Little Golden Book Belongs To…” bookplate. As Marcus observes, this simple addition symbolized how Little Golden Books democratized reading. Unlike expensive books kept out of reach, these belonged to children, with space to write their names—a small but powerful statement of ownership.

The editorial team collaborated with educators and psychologists to ensure the books resonated with young readers. “A new child in the family, a pet of one’s own, the first day of school—these are themes kids can relate to over generations,” Marcus explains. The books’ storytelling and illustrations allowed children to see themselves—even when the characters were animals.

By 1986, Little Golden Books had printed its billionth book. Today, the price has risen to $5.99—still remarkably close to its original inflation-adjusted cost.

By creating affordable, high-quality books and selling them where families shopped, Little Golden Books brought, and continues to bring, the joy of reading to millions of children. Their legacy isn’t just in beloved stories or billions of copies sold—it’s in proving that children’s literature can be both excellent and accessible.

Sources:

• Still Golden: Little Golden Books Are 81 Years Old & Going Strong (2023)

• The Long History of Little Golden Books (2021)

• Little Golden Books Turns 75! A Look Back at the Iconic Collection with Editor Diane Muldrow (2017)

• ‘The Poky Little Puppy’ And His Fellow Little Golden Books Are Turning 75 (2017)

• Commemorating 75 Years Of Little Golden Books (2017)

• The Story Behind Little Golden Books (2011)

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As promised, here is the second part of Sunday’s post, sharing new and upcoming book releases for spring 2025. I intended to publish this yesterday, but you know what they say about best-laid plans…

1. No One Is Home by Mikołaj Pa & Gosia Herba (pub date: 4/15/2025)

   

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If this is the first time my newsletter has reached your inbox, welcome! I’m so glad you’re here. Warm as Toast has already surpassed my wildest dreams, and receiving such a warm (pun very much intended) reception has been a bright spot amidst a lot of darkness—political turmoil, joblessness, sudden pet loss, to name just a few. So, as always, thank you.

In brighter news, the sun is shining, my window is open, and I can hear birds chirping in the still-bare tree outside. It always astonishes me how much better I feel when I need only leave the house with a sweater on; I love the sensation of the sun on my face, eyes squinted against the light. The farmers’ market tables piled high with vibrant fresh produce, blooms pushing through compact winter soil, the vase of daffodils on my dresser—these are the sweet signs of spring I look forward to each year.

To embrace these harbingers of the season, I’m excited to share a few of the new and upcoming releases I received in the mail this week:

1. How to Grow a Garden by Frances Tophill & Charlotte Ager (pub date: 3/4/25)

   

   It doesn't get much springier than this! Tophill and Ager's latest release is a love letter to the natural world—inviting us to learn about our surroundings, sink our hands into the soil, and discover the fascinating creatures that thrive in these green sanctuaries. A renowned British horticulturist, Tophill transforms complex botanical knowledge into delightful facts, enchanting stories, and hands-on activities accessible to gardeners of all ages. Ager's illustrations burst with vibrant detail, and evoke childlike wonder; the magical moment when you lift a rock and discover a miniature world teeming with life underneath.

2. A Home for Felix by Stephanie Demasse-Pottier & Laura Kientzler (pub date: 4/15/25)

   

   One of my favorite books as a child—and perhaps responsible for my love of mail—was Letters from Felix, a story about a stuffed rabbit lost at the airport en route home from vacation. Felix consoles his devastated owner, Sophie, by writing letters from his world travels before finally returning home." (Side note: Growing up, I dedicated a section of my bookshelf to books with Sophie in the title or featuring a character named Sophie. I'm not sure what that says about me, but it felt pertinent to share...) All this to say, I was delighted to immerse myself in the world of a new little rabbit named Felix, who, in this story, finds friendship and a place to call home (sans globetrotting).

   Émile cherished his solitary lifestyle, one that afforded him the time to fully immerse himself in gardening (the oversized vegetables suggest he’s heeded all of Tophill’s advice). That is, until one day, a small rabbit appears at his door. He welcomes the nameless (but not for long!) guest to stay with him, and a lovely friendship begins to blossom. This beautifully illustrated tale serves as a reminder that while we may be okay on our own, we're almost always better together.

