Archive for Interviews & Appreciations

James Preller Interviews . . . Author Ellen Miles

I’ve been cleaning and vacuuming all day because we’re having a special guest. Ellen Miles has spent her adult career involved in children’s books in some capacity, as an editor, an advocate, and a writer. Ellen has recently enjoyed rising popularity with her “Puppy Place” series for Scholastic. But more than any of those credentials, Ellen is here because she’s my friend.

And look, that’s her walking up the front path.

Ellen, it’s so nice of you to stop by.

Thanks for having me. I truly appreciate this opportunity to procrastinate in a brand-new way.

Do you remember when we first met, back around 85-86, when we both worked at Scholastic? Craig Walker was there, throwing punchlines at people like Phoebe Yeh, Brenda Bowen, Holly Kowitt, and Jan Carr. I was a junior copywriter and . . . you were in mailroom, right?

I was the junior elevator operator. Actually I was the editor of the TAB book club, which is for middle school kids. My job was to figure out which thirty or so items to offer each month, ranging from serious fiction to posters of kittens in sunglasses.

Did you get to write those clever phrases on the posters, like, “Hang In There!” Or my current favorite, “Cattitude!”

No, that task went to the editorial assistants. I wish I got the royalties for “Hang In There!”

I hate to say this, but they even made it into a book about “inspirational art of the 1970s.”

In that job, I also got to edit some original fiction. One of the best parts (aside from the lifelong friends I made there) was that I got to read People magazine at my desk, since part of my job was to be on top of current trends.

What did you learn as an editor that helps you as a writer today?

That editors are not the enemy. I love the editing process. I’ve always seen editors as equivalent to coaches for athletes — an editor is just someone who helps a writer be and do her best. I also learned a lot about the basic craft of writing.

Okay, sure. But if editors aren’t the enemy . . . then who is?

I don’t know about you, but I’m my own worst enemy.

You seem to have found a true home in the wilds of Vermont.

I love Vermont with all my heart and it’s hard to imagine living anywhere else. As a kid I spent all my summers here and I think I always knew I’d end up here when I was a grownup. Not that I’m a grownup yet.

Vermont is incredibly beautiful, has a low population thanks to its long winters (which I love, both the winters and the population that is), and feels like an island of progressive sanity in a world gone awry. It’s no surprise that Vermont was the first state to come in for Obama on election night, and that it gave Obama the highest percentage of votes of any states save D.C. and Hawaii. Living in Vermont, it’s easy to be green, non-materialistic, local, and all that other good stuff that other people are just catching on to.

I am your basic NPR-listening, granola-crunching, Subaru-driving, compost-making, do-gooder liberal, so I fit right in here. I was enough of a city girl to resist Birkenstocks for many years, and while I have finally capitulated to those I still vow to never wear a denim jumper over a turtleneck.

Hold on, you’re not one of those hippies I read about who threw their Birkenstocks at Karl Rove’s car?

Did you know that Vermont was the only state Bush never visited during his time in office? Maybe it’s because if he did show up we planned to prosecute him for war crimes.

Back to your fabulous career before this becomes too much like “Countdown with Keith Olbermann.” It seems like “The Puppy Place” series is doing really well. Tell us about it.

The series is about a family who fosters puppies, and each book is centered on a different puppy. The books are sweet, easy to read, and crammed with doggie love and doggie info. They always have a happy ending (as the tagline says, “Where every puppy finds a home”), and there’s no dark stuff unless you include the occasional housetraining “mistake.”

Hey, poop happens.

Exactly. The series came about when our old friend, Craig Walker, knowing that I loved dogs and knew a lot about them, suggested I write some books about puppies. “Something where we can slap a big picture of a cute puppy on the cover,” is what I remember him saying.

Yes, I can hear Craig saying exactly that.

There are now thirteen Puppy Place titles in print with at least five more coming down the pike, and I’ve sold more than a million copies in the US, the UK, Canada, Mexico, New Zealand and Australia. Kids and dogs have a strong mutual attraction, and young readers seem to love these books.

I’ve talked to other series writers about this. I guess we all have a little bit of an ugly step-sister kind of experience. On one hand, the books are bought and read and loved. But at the same time, they are critically ignored, never reviewed, seemingly unread by the “people who matter.”

