Happy Thanksgiving

Last weekend we celebrated Thanksgiving with a visit to Plymouth. The first thing we encountered was the Bronze Indian. One of the only other copies of Massasoit’s statue proudly breaks the Honor Code at BYU. This drove us all to speculate on why this hero of Pilgrim history also appeared in Provo. Here are three possible reasons, proposed by my brother Chris:

1. He was also known as Ousamequin, or “yellow feather,” and was a chief of the Wampanoag tribe. He was born in Pokanoket. All of those words are fun to say.
2. It was made by Cyrus E. Dallin, who also made the angel Moroni for the Salt Lake Temple.
3. The local Ute Indians are the mascots of the U of U, so we obviously couldn't have a sculpture of anyone from around here without compromising our rivalry.

Once we’d finished admiring the sculpture, we found a spot on the grass between an out-of-state couple whose camera bag kept rolling down the hill and a pirate who stood to salute every group of re-enactors who marched by. First opening ceremonies were performed by the USAF Tops in Blue, an extremely glitzy show choir sporting the most sequins I’ve ever seen. There performance was enthusiastic collection of jazzy show and patriotic tunes that reminded me somehow of a rodeo. But their tribute to all the veterans present (and there were a lot, from every division of the military) was truly touching, as was their rendition of “Proud to be an American.”

Then came the Plymouth Thanksgiving Parade, which starred Clydesdales and floats and an astonishing number of turkey hats. There were four or five full marching bands made up entirely of middle-aged adults. The absolute highlight of the parade, though, was the turkey floats. This first one, according to the announcer, is a replica of the wild turkey the Pilgrims would have hunted here in the wilds of New England. Not your typical fat, domestic turkey, these wild turkeys were lean, mean, and cunning. I’m sure the Pilgrim hat was part of this wily beast’s clever survival plan.

A few floats later, the domestic turkey came by to emphasize the contrast.

On our way out of town, we stopped for a snack at the combination gas station/Dunkin Donuts. Dunkin Donuts, which was founded in Massachusetts, is decidedly the most popular store in the state, and you can’t go more than a mile anywhere in Boston without finding one. The tourists visiting for the parade had cleaned out the entire stock, leaving only empty wire baskets with greasy pink paper liners. I guess the poor, domestic donut lacks the survival skills of the wild turkey.

Boston Libraries

Let’s talk about libraries in Boston.

First of firsts there’s the Boston Public Library, the world’s first public library. (Lots of libraries claim similar titles, but this was the first one that was truly free and public for everyone.) What’s it like? Inspiring. I have a bad habit of tearing up when I think too much about libraries, and this one had me nearly as choked up as the Library of Congress. The library’s founders created a building deliberately intended to evoke lofty thoughts about literacy and democracy and freedom using a stately combination of windows and marble and murals. The holdings are extensive, the rooms are grand, and the entire experience is spectacular. I recommend the architecture tour as a must-see of Boston. A few weeks ago I spent the day in the library reading about Magna Carta and feeling all-around inspired by liberty and the power of the word and such.

Then there are the university libraries. I’m particularly fond of Simmons’ library, which has a Bibliomystery section full of mysteries that take place in libraries. (Books I recommend about libraries include The Brixton Brothers, Alcatraz Versus the Evil Librarians, Bats in the Library, and The Library Lion. And of course there are The Librarian movies.)

Then there’s the local library. Our Watertown library (part of the MinuteMan network) has a lovely modern and historic design with high windows and neat shelves of shiny plastic-jacketed books. There's even a bright local history room full of genealogies where my roommate has already found several books about her ancestors. And just up the road from the Watertown library is the Armenian Library and Museum of America.

Then there’s the convenience library: Somerville West Branch right next to my work. Just thinking of it makes me happy. It has a stone façade with pillars that makes it look like an old bank: very impressive. Walk inside and what do you find? Two tiny rooms with ancient wood floors and a few stands of romance novels and videotapes. After two visits I got up my courage to descend the rickety stairs by the entrance and at the bottom I found . . . the children’s dungeon. I mean children’s section.

What a place! Wrought iron frames the medieval murals painted on literally crumbling walls. I’m not sure if chunks of the wall were deliberately ripped off to give it an ancient feel, or if someone thought, Gee, our walls are falling apart. How can we make that look intentional? In either way it’s simultaneously the most homey and terrifying library I’ve ever visited.

