Why I Love Picture Books
Growing up as a quasi-only child (my half-sister is 12 years older than me), I had to entertain myself for hours. It was the early ’80s, and most parents didn’t feel the need to play with their children constantly — what I did in my free time was up to me. To stave off boredom, I relied on my imagination. My bedroom became a magical hiding place. Some days it was an enchanted forest, others a far-off kingdom. When I wasn’t immersed in the world of pretend, I read. Books were my friends. Without a sibling to play with and learn from, a lot of my understanding of what it means to be a person came from books. Those endless hours of make-believe shaped who I am today: someone who craves solitude, who’s deeply curious and believes in magic. But, I’m also a realist (thanks to my psychologist father), and this combination of traits often leads me to books. Stories can be a way to escape, but more importantly, they connect us to the human experience.
Because books were my friends, I developed strong feelings for them. I wasn’t conscious of this until I had my own children. That admiration was buried deep in my psyche, but once I started reading book after book to my daughter, those feelings resurfaced.
The Dead Bird, written by Margaret Wise Brown and illustrated by Remy Charlip
Reading to my children before bed every night is a cherished ritual, but for every great picture book, there are at least five terrible ones. And if you’re a parent, you know the pain of reading a bad picture book ad nauseam. And now that my daughter has started to read on her own, she notices when I skip words or even entire passages. To avoid the fruitless attempt to sneak books out of the house (do all kids have a sixth sense for things missing from their rooms?!), I began curating a library of diverse, interesting and experimental picture books. I educated myself on authors and illustrators whose books I enjoyed, and I rediscovered many children’s books classics. What emerged was not only a better reading experience for my children and me but a newfound appreciation for picture books as an art form.
Milo, written by Matt de la Peña and illustrated by Christian Robinson
There are many amazing books written for middle grade and young adults, but my passion is for picture books. Too many parents rush their children into novels. Recently, my daughter and I stood behind a young girl at a bakery. The little girl had her nose buried deep in a “Harry Potter” book. She looked close to my daughter’s age, seven, maybe a bit older. It was definitely impressive, and I’m thrilled to see a child choose a book over technology. But instead of feeling insecure that my daughter is nowhere close to reading such a book, I felt a sense of relief — she still prefers picture books. Hopefully this means we have plenty of time to read together — to hold onto that elusive, magical feeling of experiencing a fantastic picture book read-aloud.
Picture books are a unique form of visual storytelling. When done well, they convey complex emotions and experiences with words and pictures working in tandem. They also leave space for interpretation more than any other form of children’s literature, making them great works of art. They can make you feel things without being able to articulate why. A good picture book is like a song, but a great picture book is like a dance —where both auditory and visual pleasures combine. I think this is why so many of us cherish our favorite picture books as children — these books have danced themselves deep into the fabric of our being; they’re a part of us.
Goodnight Moon, written by Margaret Wise Brown and illustrated by Clement Hurd
Sometimes it seems like reading picture books to children is a means to an end, but I’ve never felt that way. Partly it’s out of the hope of turning my children into curious, imaginative, lifelong readers (but that’s the goal for most parents). Ultimately, this is about me. Reading picture books to my kids has awakened the little girl inside me. The little girl who played kings and queens with her stuffed bears, who performed one-woman musicals to an audience of rapt Barbies, and who sometimes, felt like dancing.
This post was originally posted on www.glitterguide.com