Sometimes I like the freedom and anonymity of not being reviewed. It seems that the world of literary children’s literature and YA is a feverish contest for awards and reviews and recognition, and I sometimes wonder whether people are writing for kids or for the adults on the awards committees. I’m definitely writing for kids – and frankly I’m also writing to pay the mortgage. It’s hard to imagine having the luxury of writing anything I wanted, without worrying whether a publisher would publish it or readers would buy it. Maybe someday I’ll have that luxury and it’ll be interesting to see what I produce.

I hear you about the mortgage. I wrote two books about Norfin Trolls under the name Mitzy Kafka. I worked as a ghostwriter. I wrote an unauthorized biography of “The Rock.” I wrote a picture book adaptation of the direct-to-video classic, “Slappy and the Stinkers!” There’s almost nothing I wouldn’t write. I wrote four books based on an unpopular toy — a toy “craze” that never got crazy — under the name, Izzy Bonkers. Let’s see Jean Craighead George top that!

I can top that: I once wrote some books based on video games. Then there’s the crowning glory of my writing-for-hire ouevre, my novelization of that classic film, Flintstones in Viva Rock Vegas! Many of my friends still think my coolest gig ever was writing Scooby-Doo books.

I used a pen name for a lot of my work-for-hire jobs, but sometimes I forgot to do that, so if you Google me certain books come up that make me feel like I’m walking around with toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe.

That’s so great, Ellen. I’ve done about half-a-dozen rescue jobs, where a manuscript was so bad it was beyond editing, so they sent it to me for a torched-earth rewrite. Hey, I just remembered another one: I did a picture book adaptation of the second Pee-Wee Herman movie, “Big Top Pee Wee.” You know, the one Tim Burton didn’t make.

I once wrote about how to choose a dog dish, for a pet website.

You enjoy getting fan mail, don’t you?

I love it. It’s the best part of the job. Kids send me pictures of themselves and their dogs. They decorate their letters with drawings. They tell me that my books ROCK!!!! and that I’m the best author ever, they give me ideas for future plots, they tell me about books they’re writing. I have my favorites hanging on my study wall and I read them over and over. The bottom line about series writing vs. literary writing is that whether or not my books have lasting merit, they do get kids excited about reading, and to me that’s the best possible outcome. Nothing compares to the thrill of getting a letter from a kid who says, “PS, Before I read your books I never liked to read. Thanks for making reading more fun,” or from a parent who writes to say “Thank you for making our daughter into an independent reader.”

I have to say, Ellen, you strike me as really happy these days.

I am happy. I love where I live, and I have a great job, a terrific boyfriend, and wonderful friends and family.

You, um, have a boyfriend? Don’t tell me he’s one of those hulking lumberjack types they’ve got running around in the mountains up there?

No, he’s more of a SNAG, you know, a Sensitive New-Age Guy. Drives a Volvo, communicates well, cooks, vacuums, does the grocery shopping. Not that he’s a total sissy. He’s built all his own houses and he’s out chainsawing right now.

So tell me, Ellen. Just between us. Is there a part of you that wants a big hardcover book, where some reviewer like Lisa Von Drasek from The New York Times takes you seriously as an artist?

I would definitely like to develop as a writer and I’m curious about what I might be capable of, but no, I have never felt a deep urge to be a Critically Acclaimed Writer. I’m not one of those who always wanted to be a writer, and who has a passionate need to tell my story to the world. I fell into writing sideways. It’s the best job I can imagine and I’m good at my craft, and for now that’s enough. That said, of course I’m working on a middle grade novel on the side, though I have no expectations for where it might go or if I’ll even ever finish it. It’s really just an experiment and a way to learn more about writing. I’m in a writer’s group with two writer friends, and their support and encouragement and guidance is a wonderful thing.

Hey, I loved that photo you sent. You look so content and relaxed to be sitting with that small group of kids. Where was that taken?

That was a party given by a fantastic reading-mentoring program I’m involved with, called Everybody Wins. The Vermont chapter honored me this year with an award for my contribution to children’s literacy. They threw a happy, chaotic kids’ party during the day and had a gala Book Bash for adults in the evening, at which I (yikes!) had to make a speech. I’ve mentored three girls over the years and have shanghaied my mom, my brother, my sister-in-law, and several friends into becoming mentors as well. The program is elegant in its simplicity — all you do is go to the elementary school on your lunch hour and read with a kid for forty-five minutes — and yet it has an amazing impact on the kids and on the mentors as well.

I’ve participated in a similar program here. (Of course, nobody threw me a fancy gala.) It’s neat when you see some of those kids again, five, ten years down the line. You spy each other across a room and, it’s hard to describe, but you both know you had that time together. And they know you were there – you cared enough to show up every week — and nothing can take that connection away.