3. The Best Spot to Nap in Paris by Laura Kientzler (pub date: 5/20/25)

   

   Pack your bags—we’re off to Paris! Well, at least in spirit. This might be the closest I get to the City of Light for the foreseeable future, but with Kientzler’s textured, richly detailed illustrations and transportive storytelling, it feels like I’m already there—and honestly, that’s good enough for me. As someone who loves sleeping, anthropomorphized creatures, and wandering through European cities, I was practically destined to adore this book—and adore it, I did. The collage technique, which blends painted cutouts with real photographic elements, is pure genius, and the result is truly magical. This is one I’ll be returning to again and again.

Which of these titles are you most looking forward to? Are there other forthcoming releases I should keep on my radar?

Also, I’ll be releasing part two of this post later in the week for paid subscribers. Please consider upgrading your subscription if reading that (and supporting all the work that goes into these posts) is of interest to you!

Wishing you warmth and calm in the week ahead.

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An influential graphic designer, cartoonist, and illustrator, André Farkas (later François) was born in 1915 in Timisoara, Romania, (then called Temesvar, in the Austro-Hungarian Empire). According to his obituary in The Times, he recalled Timisora as,

a fair-sized town with two cinemas and colour-coded trams for the benefit of those who could not read the route number or destination. He looked forward to the arrival of the circus with special excitement because one of his father’s 12 brothers, Armand, had run off to join the circus when he was 14. He worked as a sword eater and juggler, and eventually married into the Salomonskis, one of the great Russian circus families. This story stimulated André’s imagination, and circus motifs would later figure among his favourite themes — as did animals, in which he took a close interest during summer holidays on an uncle’s farm in Romania.

In 1934, he moved to Paris, and by the late 1930s, had become a French citizen, “adopted an unobtrusively French name and was finding work as a freelance cartoonist for Parisian newspapers and magazines.” He met and married an Englishwoman, Margaret Edmunds (who later changed her first name to “Marguérite”) and had two children. Hiding from the Germans in occupied Paris, they obtained false papers and moved their family to Haute-Savoie—a region in the Alps of eastern France, bordering Switzerland and Italy.

After the war ended, in 1945 the family settled in Grisy-les-Plâtres, a small village north of Paris, where François remained until his death in 2005. François adorned the walls of the modest farmhouse with a series of “trompe l’oeil” paintings (a French phrase translating to “trick the eye”)—masterful illusions that reflected his artistic ingenuity and playful spirit.

In December 2002, a fire destroyed his studio and nearly all of its contents. Just before the fire, photographer Sarah Moon created a short film (embedded below) of François working in his atelier, preserving a quirky and intimate record of his creative process. In the film, François discusses his recurring subjects: pebbles, the sea, mermaids, women—and birds. On the subject of birds, François said, “Birds… there is nothing closer, nothing further away from us. They often frighten me. And in fact, I could easily have a tamed ostrich in the atelier, but not a tiny bird flying all around me, that makes me…that scares me much more.”

In the six months following the fire, François created more than 60 new pieces using the ashes and charred remnants of his earlier work as materials.

I would be remiss to exclude the fact that from 1963 to 1991, François illustrated 56 covers for The New Yorker. Here is a selection of some of my favorites:

François left an indelible mark on children's literature—a fact that cannot be overstated in a newsletter dedicated to the very subject. Enchanted Lion’s reissuing of three of his books, originally published between 1949 and 1958, speaks to their enduring relevance and timeless charm, which continues to captivate new generations of readers.

1. Little Boy Brown by Isobel Harris and André François (1949)

   

   Little Boy Brown marks François’s first foray into children’s illustration. The story follows a four-and-a-half-year-old boy who lives in a hotel in “the City,” one which features tunnels that go all the way to the subway and to the buildings in which his parents work—no venturing outside required. Unlike his parents, the little boy loves fresh air and relies on his chambermaid, Hilda, to take him on daily outdoor jaunts. The boy is invited to spend a day in the country at Hilda’s family home. His new surroundings are at once unfamiliar and comforting: people who keep their front door unlocked, houses sans elevators (Stairs! Which you can run up and down multiple times!), chaotic cake-baking, pets roaming freely, impromptu snowman building. Maria Popova writes of the book,

   The story itself, at once a romantic time-capsule of a bygone New York and a timeless meditation on what it’s like to feel so lonesome in a crowd of millions, invites us to explore the tender intersection of loneliness and loveliness…Underpinning the charming tale of innocence and children’s inborn benevolence is a heart-warming message about connection across the lines of social class and bridging the gaps of privilege with simple human kindness.

