Here are two different versions of the classic fairy tale that I read over and over again as a child. There’s something so captivating about “Hansel & Gretel.” (155 BOOKS come up in a simple Amazon search for the title in children’s literature.)
The forest, the wonderful candy house, the terrible witch. Oh and the children’s woodcutter father, sad and dark and conflicted.
There’s the indelible bond of these siblings too, a boy and girl, not unlike the characters in The Snow Queen.
This version has a classic feel and is well-suited for younger readers. Despite the disturbing nature of the familiar tale, there’s a sense that all will be well, that children are meant to be loved and cherished and looked after and, ultimately, they will be. Not to worry, Hansel and Gretel will prevail by way of love and ingenuity and their own strength.
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From the beginning:
“Inside a stone cottage in a green forest, a young brother and young sister—Hansel and Gretel—lived with their father and their stepmother. Their real mother had died.
“The family was very poor, for the father had been ill and unable to work for their bread. They were down to their last loaf.”
“The new wife was very bitter about this. She had expected to be taken care of, and now here she was, nearly starving.”
“She decided to blame the children.”
And thus the familiar story begins.
The talented Jen Corace has provided storybook, rustic illustrations, only updated in a way that feels fresh and contemporary enough to pop off the page. Her textiles are especially bright and colorful. (Love the cherries on one of Gretel’s sweaters!)
This is a story with lessons for children, and not cloying ones. Real lessons. Hard lessons. Lessons of their own wisdom and resilience despite dangers.
This newer version (someday to be a film) is a darker take. So so so very dark and definitely suited for slightly older readers.
The full-spread illustrations are in solely black and white. Inky, scary, hard to decipher. It was, in fact, Mattotti’s artwork from an exhibit at The Metropolitan Opera that inspired Gaiman’s story.
From the beginning:
“There was a woodcutter. He cut down trees. He chopped the branches off the trees, and he cut the trunks and branches into logs for firewood, which he would haul on a handcart to the nearest path into the town. It was hungry work, cutting trees.”
Gaiman’s version has more text and goes further in inventing backstory. In his rendering, there has been a war and with it everything fell apart for everyone. In his version, the stepmother is changed to mother too, another more sinister choice, but one true to the original tale.
I think what appealed to me as a child about “Hansel and Gretel” and what still appeals to children (all of us) in fairy tales is the darkness. Others have spoken eloquently about this (including, of course Neil Gaiman). For me, there was such a familiarity to the story though not in the specific details of course. But in the idea that something might lie beneath the surface. Something scary, to be wise about. Because if you know it’s there, in a way, you’ve already conquered it.
I thoroughly enjoyed both these versions and each has its own place with the right audience, in the right hands, with the right voice reading the words aloud.
Where Bear? by Sophy Henn (2015, just published here in the U.S. January 2nd.).
This picture book is delightful. So I thought I’d take a look at what makes it tick. Turns out, it’s like a lesson in picture book structure.
Every illustrated story has its own style and construction, of course, but I think this one has some really great elements of what can make a picture book truly A+!
Come see!
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AN UNREALISTIC THING INTRODUCED AS TOTALLY NORMAL
In Where Bear? the first spread tells us that a bear cub lives with a little boy. That’s weird, right? But we immediately believe it and we certainly don’t want an explanation. It just is.
This sets us up for any unrealistic stuff that follows (and it does follow).
That unrealistic stuff is sometimes where the magic is.
(One more thing: we then get to see both the bear and the boy grow, which is so clued into the life of a child, that stuff of growing and getting bigger and wearing birthday hats once a year. But that’s a slight digression.)
REPETITION WITH SLIGHT VARIATION FOR INTEREST
When the bear is too big and bearlike to live with the boy any longer, the boy wonders, “Where Bear?” As in, where shall you live that will be suitable?
With each place the boy suggests, we get a repetition of the same theme: that place is not suitable for Bear.
Bear says, “No.” Over and over. But he also says no in a slightly different way and for a slightly different reason. This is shown through the text (“NO”; “NO“; “NOOOOO”; etc.). It’s also shown through the illustrations that so beautifully bring to life how bear is feeling through facial expressions and what else is going on in the artwork. (e.g. Bear’s big eyes or a too-small shop window.)
The reader gets that wonderful satisfaction of repetition and kinda sorta knowing what’s coming next, but it’s a different scenario each time. Yup, satisfying without a trace of boredom.
ROOM IN THE TEXT FOR INVENTIVE, STORY-TELLING ILLUSTRATIONS
I’ve touched on this a bit, but let’s just look at that toy shop illustration again. It may take a while to locate the boy and bear. And then, so much to notice! That bear belongs in a store window as much as a crocodile does. And a boy doesn’t belong there either, even if he is wearing a marching band hat.
