Liars and Saints

  Nothing matters except character development. In "The Widow's Broom," an actual broom takes center stage. It once belonged to a witch. But it lost its power to fly. That doesn't mean it has fully lost its magic--it can still sweep on its own, play the piano, and chop wood. It can also feed the chickens. At least from Salem onward, stories involving witches have tended to touch on gender politics. In "The Widow's Broom," the men among the townspeople despise the broom. They find it unnerving. By contrast, the women notice that the broom is quite helpful with domestic chores. The broom's new owner--Minna, a widow--becomes inspired by the broom's resourcefulness. She plays a "witchy" trick to ensure that she will have the future that she actually wants. I live in a small town, and I sometimes deal with meanness and stupidity (and this is often when I'm communicating with someone who works within my son's school district). To me, ...

 Chris Van Allsburg had a legendary run, scoring two Caldecott Medals ("Jumanji," "Polar Express"), tossing off classics ("Two Bad Ants," "Gardens of Abdul Gasazi," " The Widow's Broom"). In that span, he outdid himself with "The Wreck of the Zephyr." This is essentially a mystery story. Our detective arrives at the scene of the crime. A boat has deposited itself at the edge of a cliff; it seems impossible that waves threw the boat so, so high above the sea level. But this is the story narrated by certain so-called witnesses. Our detective digs deeper. An erratic, sketchy townsperson has a story that no one else is sharing. Once, a boy went out in a ship. A storm transported the ship to a magical land, where maritime navigators had special gifts. These navigators could actually command their vessels to fly through the clouds. The boy demanded to learn the secrets of this land. But he was impatient; he woke in the middle of...

 Chris Van Allsburg was an artist before he was a writer. He had work displayed at the Whitney. Then he turned to storytelling.  "Jumanji" was his second book, in the early eighties, and it won the Caldecott. (It later "inspired" a movie, and words can't express how little I'm interested in the movie.) In "Jumanji," two kids find a board game, and they imagine it will be tedious. But they soon understand that the text of the game is to be taken literally; if a card refers to invading rhinos, you will meet actual rhinos. If monkeys raid your "camp," you can expect to see monkeys climbing up your kitchen table. The exotic crises of the game grow and grow and compound themselves, and it's only because little Judy reads instructions that the two children are able to survive. Judy rolls a twelve, races to the center of the board, and shouts JUMANJI!--with triumph--just before a hungry lion gets a chance to do his business in the living roo...