One of my former mentees, who I first met when she was in third grade, is now in eighth. We’re still friends and always will be. She came to my gala. (So sad that you’ve never had a gala.)

Believe me, Ellen. It is enough — more than enough — that you’ve had one. And now I see we’re out of time. Please keep this handsome set of carving knives as a parting gift!

Thanks, Jimmy! It was fun.

Wait, almost forgot the Lightning Round! Favorite books?

Ellen Tebbits, Beverly Cleary; War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy.

Albums?

Nashville Skyline, Bob Dylan; On Green Dolphin Street, Miles Davis; Something New, The Beatles (the first record I ever owned).

Movies?

The Last Waltz, Garlic Is as Good as Ten Mothers, Amarcord. I know, none of these books, movies or albums were created within the last twenty years. I’m a fogey, what can I say?

Type of Dog?

I’d say Labs. Or any kind of puppy.

James Preller Interviews . . . Daniel Mahoney

I’m with Daniel Mahoney, a local illustrator who I first heard about from Frank Hodge, the legendary bookseller from Hodge-Podge Books in Albany. I ran into Daniel at a Planet Fitness (in our line of work, aerobic fitness is essential), and later at a book signing. But we’ve never officially hung out.

Quick story: We have a local organization, the Children’s Literature Connection, comprised of area teachers, librarians, authors and illustrators. Every once in a while I receive a postcard inviting me to an “Author’s Tea,” where the group presumably gets together, visits an artist’s studio, drinks tea (I’m guessing!), and, um . . . sings bawdy sea shanties? It’s probably a wonderful afternoon. But historically, I’m not much of a joiner. So I grumble, “Author’s tea? Invite me to an Author’s Beer and maybe I’ll show.” No hard feelings.

I mentioned this to Daniel, and he sympathized. So now we have plans, along with Jeffrey Scherer and Matt McElligott, to begin a new local tradition, sans tea.

Good morning, Daniel. Uh, dude, could you stop working and look at me? What’s on your drawing table right now?

I’m putting the finishing touches on the cover for a book proposal I’m about to send out. It’s titled, Monstergarten.

Great title. What’s it about?

It’s about a monster’s first day of school, and he’s nervous about the whole thing. The last painting I made was an interior illustration that I will be sending out with the dummy. It’s the opening scene of the book where the monster attempts to scare someone in preparation for his big day.

So that’s what it takes to sell a book? You have to send in a manuscript, book dummy, cover, and a sample of interior art?

When I send it to my agent, yes. She is in NYC as we speak (or type), showing it around. That’s pretty much the standard submission these days.

You still work as an X-ray technologist. Does that mean, like, you can tell what I just ate for breakfast?

I actually work only part-time as an X-ray technologist, so I can only see your eggs and toast on a part-time basis.

It still sounds gross. At what point did you decide to make the shift to children’s books? Was there a specific moment?

Well, I had been pondering about how to express myself with my art and earn a living at the same time. After not having any success publishing a comic strip in the newspaper, it hit me one day while shopping for my niece in a bookstore. As I perused the children’s section, I was in awe of all the beautiful books that people were creating for kids. I thought, I could do that, and knew right there and then that’s what I wanted to do.

Were you an artist as a child?

I’ve been drawing since I was three and a half years old, when my mother used to say I was the good one out of the three of us boys. I would sit with my crayons and paper at the coffee table while my brothers were out tormenting cats or whatever.

But you didn’t go to art school?

I did not go to art school. I’ve always loved to draw; and that’s key. I’ve been given a gift, and I’ve merely tried to take that gift as far as I can — and I continue to hone that gift and use it to the best of my ability. You never reach your “best” with art. You can always get better with constant practice and diligence.

I don’t know if you saw that I recently referenced a comment by James Marshall. He basically said that he was glad he never went to art school, because he felt it might take away his originality. Mark Teague is another guy I think of who was “self-taught,” as they say. There are probably many, many others.

Yes, I did see that, and it made me feel better about never going to art school. He makes a good point, and I’ll remember it every time I get stuck on a painting and wish I went to art school.

Your books earned some really nice reviews. The Saturday Escape and The Perfect Clubhouse were listed as Bank Street Best Children’s Books of the Year. A Really Good Snowman was named in a 2006 Kansas State Reading Circle Recommendation. That must have been enormously vindicating.

