I love Pingo!

During a recent trip to the library, a children’s book on display made me stop in my tracks and pick it up. That children’s book is “Pingo,” written by Brandon Mull and illustrated by Brandon Dorman. The cover illustration really caught my attention and engaged my curiosity. It shows this weird little devil monkey creature that instantly brought back memories of a childhood toy called the Chicaboo. Maybe that was Brandon Dorman’s goal, to grab people’s attention by reminding them of that creepy, but cherished little plush monkey that sucked his thumb. I don’t know what it was about that toy but there was something magically endearing about him.


I think the Chicaboo may have been the inspiration for Pingo, even if it was subconscious. Taking a toy that almost everyone has forgotten, and turning it into an adorable character in a children’s book is pure genius, if you ask me. That shows that Brandon Dorman still checks in with his inner child to create something guaranteed to please kids.

In the book, Pingo is an imaginary friend. When Pingo’s real friend, Chad, decides he is too old for pretend games, he ditches Pingo, but their adventures don’t stop. Pingo becomes a possessive imaginary enemy and torments Chad until he finally agrees to be Pingo’s friend again.

After falling in love with this book, I went on Goodreads to see if everybody else loved it too. I was really surprised when I read a review, calling this book “sad and disturbing.” I would not call this book sad and disturbing. I would call “Bastard out of Carolina” by Dorothy Allison sad and disturbing. I would call “The Gulag Archipelago” by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn sad and disturbing. But “Pingo?” Certainly not.

This touchy reviewer seemed to be offended by Chad’s character as an old man. When Pingo and Chad decide to be friends again, Chad reverts to childhood and they pick up where they left off, going on more fun adventures together. This is typical in any good kids’ book. The adults are never supposed to act like adults. They are supposed to act like fun-loving, goofy kids, even if dumb adults think their portrayals are demeaning and disrespectful.

For example, think of the book “Millions and Millions of Cats,” by Wanda Gag. The old people in that book can’t decide on one cat, so they take all of them. Total kid behavior.

A child-like adult can also be found in the brilliant Pixar movie “Up.” The old man in that movie attaches balloons to his house and flies to South America. This is something only a kid or a really imaginative adult could think of.

Pingo is a charming book. It reminds me not to lose sight of what’s important, not to take life too seriously, and to love my friends unconditionally, even if they are not real.

Chad's bedroom, in one dazzling illustration, shows Brandon Mull’s other two books, “The Candy Shop War” and “Fablehaven.” I appreciate little details like that in illustrations, even if they tempt me to buy more books.

http://www.amazon.com/Pingo-Brandon-Mull/dp/1606411098/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1254021714&sr=8-1

I am NOT your matey.

Today my mom and I dressed like pirates and partook in the annual Portland pirate festival. The location was splendid, under the St John’s Bridge in Cathedral Park, but after walking around for an hour, or hobbling in my mom’s case, (her costume included a walking stick) I was bored out of my mind.

My mom parked the car a good distance from the festivities. Being first timers, we got a bit lost. I began to worry, because I didn’t see any other pirates. I wondered if this “pirate festival” was just a prank. To everyone we passed my mom shouted “Ahoy!” or “Arrr!” I was very much amused when she stopped and asked some guy in her gravelly pirate voice if he knew where the pirate festival was and he just said, “Excuse me?” I guess he doesn’t speak pirate.

Once we found it, I could relax. Hundreds of pirates were gathered around, of all shapes and sizes and ages. I was looking forward to us all beating the world record for most pirates in one place at one time.

My mom seemed more into the whole pirate thing than me and was pretty good at staying in character. Every once in a while her pirate voice took on the ring of a leprechaun impression, but the two aren’t really that far apart.

I started texting my friend once I’d seen all there was to see: lots and lots of pirates. She and her husband and two-year-old daughter were possibly going to show up to celebrate their wedding anniversary. When she told me, I thought a pirate wedding anniversary sounded much more exciting than a candlelight dinner or a romantic getaway. But after listening to people say “Arrrr!” and sing pirate songs until I wanted to make them all walk the plank, I think my friend made the right decision not to come.

My favorite part of the pirate festival was when my mom hobbled up to a guy with a real parrot on his shoulder and told him that he was covered in poop. And he sure was. I guess this guy was offended by my mom’s observation because he responded testily with, “I don’t care!” and gave my mom a dirty look. You’d think her pirate voice would have given him some impression that she was just being playful. Oh well.

