I got this in the mail the other day, the Korean translation of Six Innings.
For the curious, these “foreign rights” things just sort of happen on the publishing side of things; the author has nothing to do with it. So every time it’s like a little gift.
To double your surfing pleasure, here’s the German version of Jigsaw Jones, renamed “Puzzle Paul,” which includes full-color interior artwork.
The official list is out — and I’m still on it!
Whew.
There are a lot of people to thank, and many of them signed this ball. Jean, Liz, Rich, Elizabeth F., Dave, Christine, Elizabeth U., Nicole, and Jessica: Thanks. Jean Feiwel came along and believed in me at a time when I needed exactly, precisely that. A cliche, but absolutely a dream come true: “Here’s a contract, now go write the best book you can.” Forever in her debt for that opportunity.
The American Library Association website has put up a “Final – Uncorrected” list of 2009 Children’s Notable Books. I am honored and thrilled to see Six Innings on that list, amidst such spectacular company. Congratulations, all.
According to the site:
Each year a committee of the Association for Library Service to Children (ALSC) identifies the best of the best in children’s books. According to the Notables Criteria, “notable” is defined as: Worthy of note or notice, important, distinguished, outstanding. As applied to children’s books, notable should be thought to include books of especially commendable quality, books that exhibit venturesome creativity, and books of fiction, information, poetry and pictures for all age levels (birth through age 14) that reflect and encourage children’s interests in exemplary ways.
My special thanks to the members of the 2009 Notable Children’s Books Committee: Caroline Ward, chair, The Ferguson Library, Stamford, Conn; Betty Carter, Coppell, Texas; Elise DeGuiseppi, Pierce County Library System, Tacoma, Washington; Eliza T. Dresang, University of Washington, Seattle, Washington; Roxanne Hsu Feldman, The Dalton School, New York, N.Y.; Darwin L. Henderson, College of Education, University of Cincinnati, Cincinnati, Ohio; Barbara Immroth, School of Information, University of Texas, Austin, Texas; Kathleen Isaacs, Pasadena, Maryland; Marie Orlando, Suffolk Cooperative Library System, Bellport, New York; Sally Anne Thompson, Paradise Valley, Arizona; Martha M. Walke, Children’s Literature New England, Inc., South Strafford, Vermont.
Really, I don’t know what to say. I am honored and appreciative. If I was Oprah, I’d buy you all brand new Honda Accords!
Failing that, there’s only this: Thank you, thank you, thank you!
The ubiquitous, voracious Jen Robinson reviewed Six Innings. And all I can say is, Whew!
I admit it. A part of me hates reviews. It’s not intellectual, it’s emotional. They scare me. I freeze up and can’t read them. I was born without an ounce of Teflon; I want everyone to like everything and nothing rolls off my back. So it took two days, plus a prod from my editor, for me to muster the courage to read Jen’s review. Now here is essentially a nice woman, spreading love and good cheer, and I’m terrified. The review is lengthy, and to read it in full you’ve got to hit this link, but here’s a couple of quotes.
You see reviews sometimes that say “there’s baseball in it, but that’s not what the book is about.” But I would argue that Six Innings is about baseball. It’s about the purity of the game. The flow and ebb from inning to inning. The dynamics between the players. The role of the pitcher and the role of the coach. This book is a veritable ode to baseball.
I like Jen’s point. In marketing this book, we feared that it would be shoved into the “just a sports book” box. Not, cough-cough, children’s literature. It’s not about baseball, it’s about the wide range of boys who play it. But: Jen is right. It is about baseball, and that’s okay. Because the game is large and it is sturdy; it’s inclusive; it provides enough ground for a lot of things to enter the story if you allow them. I think it’s important, if we really care about boy readers, that we recognize that a book can be “about” sports and still run deep.
Jen goes on to quote various passages from the book, including this one, which was one of my favorites, because it sort of sums up my feelings for the game:
“And so it goes, typical baseball chatter, the talk that fills dugouts everywhere, the words that occupy the spaces the game provides, those gaps when nothing much seems to happen. To love baseball, to truly love the game, you’ve got to enjoy those empty places, the time to think, absorb, and shoot the breeze. A ball, a strike, a grounder to short. The slow rhythm of the game, a game of accumulation, of patterns, gathering itself toward the finish, like the first few miles of a marathon, not dramatic except for what it might mean later in the race.”
Again, Jen’s full review is worth reading, but here’s one last quote I can’t resist including:
I really enjoyed Six Innings. It’s beautifully written. I found myself sharing passages aloud as I was reading. And the end of the book brought tears to my eyes.
I keep having this vision of Jen Robinson reading aloud passages from Six Innings . . . to a Siamese cat. “Listen to this, Snookles . . .”
Finally and for no reason at all, here’s a rare shot of me in full raging Little League mode, talking with a 7/8 year-old, Kevin.
I’ve got about 10,000 words sitting in a scrap heap, savagely cut from Six Innings during the revision process. Here’s one little scene — a conversation, really — that didn’t make the book. For two reasons: 1) It’s a scene with two adults, not a kid in sight; 2) It takes us away from the game itself, and we got to a point where we decided to be careful about how often we do that.
With any ensemble piece, confusing the reader is a constant danger. It’s much simpler with one strong character running straight through the narrative (ask Jigsaw). But that was never my intention, for better and for worse. I had Robert Altman in mind, “Nashville,” a large cast. So the game became the single thread running through the narrative, because it was the game that brought all those characters together in the first place, that point in their lives where they connected for those two hours. On a diamond.
Back to the deleted scene: I needed to write this scene, I needed to say it, and know it, but maybe I didn’t need it in the book. Who knows! When I first told people about writing Six Innings, they’d say, “Are you going to tell about how horrible some of the parents and coaches can be?”
Well, no. Not this book. But also, that’s really not been my experience. And when it comes to coaches, yes, I’m biased. I see how much time they put into a season. All on a voluntary basis, without pay, and often without thanks from parents. My overall impression is that these coaches are good men, who are present for our kids, who do their best. Are they flawed? Yup. Do they care first about their own children? Sometimes. Do I like them all? Nope. But I know a lot of these guys. The solution is always the same: Shut up and get involved. And this scene, written below, expresses one little aspect of what I know.
– – – – –
Jeff Reid snapped on the lamp on his night table. The clock read three o’clock, the wrong three o’clock. He was wide awake, climbed out of bed.
“Honey, what is it?” Naomi Reid groggily asked.
“Can’t sleep,” he explained.
Naomi Reid knew her husband. “Thinking about the game tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” he admitted.
“Turn out the light, come back to bed,” she told him. “It’s just a Little League game.”
“It’s for the championship,” he corrected his wife.
Naomi yawned, bone tired. Shut her eyes.
“Wouldn’t it be great if we won?” Jeff said.
Naomi didn’t hear, or didn’t answer.
Jeff continued talking. “I mean, not for me. For the boys. I’d love for them to have that feeling. Winners, you know?”
Naomi squinted at her husband. “For the boys?” she repeated skeptically. “Not for you?”
Jeff laughed. “Okay, for me, too. I admit it: I’ve never won anything in my life. But mostly I’d love to see those boys win. Imagine the look on Branden’s face. They’ve played so hard this year. Such good kids, you know. They deserve this.”
He paused, “I have to find a scrap of paper. I want to write down some ideas for the lineup.”
Naomi Reid, wife to this good man for eighteen long years that had rolled by like winning seasons, grumbled her assent. “Come to bed soon. You’ll need your sleep. And Jeff,” she said, “those boys are lucky to have you.”