When my first three books came out, I was very new to the business. To tell you the truth, I never paid a lot of attention to that stuff. Now I appreciate what those acknowledgments mean.

Can we talk about your style a little bit? It’s so distinctive. I’m stumbling for words, because I don’t have the language to describe it. You have almost a folk-art approach, an old-timey sort of flatness to the composition. Am I making any sense at all?

Yes, perfect sense. My style arose from my knowledge (or lack thereof) of how to paint. I basically went to the art store and bought a bunch of watercolors because that’s what I noticed other children’s book illustrators using. I started experimenting with the paints, and gradually my style emerged. No instructor was there to tell me I was doing something right or wrong, so I just let loose with the brush. After much time and a lot of mistakes I developed a style that publishers seem to like.

Well, the style suits your subject matter. There’s a genuine warmth and gentleness to your stories. I saw that you recently attended the Rochester Children’s Book Festival. That sounds pretty cool. I never get invited anywhere.

I actually didn’t get invited. I asked the director if I could attend, and she said sure. I bet you could do the same.

I guess I’m like that shy guy at the roller rink, hoping that some girl with sweaty hands will ask me to skate during “Lady’s Choice.” It’s sad, really. I’m going to have to work up the courage.

It’s the third year I’ve been to the festival, and it just gets bigger and bigger every year. Last year they sold 35,000 books! Usually 35-45 authors and illustrators attend every year, including James Howe, Michelle Knudsen, Vivian Van Velde, and Paul O. Zelinsky, a personal hero whose artwork is sheer genius. I actually ate Indian food right next to him the night before the festival. He and a bunch of other authors and illustrators were staying in my hotel, so we just arranged this nice little outing to get to know each other. You have got to attend, Jimmy. Tell them I said so.

Okay, Lightning Round. Favorite children’s books?

Bedtime for Francis, The Nutshell Library by Maurice Sendak, Awful Ogre’s Awful Day, everything by Dr Suess.

I don’t know Awful Ogre. What’s special about that book?

It’s an awfully good book of poems, written by Jack Prelutsky and illustrated by Paul O. Zelinsky. It’s a book about grossness and yucky stuff in general that my four-year-old and I just eat up. These two masters of good, sick fun have created the funniest, most brilliant book about a day in the life of an awful ogre in all his disgusting glory.

Favorite musicians?

Fleetwood Mac, James Taylor, Eminem, The Cranberries.

That’s some diverse collection. I’d love to see them eat brunch together. You know, James Taylor asking Eminem to please pass the huevos rancheros and in return getting, like, stabbed in the neck with a fork, then the girl from the Cranberries writing a really mournful song about it.

But I digest. Top Movies?

Goodfellas, Raging Bull, Cinderella Man, Boys Don’t Cry, Halloween, Monster, Saving Private Ryan, Gladiator, The Incredibles, Ratatouille.

Dessert?

Chocolate cake — by a long shot.

Okay, Daniel. I can see the guy with the cue cards is waving frantically, so I guess our time is up. Thanks a lot. Good luck with Monstergarten. I’ll see you around.

Yes, we should have tea sometime.


Jigsaw Jones Cover: Part 4, Sketches Are In!

This is the fourth installment of a series of posts following the creation of a single book cover for Jigsaw Jones: The Case of the Secret Skeleton. In Part One I interviewed Scholastic editor Matt Ringler, and we talked about the “cover concept.” For Part Two, illustrator R.W. Alley agreed to giving us a look behind the scenes. In Part Three, our interview with R.W. Alley gave us a fuller appreciation of book covers from the artist’s perspective — it also gave us a chance to “meet” R.W.’s alter-ego, Bob.

Now it gets fun, as the cover moves from word to image. R.W. Alley just sent me some rough sketches. By way of explanation, he wrote:

Attached here are three (well, one is sort of a repeat) sketches that I doodled up last night. I think I like the one with the case title stacked in the doorway. Smaller Jigsaw (might be a problem), but bigger skeleton. In any case, this is how I usually work. Sketch the idea in with a red pencil (sometimes, blue), go over that with a dip-in-the-ink-bottle pen called a crowquill, then add color pencil to simulate, if not actually create, color. The actual drawings are about four by three inches and not in proportion to the final book size, so that will be something to be annoyed about later on. I’ll send both cover ideas to the editor and wait.