My excursion to the pirate festival made me realize that pirate festivals are for a special kind of people, like pirates. I have never been a pirate enthusiast. In fact, I fell asleep in the theater while watching “Pirates of the Caribbean.” This was especially bad because I was on a date. (I hope he didn’t notice.)

Now I know that a pirate’s life is not for me. I do not want to write kids’ books about pirates, no matter how popular they are. In fact, I never want to see another pirate for as long as I live.

My mom and I bolted out of boredom right before all the pirates were herded into a closed off area for counting purposes. If you hear later that the pirate festival was two people short of making the world record, you know who to blame.

Someone loathes "Goodnight Moon"?

One book review in yesterday’s Oregonian called my blogging instincts to action. The familiar cover of Margaret Wise Brown’s “Goodnight Moon” was shown with a red line through it, like it was a “No Smoking” sign. The title, “Why I Loathe ‘Goodnight Moon’,” compelled me to read the review, since I could not understand how anyone could possibly loathe this soothing staple of children’s literature.

Eric Apalategui’s reasons for loathing “Goodnight Moon” are still unclear to me. He disapproves of the green walls and the red carpet, but is this a good reason to loathe “Goodnight Moon”? His criticism reminded me of Oscar Wilde, whose last words were, "This wallpaper and I are fighting a duel to the death. One of us has to go." But the little bunny in “Goodnight Moon” is not on his deathbed. And Eric Apalategui is not trapped in this book, nor does he have to hire the illustrator of “Goodnight Moon,” the late Clement Hurd, as his interior decorator.

Eric Apalategui then went on about the money “Goodnight Moon” makes in royalties and how this book makes more in a day than he makes in a whole month. I don’t have any grievances about the money “Goodnight Moon” rakes in. It’s not like “Goodnight Moon” is some dirty rotten crook. It’s a beloved bedtime story that has remained popular for reasons I will try to explain.

I’ll start with the colors, which the book reviewer detests. Children love bright bold colors. I know I did and I remember feeling entranced while watching “The Red Balloon.” As an adult, I am not wowed quite so easily but this book is meant to appeal to children, not Feng Shui minimalists.

The repetition is another quality young children appreciate. If they can predict the lines in the story and even memorize parts of it, children will feel proud of themselves.

The last reason I’ll give for the success of “Goodnight Moon” is that children love being read to before bed and this is a classic bedtime story. Although I don’t remember “Goodnight Moon” being one of my favorites, I am grateful for its existence. This book has shaped the tradition of reading to children before bed, a routine I always looked forward to.

When it comes to writing negative reviews of children’s books, I could rail about Madonna’s convoluted sentences or the sexism of fairy tales, in which a feeble princess waits for her prince to rescue her, but “Goodnight Moon” is just a good, simple bedtime story and I see nothing wrong with that.

A bit about me

When I was little I wanted to be an Arthur, not the anthropomorphic anteater (although I did feel a kinship with him, for his name was my aspiration.) I wanted to write and illustrate books. I’m grateful for the scads of support I received from my single mom. Childhood memories include my mom sitting at her computer or sewing machine, pumping out magazine articles or articles of clothing. I was brought up in a shanty of creativity. When my mom had company over, I’d jump at the opportunity to have an audience and read my stories aloud to them. I remember one of them asking me with forged cheeriness reserved for talking to children if I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. I shot back, “I am a writer,” offended by the crazed notion of waiting till adulthood to be a writer.

At 26, I am still the same feisty dreamer. I hold strong to the belief that I have been a writer my whole life and, despite my few publications, I am not just starting out. In the spirit of my youthful confidence and indignation, I recently disputed the condescending label of “Budding writer.”

As a writer, I am constantly budding, blooming and wilting. Writing is a mix of ups and downs, feasts and famines. Success comes in cycles. The reality of being raised by a writer has helped with dispelling any delusions I may have had otherwise.

In my blog I plan to swing through the jungle of writing and illustrating children’s books. Anything that relates to children’s books, be it reviews, stories about writing conferences, useful references or mapping my own progress, I will include. I hope my entries will be fun and informative for most readers and that my blogging experience will be a mostly blossoming one.