sunday thoughts & recent additions

a sneaky fish, a magical closet, and a bear named M'm...

Happy Sunday, lovely readers!

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.

I mean... come on!

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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