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Summary
Summary
In her first picture book, America's beloved storyteller Kate DiCamillo reunites with Bagram Ibatoulline to offer readers an unforgettable holiday gift.
It is just before Christmas when an organ grinder and monkey appear on the street corner outside Frances's apartment. Frances can see them from her window and, sometimes, when it's quiet, she can hear their music. In fact, Frances can't stop thinking about them, especially after she sees the man and his monkey sleeping outside on the cold street at midnight. When the day of the Christmas pageant arrives, and it's Frances's turn to speak, everyone waits silently. But all Frances can think about is the organ grinder's sad eyes -- until, just in time, she finds the perfect words to share. Newbery Medalist Kate DiCamillo pairs once again with acclaimed artist Bagram Ibatoulline as she presents a timeless story of compassion and joy.
Author Notes
Kate DiCamillo is the author of The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane , winner of a Boston Globe-Horn Book Award; The Tale of Despereaux , winner of the Newbery Medal; Because of Winn-Dixie , a Newbery Honor winner; The Tiger Rising , a National Book Award Finalist; and four books starring Mercy Watson, including a Theodor Seuss Geisel Honor Book. She lives in Minneapolis.
Bagram Ibatoulline is the illustrator of The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane , as well as The Serpent Came to Gloucester by M. T. Anderson, Hana in the Time of the Tulips by Deborah Noyes, The Animal Hedge by Paul Fleischman, The Nightingale retold by Stephen Mitchell, and Crossing by Philip Booth. He lives in Gouldsboro, Pennsylvania.
Reviews (5)
School Library Journal Review
K-Gr 2-Frances worries about the organ grinder and his monkey who stand across from her apartment all day, in all kinds of bad weather, and even sleep outside. On the day she is to perform in a Christmas play at her church, she impulsively invites him to come; it is only when he finally makes his appearance that she can call out her one line, "Behold! I bring you tidings of Great Joy!" The plotline is simplicity itself, and the text lacks any sentimentality or fluff, allowing the acrylic paintings, reminiscent of Norman Rockwell's work in their warmth and realism, to enrich and expand the story. Although no mention of a time period is made in the text, the clothing, the cars, and a portrait of a young man in uniform in Frances's apartment make clear that this is America during World War II. The organ grinder is entirely isolated on his street corner, despite being surrounded by Christmas bustle; it is Frances who shines a light on him and makes the tiny but vital gesture necessary to draw him into the life and light of the community. The last spread, unaccompanied by text, depicts the aftermath of the play, young actors and doting relatives and the monkey mingling and eating refreshments, while the organ grinder chats with Frances's mom. His troubles aren't over, perhaps, but for the moment, there is warmth, hope, and even great joy.-Eva Mitnick, Los Angeles Public Library (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Publisher's Weekly Review
With spot-on storytelling rhythms and pacing, Newbery Medalist DiCamillo spins a tale of compassion and holiday warmth from a most unlikely image. Frances is so preoccupied by the hard-luck organ grinder and monkey she can see from her apartment window that it's hard to focus on the fast-approaching church Christmas pageant. It's not until the man and monkey make their way to the performance (at Frances's invitation) that her words, "Behold! I bring you tidings of great joy," make perfect sense to her. Ibatoulline's (The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane) WWII-era scenes have a subdued yet comforting glow, illuminated by streetlamps and stage lights. Ages 4-8. (Nov.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Kirkus Review
Newbery Medalist DiCamillo is joined again by the illustrator of The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane (2005) in this moving story that offers the reader (or young listener) a treat: a story with an outwardly simple plot but with an inner core of meaning that is deeply satisfying. The main character, Frances, is a little girl who lives in a city apartment with her mother in the 1940s. From their second-story window, Frances watches an older man standing on the corner with an organ grinder and a little monkey in a red cap. In a series of tiny actions that all add up to something larger, she draws the lonely man into her world, and by the final, wordless spread, a stranger has come in out of the cold to join the group. DiCamillo tells her story with a light, deft hand and a minimum of words that make the story all the more powerful. Ibatoulline's mysterious paintings are understated as well, filled with subtle, glowing accents from streetlights, shop windows and stage lights when Frances performs her role as an angel in her church pageant. This simple but powerful story will indeed bring the reader great joy. (Picture book. 4-8) Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Booklist Review
*Starred Review* On a busy corner, a week before Christmas, an organ grinder and his monkey appear. Up in her apartment, Frances notices them, and she asks her mother, Where do they go at night? Her harried mother, busy hemming Frances' nightgown to use as an angel costume for the Christmas pageant, has no time for questions, so Frances stays up until midnight to find the answer. When she sees the two still outside, she realizes they have no home. The night of the pageant, she asks the organ grinder to come to the church, even as her mother hurries her along. During the performance Frances hesitates to say her one line. Not until shes sees the man and monkey enter is she able to proclaim, I bring you tidings of Great Joy! And then, because the words felt so right, she repeats more quietly, Great Joy. The story, though moving, is slight, but Ibatoulline's evocative artwork moves it to a higher level. The setting is the 1940s, and the art captures the time beautifully. It's not just the clothes and cars (Mom has a marked resemblance to Maureen O'Hara); it's the feeling of the era particularly, the isolation a city can provoke. Happily, the final two-page spread, bathed in a golden hue and packed with people, shows the inclusion a holiday can bring.--Cooper, Ilene Copyright 2007 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