Picture Books

After spending so much time basking in the brilliance of Rick Walton (and of course Will Terry, Kristyn Crow, Guy Francis, Nathan Hale, and Sharlee Glenn), I figured I had the system of creating a picture book down.

But last week I got invited to a number of picture book meetings at Candlewick, and found all sorts of new details. (Not to imply that there’s anything Rick & Co. don’t know—as far as I can tell they’ve solved most of the universe’s problems—I just missed some of what they said.)

In one meeting, I watched the editors discuss some of their favorite manuscripts they’d received. Several of them had received submissions they didn’t care for but wanted to offer to another editor if anyone at our press was the right person for it—and in several cases another editor took the manuscript. We also looked at several books previously published in other countries and considered buying the rights to the book (and all that would imply—translation, cover design, reworking, fees, etc.).

I also learned that Candlewick is unusual in how much input the authors get on their book’s illustrator. Generally, once a manuscript is accepted, the editor and designers hold a meeting to discuss illustrator options. They pull out sample art they have on file, offer suggestions, and debate possibilities. When they’ve chosen three possible illustrators, they’ll often consult with the author to see what the author thinks. This privilege for the author isn’t in the contract, but is offered as a courtesy (after all, you wouldn’t want the author to hate his or her published work). The author also gets to approve the sketches.

Oftentimes the publisher will work out the page turns and trims size before sending the manuscript to the illustrator, although some illustrators, especially the more experienced ones, work directly from the manuscript and choose the spreads themselves. Among many things a publishing house is looking for in an editor is the ability to maintain character consistency—to draw the same character doing a variety of things, over the course of an entire book. On average, the illustrator gets about six to eight months to go from the sketches to the final artwork.

Can't Judge a Book

This week I’ve faced the age-old conundrum: too much going on and therefore no time to write about it (it’s either that or lots of time to write and nothing to say). But I’ll stick to one topic per post, and start with the most exciting one first: the covers meeting!

Since, in defiance of the adage, the cover of a book is one of its most important selling points, the covers meeting is one of the company’s most important, and certainly the most exciting I’ve attended. For the meeting, the heads of marketing and design and editing and probably many more all gather around a table with book stands and shout out the names of the books they’re discussing. Then the editors and designers assigned to the book run over (literally run) and set up a printout of the book’s cover at whatever stage it is, from initial sketch to ready-for-press. Everyone scrutinizes the cover, offers suggestions and direction, and then, usually, sends it back for revision.

I was dazzled by the range of issues discussed. They talked about paper weight, about embossing, gloss, and foil. For one book they liked the color scheme but thought it might be too bright for the theme, for another they altered details of the border so it wouldn’t look too similar to another series from our press. They looked at books that had been previously published in other countries and recommended either slight adjustments or altogether new art to appeal to an American audience.

They debated for several of the titles whether we were trying to sell the name of the author, the illustrator, or the book. For some books they suggested subtitles and for others they removed them. In one case, they even passed around a blank, bound sample of a book that was to have nonstandard stitching, and everyone tried holding it to get a literal feel for the book.

The designers repeatedly accused covers of being too flat, and though flat seemed to refer to everything from static figures to matte ink, it often seemed an apt description.

It was clear that some of the designers worked on a very detailed scale. These designers worked within a specific framework and asked about tiny variations such as various croppings of the art, showing it larger or smaller in relationship to the type. Or they brought in different versions of the art with slightly different shadows.

Others worked more flexibly. One designer brought five different cover possibilities, each with a different image, color scheme, and typeface, and asked for general reactions and critiques. Another brought in a variety of photos of the subject of the book and requested suggestions.

For a number of books people cited precedents from similar genres or companies—things that had worked before and things that hadn’t. But what was most important for each discussion was whether the cover matched the book. Would a child know, from the cover, what sort of story was inside? Although I had thought this would be a fairly simple task, I was surprised by how challenging it could be. Editor/designers teams who were stuck would describe a manuscript to us and ask what to emphasize. How do you capture the complexities of a novel, which is funny and dramatic, romantic and scary, quirky and profound, all in a single image? It’s easier to critique existing ones than to invent them from scratch. And as long as we’re critiquing, a classic example of a cover that does not capture its contents is the latest edition of Ender’s Game (not a Candlewick title).

After the meeting, an editor mentioned in passing that she’d been told you know you’ve found the manuscript for you when you can picture the cover.

