Tag: kate dicamillo (page 1 of 1)

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane

I recently realized I’d been skimping on read-alouds by choosing books my eldest daughter had already read, or by rereading old favorites. There’s a place for that—of course there is. But I’d leaned on old favorites for a couple of years and couldn’t remember, when pressed, when I’d last read a book to the family that enraptured her the same way it enraptured the younger girls.

So I proceeded with haste to the pile of book in our bedroom, the one by my desk, made of books I set aside to pre-read and release as needed into the wilds of the family library. And from the top of the pile, I drew Kate DiCamillo’s The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane.

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, by Kate DiCamillo | Little Book, Big Story

How to describe this book? Everything about it—story, illustrations, even the format and font size—are just slightly unlike any other book we own. It’s a chapter book, but the way it’s arranged, with a large font and full-color illustrations, makes it accessible to young readers. The illustrations by Bagram Ibatoulline (Great Joy) are stunning and add a beauty and gravity to the story.

And the story itself? Edward Tulane’s journey reminds me of The Velveteen Rabbit in the way it lends dignity to a toy rabbit and tells of his journey from toy to real rabbit. Edward’s journey, though, isn’t about becoming a real, live rabbit: his journey to become “real” is a deeper, more subtle one. It takes him outside the nursery and into the world, where he learns—one heart-breaking lesson at a time—what it is to love. And to love not just one person one time, but to love again, even after he learns that loving another opens him up to the possible pain of loss. Edward Tulane learns to love in a way that is costly to him.

The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, by Kate DiCamillo | Little Book, Big Story

This book spoke deeply to me, and I could see it working quietly on all of our daughters as we read it aloud before bed. At a time when it’s tempting to close ourselves off from those outside our household, rather than long for a closeness that we cannot have right now, I am profoundly grateful for The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane. This book reminded us that love is worth the risk, worth the cost. And that costly love will be rewarded.


The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane
Kate DiCamillo; Bagram Ibatoulline (2006)

Great Joy

Let’s appreciate, for a moment, the behind-the-scenes people who make books possible. Editors, art directors, publishers, agents—I don’t know exactly what you all do, but books like Great Joy make me glad that you do it.

The pages, cover, and binding combine to make a book that makes our family feel like we’re unwrapping something precious as I read, which I suppose we are, in a way, because the story is precious and the illustrations are warm and welcoming. But the gold leaf on the cover and the cloth binding and the very feel of the pages make the gift a thing that’s not just heard or observed but warmly felt. Somebody chose that paper and decided to ornament the cover just so—thank you, whoever you are.

Great Joy, by Kate DiCamillo | Little Book, Big Story

Great Joy‘s quiet story doesn’t need bells and whistles—it would shine in a hand-drawn, xeroxed ‘zine, I’m sure, though it may not reach its intended audience that way—but the lovely quality of the book encouraged us to slow down and savor DiCamillo’s language and Bagram Ibatoulline’s illustrations.

Those illustrations are so gorgeous, by the way, that I’m tempted to heap adjectives on them willy-nilly. But I won’t burden you with that. Instead I’ll show you pictures:

Great Joy, by Kate DiCamillo | Little Book, Big Story
Great Joy, by Kate DiCamillo | Little Book, Big Story

Great Joy reaches my daughters at different levels: at eight, Lydia delights in the fact that Frances, the story’s protagonist, reads the same verses for the Christmas pageant that Lydia read for hers; Sarah, at six, asks the same questions Frances does about the organ-grinder; and Phoebe, at almost-three, delights in finding the monkey on every page (when she wants to read the book, she points at the shelf and shouts, “MONKEYS!” until someone hands her the book).

And I, as a mother, rejoice: this story is the sort of gift that I love to give my daughters, knowing that it points toward the one who is our greatest gift.


Great Joy
Kate DiCamillo, Bagram Ibatoulline (2010)