GREAT JOY By Kate DiCamillo. Illustrated by Bagram Ibatoulline. Unpaged. Candlewick Press. $16.99. (Ages 4 to 8) IN terms of plain narrative, the Nativity story is hard to beat. It has pretty much everything: a journey, a baby, a mass murderer, refugees, the kindness of strangers, music, animals and big, big special effects. Picture-book artists have presented this story with originality and brio, from Dick Bruna and his squat, minimalist Holy Family to Julie Vivas and her realistically weary Mary. Why is it, then, that so many picture books on the more general or secular themes of Christmas lack fiber? There is nothing remotely sappy in the original story, but legions of books featuring little angels and animals at the manger or anthropomorphized Christmas trees and indefatigable drummer boys fall flat Perhaps Christmas simply provides too much material. The secular accretions of Santa Claus, figgy pudding and Suzy Snowflake are enough to make you look for inspiration in some less excessively explored holiday. Groundhog Day starts to look good. One way around this problem is to focus on something elemental. Frank McCourt's "Angela and the Baby Jesus" is built around the theme of cold. This family anecdote involves McCourt's mother as a 6-year-old deciding that the infant Jesus figurine in the Christmas crib at church must be cold in his scant loincloth, then stealing him to take home to her warm bed. Readers of McCourt's 1996 memoir, "Angela's Ashes," will remember his rare gift for entering the minds of young children. He captures the way they construct complicated plans and notions based on basic misunderstandings. He never lets his adult perception of their vulnerability get in the way of the pleasure he takes in children's complexity and sturdiness. In this small story he lets us know that Angela's kind impulse is laced with naughtiness, sibling rivalry, attention-getting and a desire to escape the position of smallest in the family. Angela is endearing, but she is not cute. A little girl makes away with precious cargo in "Angela and the Baby Jesus," by Frank McCourt. The heist itself, which involves hiding in the confession booth and throwing Jesus over a backyard wall, is masterly and lively. The only hitch in the proceedings concerns Angela's older brother Pat, who "was like a baby himself and often said foolish things even she wouldn't say." When Pat discovers Angela's secret, he announces the truth to the family: "She have God in the bed, so she do." But of course they don't initially believe him. In this, Act 2 of the drama the emotional heart of the story switches to Pat and his relationship with Angela. In Act 3, both strands, now tightly woven, come to a neat, unexpected, satisfying conclusion. The lilting cadence of McCourt's prose - "Was it having a bit of a rest you were?" "'Twas" - is matched by Raúl Colón's watercolor-and-pencil illustrations, in a limited palette of blue and ochre. We move up and down stairs and streets, but we seldom stray from Angela's viewpoint The moonlit road home from the church is so long as to seem never-ending, the backyard wall is high as high, and when the twin forces of church and state confront Angela, the priest and the policeman are so tall that the tops of their heads are cut off the page. A message McCourt never makes explicit lies in the composition of the family scenes, the rounded sculptural figures echoing the solidity, formality and closeness of the manger crib. On the way to the pageant in "Great Joy." Anticipating a crossover market, the publisher has also issued a smaller-format "adult" edition of "Angela and the Baby Jesus," with illustrations by Loren Long (Scribner, $14.95). The tale is a natural for a seasonal family read-aloud (McCourt opens for Dylan Thomas), but the Long illustrations are dark and dreary, so you might as well stick with the picture-book version. Kate DiCamillo's "Great Joy" is also a story of cold, set in 1940s America. Frances, who appears to be 8 or 9, looks out her apartment window to the street below to see an organ grinder and his monkey. She discovers that they sleep on the street and, concerned for them, invites them to her church's Christmas pageant During the play, Frances, who has the role of the angel who appears to the shepherds, chokes on her lines; but at the critical moment, when musician and monkey enter the church, she recovers, and the angelic announcement is made. Memorable picture-book texts often emerge when two stories entwine. In "Angela" the story of Pat winds around the story of the liberation of the baby Jesus, giving it strength and universality. It is Ireland in the 1910s, and it is all other times as welL In "Great Joy" the two strands of the plot - pageant and organ grinder - don't convincingly mesh, and neither has enough substance or originality on its own. To invite a homeless person to come in from the cold for a couple of hours is not a sturdy enough premise to justify the emotion the narrative seems to be asking of us. This blandness and sentimentality is mitigated somewhat by Bagram Ibatoulline's illustrations. His paintings, in acrylic gouache, portray people with very particular faces, and their gestures are meaningful and familiar. Frances stops to gather new-fallen snow on her way to church. Her mother steps gingerly on the slippery steps. He adds back-story details - a framed photograph of a man in uniform suggests a father away at war. And the concept of joy, which is not convincingly realized in the text is made manifest in a personality-filled double-page spread that follows the final words. Ibatoulline depicts the church social after the pageant. One shepherd picks his nose, the camel (front end) emerges from his costume, the monkey sits on Frances' shoulder and investigates her hair, and the organ grinder, illuminated by Old World charm, flirts with Frances' mother. Christmas books wear their messages on their sleeves. They can't help it. We allow them an extra measure of sweetness. But the demands of storytelling still apply, even in the season of marzipan. Fully realized characters, nongeneric places and voices, an acknowledgment that virtue is complicated - these are what make the message palatable and create a space for yet one more Christmas tale. Sarah Ellis is a writer and teacher in Vancouver. Her latest book is "Odd Man Out."