Many--if not most--of the great American picture-book writers have been gay men. James Marshall, Arnold Lobel, Maurice Sendak, Tomie dePaola, Remy Charlip, Harry Allard, Christian Robinson: This is a starry lineup. Howard Ashman did not write picture books, but his iconic creations did *spawn* picture books. To the list, I'd add Ian Falconer.
Of course the book is "Olivia." Falconer wrote it for his niece. It's not didactic; it doesn't have any morals. It's about a little pig who sometimes finds her baby brother irritating, so "she must be firm." A substantial part of her day is just moving the family cat out of her path--then moving the cat again. Olivia has visual intelligence; she designs sand castles and admires Degas. Jackson Pollock inspires her--so she defaces her house with crayons.
When Olivia dresses, she must consider and discard each and every piece of clothing within a five-mile radius; it's only after a serious internal debate that she can commit to one sartorial choice.
"You wear me out," says Olivia's mother, "but I love you anyway." And--in a surprising and inevitable twist--Olivia says, "I love you anyway, too."
Olivia is actually both of my children; the day the book describes is literally every single day of my life. I'm happy that this work exists.
Many thanks to Ian Falconer.
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