To Market, To Market

Yesterday at my internship I got to visit marketing. Very exciting.

When I asked one of the editors what the people in marketing do she said, “They seem to send a lot of mail.” Mysterious. I pictured a clandestine organization, scurrying through corridors, loaded down by large piles of misshapen brown packages being sent to unpronounceable destinations like Ulaanbaatar and Putrajaya. No one knows what goes in or out.

This image was more appealing than my secret fear that those in marketing might actually be retired shoe salesmen. I like shoes as much as the next person, but there’s a reason I own only one pair of tennis shoes and three pairs of the same shoes in different colors. Pinstriped suits, oiled hair, too-friendly smiles: the sales approach isn’t really my thing.

So I was relieved that when I arrived yesterday morning that the people in marketing weren’t visibly much different from those in editing three rows over. No trench coats. No bow ties.

They did have real-friendly smiles, and they answered all my questions. They were in the middle of getting ready for the next big book conference: NCTE in the middle of this month. In the morning I got to write a cover letter for advance copies of a novel being sent to a select group of reviewers. It was fun! I didn’t have to put on the wheedling selling voice and drip with dishonesty. Instead, I just wrote about a new book we had and why we liked it, which was easy to do. I also got to read through a number of marketing plans and promotional materials, write an excited introduction for an book review site, and pull together cover letters and copies of some of our picture books to be sent to the Caldecott committee. I knew my experience was complete when I got to take it all to the mailroom and pack the books up myself, sending them off to all sorts of places . . . like Provo, Utah.

Some general observations about what it might be like to work in marketing:

• Money pressures: Not only are those in marketing constantly looking for ways to get the book to sell, but they are also doing so in a tight budget. You’d be always looking to place ads that would enable you to reach the right people, but you’d have to do so for as cost as possible so you could also advertise your other books.
• Human dimension: While, from my observations, the bulk of the editors’ work is focused on manuscripts, the people in marketing seem to spend a lot of time making phone calls, organizing events, etc. They do some writing, but much more talking.
• Fleeting approach: I was surprised by the dramatic temporal shift I felt from editorial marketing. The sense of time and the books we talk about in both places was really different. While the editors are looking at manuscripts that may appear on shelves in two years, and are also celebrating recently released titles, the focus in marketing was concentrated on the more immediate: how are the new releases being received right now, and what are we doing for the books coming out in the next six months.
• Glowing view: While I personally have felt, reading through the submissions stack, that I’m on the look out for any serious problems with manuscripts that would prevent us from accepting them, the people in marketing are looking at nearly finished books and have to look for what they like about them so they can talk about it. Yesterday I read one of our new titles that I had previously skimmed while in editorial, and was surprised by how different my reading experience was both times. During the editing read, I was on the lookout for elements that worked and didn’t, and I found both; during the marketing read, I discovered more and more things about it that I loved.

Last night I wrote Alicia, my missionary sister, about my day in marketing and she replied: “go be a sales man who cna spell.” I just might.

Where the Wild Things Are

I went this past weekend to see Where the Wild Things Are with our movie book club (read a book, then watch the film adaptation). I thought the film was beautiful but not at all satisfying.

The film tapped into the psychological drama that’s such a powerful part of Max’s story. At one point a wild thing asked Max if he were a bad person and Max could only answer: “I don’t know.” That universal fear, that perhaps the emotional beast inside is our true self, that we really are untameable wild things, was a major theme of the movie.

Unfortunately, the film didn’t leave Max’s emotional worries in the realm of metaphor and implication. Instead, the wild things weren't really wild: they were just a bunch of monsters dealing with lots of personal issues. They were overwhelmed by smothering, frustrating emotions that so consumed them they were incapable of finding or offering comfort.

That’s what made the film so dissatisfying. I was left feeling that neither Max nor his mother nor any of the wild things had any hope of handling their emotional burdens.

In a 1964 letter describing the “revolutionary” qualities of Where the Wild Things Are, Sendak’s editor, Ursula Nordstrom, wrote: “I think Maurice’s book is the first picture book to recognize the fact that children have powerful emotions, anger and love and hate and only after all that passion, the wanting to be ‘where someone loved him best of all’” (Dear Genius, ed. Leonard S. Marcus, p. 184). While the film portrayed the strong emotions—anger and hate, loneliness and envy—I felt it ultimately offered no passion or love, no hope that could take Max from powerless to victorious.