   François's illustrations exude effortless mastery, revealing new details with every reread and making the expansive pages even more rewarding. I'm thrilled this book is back in the world!

2. Crocodile Tears by André François (1956)

   

   As an object, this book is a wonder. A mysterious parcel containing a silly looking crocodile with his tongue out? Count me in! Its pages reveal the secrets of catching a crocodile (spoiler: a trip to Egypt is essential), transporting said crocodile (hint: the book’s sleeve just happens to be the perfect fit.), and the realities of cohabitation (expect the crocodile to steal the show at every dinner party). If a child has ever questioned an idiom you’ve never given a second thought, this book is for you. François’s story is a delightful ode to children’s innate curiosity—and the adults they turn to for answers.

   

   

   

   3. Roland by Nelly Stéphane and André François (1958)

   

   À la Harold and the Purple Crayon, our titular character, Roland, can think, draw, or touch something, utter the word ‘crack,’ and bring it to life. A tiger interrupting a class, a snowy scene so treacherous school is cancelled, a fur coat transforming into a flurry of little fur animals—these are just some of the fruits of Roland’s imagination. Roland is perhaps the greatest testament to François’s genius; like the eponymous boy, he conjures rich, full worlds with just a few colors, broad brushstrokes, and boundless creativity.

If this was your introduction to André François, I hope you found this post as enjoyable to read as it was to write. And if you’re already familiar with his work, I hope it inspires you to dust off your copy or revisit his oeuvre with fresh eyes.

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First—my sincerest apologies for not posting yesterday. I woke up with the full intention of doing so, but my migraine had other plans (for any fellow sufferers, this cap is an absolute lifesaver, even if it does look straight out of a bad sci-fi movie). As I sat in bed, flipping through a large stack of picture books on the bottom shelf of my nightstand, I realized that a post dedicated entirely to the wonders of endpapers was in order.

If you’re not sure what I’m referring to, endpapers are sheets affixed to the inside covers of hardbound books. These pages serve both to secure the book's content to its binding and to protect the internal pages from damage. Often left bare in works of adult literature, these blank canvases are anything but in most picture books, serving as a highly decorative curtain for the fantastical show we are about to bear witness to.

I am not alone in my admiration, an NYT article published a few years back describes them as, “a picture book’s title and credits sequences, or maybe, better yet, an amuse-bouche at the start of your meal and a small cookie plate at the finish. Delicious!” The Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art in Amherst, MA will open its show, Open + Shut: Celebrating the Art of Endpapers, on April 19th, and I eagerly look forward to writing about it in a future post!

In the meantime, here is a curation of some of my favorite endpapers:

What are some of your favorite endpapers? I'd love to hear which ones have caught your eye or stick out in your memory.

Until next time, I hope you stay warm as toast :-)

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The rain is pouring down, and I am curled up on the couch with a nice big cup of Earl Grey tea to stave off the sleepiness (despite sleeping a full eight hours last night, I already can't wait to crawl back into bed).

I have spent many hours this week plotting out what this Substack could look like and writing down my (seemingly endless) ideas for future posts. While the world weighs heavily on us all, this space—dedicated to something I deeply love—stands tall like a flower, protected from the elements.

Last night I read Katherine Rundell’s latest piece (“Why children’s books?”) for the London Review of Books—a piece that beautifully and deftly interrogates the integral elements of children’s literature, underscoring their continual importance and closing with a call to action. Rundell articulated, far better than I ever could, so many of the thoughts that had been swirling around my head, and I urge you to give it a read! This passage (though it is hard to choose just one!) struck me in particular:

The greatest children’s fantasies were worth your time when you were twelve, and they are equally worth it now. They keep the imagination sharp, and big, and hungry. They remind us that the imagination is not an optional extra, which we can humour in our children but safely discard in adulthood. It is at the very heart of everything. It is deadly serious, the necessary condition of political change, of love. It is the sharpest tool of ethics.