Twenty-eight minutes after the first batch of sketches, Bob sent another email:

Hi Jimmy,

As I was sending the first sketches, this third composition occurred to me. The editors like to have Jigsaw pretty big on the covers, so maybe this will suite better.

Cheers,

Bob


Here’s a reminder of the original cover concept as presented by “the Scholastics” to the illustrator:

Jigsaw Jones is sneaking into the janitor’s storage closet. We see him standing in the doorway. It’s dark but Jigsaw has a flashlight. In a back corner, lit up by the beam of light is a plaster human skeleton, hanging from a stand by its head. The skeleton should be the size of a normal person, like the ones used in science class to study anatomy. Jigsaw looks frightened. We can also see the normal paraphernalia that would be in the storage closet (i.e. mops, brooms, buckets, etc.). Visibly crumpled in the skeleton’s hand is a piece of paper (a clue).

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NOTE: Here’s some links to the all the posts in this seven-part series: One, Two, Three, Four,  Five, and Six, and Seven. Read them all and experience the awe and wonder of the creative, collaborative process!

Jigsaw Jones Cover: Part 3, An Interview with R.W. Alley

This entry is the third in a series of posts following the creation of a single book cover. Here’s Part One and Part Two. Right now, let’s check in with artist R.W. Alley.

First things first: R.W. or Bob?

Bob is fine.

Do you ever receive a cover concept from the publisher and think, “Oh man, this won’t work,” or, “Gee, this is a really boring idea?”

The Jigsaw covers are very different from my other projects. Because of deadlines and the magic ways of publishing, I’m not given a chance to read the books before doing the covers. Now, there could be two reasons for this. One, is the above mentioned deadlines; the promo material for each title usually includes the cover art and this material is usually due while the book is still being written. Two, is that none of that is true and the editors simply don’t trust me to pick out the proper highlight to paint. I prefer answer one.

Of course this doesn’t answer your questions. Those answers would be “yes and yes.” My favorite editor silliness is when the spec reads in part, “Jigsaw in his tree house office, hears a noise, puts down his book, looks out the window, sees a shadowy figure which may or may not be a yeti making off with a glowing globe of uranium, and he, Jigsaw, runs after him, the yeti.” The problem is neither yeti nor uranium. Rather it’s the impossibility of showing our hero doing five things in one drawing.

Okay, I think I’ve got it. You have an irrational hatred of yetis.

Luckily, I think we’re OK for this cover.


How do you begin? Just coffee up and grab a sketchpad?

I put on my slippers, make some coffee, stare at the words on the paper, read the words on the paper, turn on the radio, become annoyed at the radio, put on a CD or even a record, tape some copy paper to my drawing table, notice there’s nothing on the paper, look at the old covers, try to think how to make this one different, pick up a pencil and start drawing. After a while, I notice a foul smell coming from the kitchen and realize I never poured the coffee I’d started two hours ago.

Specifically with this new cover — we’ll call it, “the skeleton in the closet gambit” — how did the concept strike you? I thought the flashlight angle was okay, in that it would give you something to work with, the whole light and dark thing. But I am concerned about the expression on Jigsaw’s face. I don’t want to see him terrified, you know; he’s Jigsaw, he’s got pluck! At this point, does that level of concern even enter the picture (literally) for you?

The first thing will be to get the general composition right. There’s a lot going on for a small image. School, closet, skeleton in general, skeleton hand with clue in particular. The flashlight will help to give a spotlight effect that will add interest and focus. As for Jigsaw’s expression, I completely agree with the pluck concept. However, this will be pinned down a little later.

You’ve done about 40 covers for the series. It must be difficult to keep things fresh — for “it” and for you. I mean, you can’t draw another picture of him writing in his journal, with yet another puzzled expression on his face. Can you?

The thing is that each drawing is a puzzle to be solved. Not too crazy different. Not too much like others. For this one, there are a couple of looking through door setups on other covers (not exactly the same, but there are doors), so I need to make sure this is somehow different.

What else are you working on these days? Are you excited about anything in particular?

The newest book is There’s a Wolf At the Door by the lovely Zoë B. Alley (October, 2008, Roaring Press). It’s a big picture book (11×14, 40 pages) in a comic panel format that retells five wolf-centric tales in a connected way. I am very, very happy to be working in this format.

Lightning round: Favorite illustrators?

Illustrator favorites, in no particular order, but always the same people: Garth Williams, Edward Ardizzone, Raymond Briggs, Tomi Ungerer, Ernest Shepard, J.J. Sempe and Tibor Gergely.