We get to see the town the boy lives in here, too, its shops and windows. It locates us, first, in the human world of the boy before we travel elsewhere.
And let’s look too at the woods spread. The Bears’ eyes tell us he’s scared. Wouldn’t you be, all alone in those dark, gray woods?
And if you’re really, really tricky, you may think to yourself that you’ve never seen a white bear in the woods before. (Foreshadowing!!)
SPREADS THAT LEAVE READERS GUESSING (AND TELLING THEIR OWN STORY)
The popsicle spread is my favorite. First, it has popsicles. Next, it has the boy scratching his head, just as we the readers are invited to do.
WHERE could bear go to live? How might a popsicle be a hint? What is the relationship between the bear and the refrigerator? They are the same color and about the same size after all. Hmmm.
This is the part when reading to kids that you ask, “What do you think might happen next?” “Where do YOU think the bear should live?” That kind of interaction is golden.
A SURPRISE!
We’ve heard the bear say, “NO” many times. (In fact, that’s all we’ve heard him say.) But now, we hear him say, “SNOW!” Why? Because he’s home. Where the snow is. And because snow rhymes with No!
Brilliant.
Here we have a pattern and sound we’re familiar with, but with a difference. No has turned to YES! But the bear’s own special kind of yes.
ENDING AS IT BEGINS, OR WITH THE TITLE
The last spread has the boy and the bear talking on the phone. (Good thing that we can totally roll with all that unrealistic stuff without skipping a beat by this point. But here’s one more!)
The boy and bear discuss going somewhere, like the old days. And the boy asks that familiar question, “But where, bear?”
We love that question. Especially when the answer doesn’t have so much riding on it anymore. Only friendship and taking a trip together.
AN ENDING THAT LEAVES THE FUTURE OPEN, WITH MORE PLACES FOR THE STORY TO GO
That last spread as well as a super fun little illustration on the last page keeps the story alive outside of the book. In our own imaginations we can wonder where the boy and the bear will go, what adventures they might have, and how their friendship will grow with new experiences. In that way, the story never ends.
We feel satisfied but we don’t really have to say goodbye. Because we don’t want to say goodbye to these two.
There you have it. My deconstruction of a fine picture book specimen. I hope this is of interest as you read them (or write them or illustrate them)!
I’ve been on the hunt for unique activity books for kids since seeing Evolution: A Coloring Book at a local store. The bar has certainly been raised since I was a kid! But oh how I loved crossword and coloring books back then. Still do.
Here are 15 of some of the most fabulous I’ve found. Please add any I’ve missed to the comments.
Leo Lionni. We know him for Swimmy and Alexander and the Wind-Up Mouse. We know him for his delicate, childlike torn paper illustrations in beautiful, often muted colors.
He was born in the Netherlands and lived in Italy, working as a painter. He moved from Europe to New York because of World War Two. There, before making his first picture book, he was an art director for ad agencies and Fortune magazine.
That first picture book was Little Blue and Little Yellow and he was 50 years old when it was born. I love that.
Little Blue and Little Yellow, the first of many, started from a story Lionni told his restless grandchildren on a train. He tore bits from Life magazine to illustrate it. (His grandchildren weren’t the only passengers who listened to the tale.)
Lionni made over 40 books and won the Caldecott Medal four times.
He won the AIGA Medal in 1984 for his contribution to design.
He was also a trout fisherman, just in case you wanted to know that, too.
Lionni’s stories are truly fables, illuminated with his signature cut paper collage or pastel drawings. The characters are animals—mice, fish, frogs, snails—and they have stories to tell. To each other and to us. Stories of discoveries. Of kindnesses. Of sharing.
Always a character telling stories to another. Stories of another world. Stories that create community and connection.
So often there are doubles in Leonni’s work. Alexander the mouse and his wind-up mouse friend. The two fish in Fish is Fish where one becomes a frog. Birds that can fly and a bird who can’t. And with each pair, there is curiosity about the other. Wishes and imaginings and often coming back to being content with who they already are.
Frederick is an archetypal Lionni dreamer. A poet. A storyteller. One who sees things and tells others about them. Many characters in Lionni’s books are that way. Perhaps because that’s who Lionni was himself.
After his death in 1999, this NYT tribute says the following about Lionni’s artistic journey:
“Seeking a way to combine his applied and fine art work, he hit upon children’s books as the perfect means.
There he found the key to unlocking decades of personal fears, joys, insecurities and loves,
