Thursday, 15 June 2017
Why do we always assume children's picture books need an ultra-low word count? A ReadItTorial
The Mango and Bambang books fall into a category that's now becoming comfortably established as a unique crossover point both for children who are solo reading and want something meatier than picture book texts, and adults who don't mind chipping away at a collection of longer stories over the course of a few bedtimes (or - like us - devouring longer illustration-heavy children's books with large word counts in one delicious gulp!)
Polly was tweeting about one book in particular, the utterly sublime "The Man Whose Mother was a Pirate" by Margaret Mahy and Margaret Chamberlain.
A children's picture book from that golden era where, as well as glorious illustrations, you'd get gorgeous flowing passages of lushly descriptive text like this:
(apologies for the cropping there, the internet is rubbish for trying to grab images from inside books) |
Thinking back through the years of writing this blog, it reminded me that one of our personal blog faves had established this fantastic format many, many years ago.
Margaret Bloy Graham and Gene Zion's superb "Harry" series once branched out into the kind of 'stepping stone' picture-to-chapter book range we're thinking about.
Dubbed the "I Can Read" range, "Harry and the Lady Next Door" was first published in 1960 and shared the same identical wordier but still illustration-heavy format.
An excerpt from "Harry and the Lady Next Door". Innovative and engaging formats definitely aren't new! |
Looking back through the blog, I realised we'd actually never reviewed this one - possibly because I read it to Charlotte when she was officially 'too young' for it. But I do clearly remember her never complaining about the higher word count (quite the opposite - it's a huge treat to be read something that's longer, as it puts off bedtime for a bit longer and she would also get more time with us when we read it - Double win!)
So is the word count cull a recent thing? Is it being driven by a purely economical desire by publishers to ensure that books don't cost a fortune to print? Is it being driven by an assumption that a child's attention span is shorter nowadays in an era where fidget spinners come in and out of fashion quicker than you can say "What on earth does this thing actually do?"
In our experience, both my wife and I have found that a mix of book lengths for our own collection at home is vital. Shorter books for bedtimes when madam has stayed up far too late but still likes a book read to her to settle her and allow her to snuggle down to a good night's sleep. Longer books for times when we've got more bedtime prep time to spare and can luxuriate in something that's almost a mini chapter book. In fact we do also read chapter books over the space of a few bedtimes as well, everything goes into the mix and we're still hanging on in there as long as possible, reading to Charlotte every night and hoping that the day when she turns round and asks us not to is a long long way off.
Polly and Clara's middle grade / chapter book-ish format may not be new then, but it is so needed and we've extolled the virtues of this format (and indeed book size) before.
It would be great to see a return to somewhat wordier large format picture books and I believe the only agents for change here are - well, literary agents, commissioning editors and publishers taking that risk - and not just for well-established authors either.
Of course it might sound purely like I'm pushing my own agenda here. Yes, it would also be wonderful to once, just once, not get a rejection purely based on the length of some of my stories and manuscripts (because I really can't get most of my stories much lower than 1000 words in most cases, no matter how hard I try - and I feel that a lot of the shorter stories over-rely on the mythical invisible illustrations and illustrator's talent to convey what I'm trying to get across).
Do you agree? Pop a comment below, open comments are enabled on the blog now so it's easier than ever.