Those are some great choices. All-time favorite children’s book?

Two favorite children’s books at different ages: The Sailor Dog by Margaret Wise Brown, illustrated by Garth Williams. The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame and illustrated by Ernest Shepard.

Thanks so much, Bob. I’ll have to seek out The Sailor Dog. In over ten years, we’ve talked exactly once. It’s been interesting to learn about your creative process. Hopefully we won’t wait another decade until the next time.

PLEASE NOTE: In Part 4 of this series, coming this Friday, Bob has generously shared some of his sketches for the upcoming Jigsaw Jones book cover. You won’t believe how cool these are; even as the author, I’ve rarely felt this INSIDE the process. What a treat.

ALSO NOTE: Fan Mail Wednesday has been moved to Thursday. And, um, Thursday is now on Mondays, Tuesdays will appear on alternate weekends, casual Fridays now require dinner jackets, and Latin Nights have been moved to Bolivia. Just to clarify.

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LASTLY: Here’s some links to the all the posts in this seven-part series: One, Two, Three, Four,  Five, and Six, and Seven. Read them all and experience the awe and wonder of the creative, collaborative process!

James Marshall: An Appreciation

“For me, as an illustrator, it often comes from what will look funny. The idea of a character pouring soup into his loafers is a funny kind of thing. It’s visually funny. The words come to me later.” — James Marshall.

I’ve been hitting the links lately, discovering and embracing this vast community of children’s book fanatics. I encourage you to check out the links on the right sidebar, there’s so much energy and insight. One of my recent discoveries is “Read Roger,” a pithy platform for Roger Sutton, editor-in-chief of The Horn Book, Inc.

On Friday the 7th, he announced that he’ll be “moderating a panel honoring James Marshall’s contributions to children’s literature.” For full details of the event, which will be held in Cambridge, Mass., click here. Sutton continued:

Panelists include author-illustrators Susan Meddaugh and David Wiesner, former HB editor and Houghton publisher Anita Silvey, and Cambridge school librarian Susan Moynihan. We will be reminiscing about Jim (my own favorite story is unprintable but perhaps not unspeakable) and talking about his place in the canon, his legacy to children’s literature, and how his books have fared among children. Hilarity, I hope, will ensue.

I wish I could be there, because James Marshall is one of my all-time favorites. So many great books: George and Martha, The Stupids Step Out, Miss Nelson Is Missing, Three By the Sea, and his many adaptations of classic folktales.

Now I don’t know if I’m erudite enough to discuss his place in the, cough-cough, canon, but damn, his books are funny. I miss funny in children’s books. There isn’t enough of it. Marshall was that, and more. He was the real McCoy.

I interviewed James Marshall over the phone in the early 90’s. I can remember exactly where I sat when we talked. I got all the quotes I needed within a few minutes, but we happily chatted for more than an hour. He enjoyed talking about the business and the people in it. And because it couldn’t be any other way with James Marshall, we laughed and laughed. I didn’t want it to end. He told me how much he hated toast when he was a kid. “Instead of eating it, I would hide it,” he confessed. “The closet in my bedroom was stacked with toast!”

We talked about the difficulty of ending stories well — “If the book fizzles at the end,” he said, “they remember the whole thing as a fizzled book.” He recalled his friendship and great admiration for Arnold Lobel. His working habits: “The later, the better,” Marshall said. “My ideas are usually fresher and funnier at night.”

One of the things we discussed — the thing I’ll always remember — was what James called “the cool technicians” in children’s literature. We commented on the extraordinary technical skill that had been appearing with increasing frequency in recent children’s book illustration. It was as if surface gloss, however expertly rendered, was threatening to overwhelm story itself. So many slick books, sniffed at in stores and purchased, yet yawned at in the home and hands of young readers.

He told me:

I’m glad that I never went to art school, because I would have ended up copying the style of other illustrators. People love a Maurice Sendak or an Arnold Lobel book because of the special, very individual vision they bring to their work. This is why the artists I love are not the cool technicians but those who have a vision to share with others.

As Maurice Sendak recalled in a beautiful essay, the forward to George and Martha: The Complete Stories of Two Best Friends: “James the perfect friend was indistinguishable from James the perfect artist. The voice, the pulse, the heart of his words and pictures were always pure, authentic Marshall. You got the whole man.”

Note: If you enjoyed this appreciation, click the links for passing thoughts on other favorites: William Steig, Arnold Lobel, Raymond Chandler, and Bernard Waber.