Moving on!

I’m fully aware that I spent the beginning portion of last week’s post patting myself on the back for checking out books from the library instead of purchasing them, but I fear I’ve given you a false impression of me. I love buying vintage children’s books. Seeing a photo of a book long forgotten, I get no greater thrill than finding a copy for myself—too much time spent sifting through the figurative shelves of the Internet. I have amassed quite a sizable collection, and it is one of my greatest joys—not in a I-can’t-wait-to-read-these-to-my-future-children-one-day way, but more so as an accessible and reliable way to tap into feelings of wonder, joy, and hope in moments of despair. With that being said, here are the latest five books I’ve added to my ever-growing collection:

1. The Little Fish That Got Away by Bernadine Cook & Crockett Johnson (1956)

The first thing that struck me about this edition are the colors- a strictly chartreuse and chocolate brown color palette is highly unusual. The story skillfully relies on repetition, reminding us all of the feelings of waiting, waiting, waiting that come with fishing.

Johnson is too often reduced to his Harold and the Purple Crayon fame, but he is absolutely worth a deep-dive (Taylor Sterling’s post all about Johnson is extremely informative and insightful). Also, according to his obituary in the NYT, “Mr. Johnson, a versatile man, received a patent in 1955 for a four‐way adjustable mattress.” What couldn’t Crockett do!?

Johnson’s deceptively simple drawing style is truly unique, and his books are ones I return to again and again. I am so glad to have this one on my shelf.

2. The Gingerbread Rabbit by Randall Jarrell & Garth Williams (1964)

A mother sees a large rabbit outside her window while her daughter is at school, and trying to capture its essence for her to marvel at when she gets home, molds one out of dough. Unfortunately (or fortunately—who am I to make such judgments), that rabbit comes to life and runs away, and naturally, chaos ensues. In a review written the same year the book was published, Harvey Breitt writes,

This “impossible” rabbit experiences a number of adventures during his flight from humanity, the most delightful of which is an encounter with a fox who insists he is a rabbit and whose blase attitude is a mixture of Sartre and Noel Coward at his best. All relations are ultimately restored to order so that the young reader experiences the tumultuous magic and yet escapes the pain of chaos.

Also, I will never stop marveling at Garth Williams’s illustrations. They are coziness realized. Swoon.

3. Do Not Disturb by Elizabeth Luling and Georg Salter (1937)

   

   

   This one is so unbelievably special that I hardly know where to begin. This children’s book is indeed written by a child—the seven-year-old daughter of English novelist Sylvia Thompson. This marvelous tale of two bears is complete with the most perfect, childlike illustrations from Georg Salter. I feel like this book belongs in a museum rather than my cluttered Brooklyn apartment, but it is certainly one I will treasure for the rest of my days. Think this book deserves an entire post of its own. More to come, I promise!

4. The Enchanted Closet by Beta (1967)

The mystery of this book delights me—with virtually no information available about its author or origins—making it all the more wonderful in my eyes! The story follows a young, nameless girl as she opens the closet door at promptly 4:30 pm Monday through Sunday and chooses a different animal to dress up as. All of the illustrations and some of the text are done in stunning woodcuts—the very artistic practice used to make these prints echo the message of the book: with a little creativity, we can make the ordinary extraordinary.

5. The Adventures of Ulysses by Jacques Le Marchand and Andre François (1960)

While I must admit that I have yet to read this one in full, I had to include it in today’s post if only to share the jaw-dropping work by illustrator François. Frankly, in this case, the writing seems almost beside the point (though it is worth noting that this Greek epic seems remarkably digestible), and the full-bleed illustrations demand all my attention. The drawings are complex, fantastical, and breathtaking, and I look forward to sitting down and spending time with this one properly.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you for reading this post—I sincerely hope it has made your Sunday a smidge less scary.

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