Muted Tones Research Articles

Frances Hodgkins’ Cataracts

As Vickie Hearnshaw and Mark Stocker have explained, the late work of Frances Hodgkins was affected by her cataracts,[i] which are very common at 70 years of age.[ii] As her cataracts progressed, her use of colour shifted to muted tones and earthy hues; her compositions were simplified, with broader brushwork and fewer details apparent.

Crafting figures to describe cellular processes

Crafting figures to describe cellular processes

Review Essay: Enduring Love in the Time of Migration and Fragmentation

Review Essay: Enduring Love in the Time of Migration and Fragmentation

A Children’s Guide to Arctic Butterflies by M. Pelletier

Pelletier, Mia. A Children’s Guide to Arctic Butterflies. Iqaluit, NU.: Inhabit Media, 2019.
 This volume is part field guide and part art book. Like many field guides, it begins with general material about butterflies: distinguishing them from moths, describing their life cycle and how they survive in winter. The remainder of the book is made up of accounts for 12 different species. Each account has a genus species name, a physical description and a habitat description, and explanations of how they fly, what the caterpillar looks like, how they winter and a “fluttering fact.” Accompanying each account are two small images of the upper and lower side of the butterfly and a full-page image of the insect in its habitat.
 The descriptions are detailed and interesting. For example, Pelletier tells us that, “Arctic butterflies can dry out all of their body tissues and freeze solid, thawing in the spring when the Arctic warms again.” The real joy of this book, however, is Danny Christopher’s illustrations. Christopher will be familiar to Inhabit Media readers as the illustrator of the Legend of the Fog and A Children’s Guide to Arctic Birds. Each full page illustration is a larger-than-life picture of a butterfly, rendered in muted tones that are lifelike, and match the environment. Christopher has replicated the natural greens, oranges and blacks of the lichen on rock. A child seeing a butterfly in the North could easily use this book to identify it.
 This is an excellent contribution to Northern children’s wildlife books. Since some of the butterflies are circumpolar, this book is recommended for all Canadian school and public libraries and for those in other Arctic countries.
 Highly recommended: 4 out of 4 starsReviewer: Sandy Campbell 
 Sandy is a Health Sciences Librarian at the University of Alberta, who has written hundreds of book reviews across many disciplines. Sandy thinks that sharing books with children is one of the greatest gifts anyone can give.

Hello, Jimmy! by Anna Walker

Reviewed by: Hello, Jimmy! by Anna Walker Natalie Berglind Walker, Anna Hello, Jimmy!; written and illus. by Anna Walker. Clarion, 2021 [40p] Trade ed. ISBN 9780358193586 $17.99 E-book ed. ISBN 9780358360902 $12.99 Reviewed from digital galleys R 4-7 yrs When Jack stays at Dad's house, the atmosphere is generally quiet, and Jack wonders if his dad gets lonely. Then Dad gets a parrot named Jimmy, who is loud and clever and well loved by Jack's father ("He can walk, he can talk, and he can even do the dishes. … He's amazing"). One night, a jealous Jack opens the window for a noisy Jimmy, who escapes. Jack ventures into the rain to seek his dad's beloved pet to no avail; when Dad finds Jack, he dejectedly shares the news that Jimmy is lost, to which Dad responds, "I am not looking for Jimmy. I am looking for Jack." This Australian import covers a topic many kids are likely to relate to—the insecurity that their parents may like something more than their own children. Walker's gentle gouache art suits the story's tone with soft textures and muted tones; viewers have much to explore in background details, from parrot food to Jack's messy closet. Kids will grasp the subtextual exploration of the complexities of part-time life with a parent, and they'll appreciate the reminder of parental love. [End Page 237] Copyright © 2021 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

Trompe l’oeil: The Art of Deception

Trompe l’oeilThe Art of Deception Kristine Somerville Click for larger view View full resolution Gregory West, Book Bag, oil on panel, 2012 [End Page 141] Click for larger view View full resolution Debra Teare (above, left to right), The Message, 1969; Domino Effect, 1969; Good Medicine, 2006 Like most children growing up during the late ’60s, I had a View- Master, a boxy red plastic stereoscope viewer. It came with a matching case to be filled with reels, thin cardboard disks each containing seven 3D color photographs. If I held the viewer up to a tabletop lamp, the cities of Europe sprang to life, the images crisp and colors sharp, as I found myself on the canals of Copenhagen, lined on both sides with colorful row houses. A click of the lever, and I looked up at Big Ben with its spire and lancet windows gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Another click, and I was among tourists gathering below the latticed girders and pillars of the Eiffel Tower. These 3D images had such a tactile realism—a simultaneous sense of space and intimacy—that I felt I could reach out and touch each landmark. Despite it all being a trick of the eye, an illusion that disappeared when I flipped off the lamp, I enjoyed the pleasure of being deceived. A similar art of deception is at the heart of trompe l’oeil (“deceive the eye”), a French phrase for paintings that attempt to trick the viewer into thinking their subjects are real rather than mere imitations of reality. The goal of the artist is to reproduce an object or scene, often a commonplace one, with enough exactitude—an almost aggressive reality—that it seems to exist in three-dimensional space. The painting’s heightened verisimilitude should prompt viewers to want to reach out and touch the composition. Trompe l’oeil shares with still-life painting an interest in the artful arrangement and careful study of objects, but its technique [End Page 142] Click for larger view View full resolution Debra Teare, Textures in Tin, 2007; Persistence-of-Vision, 2008 [End Page 143] Click for larger view View full resolution Gregory West, Top Shelf, oil on panel, 2012; Fig Newton, oil on panel, 2017 [End Page 144] Click for larger view View full resolution Gregory West, Book Ends, oil on panel, 2018 avoids interpretation beyond what is represented in the real world. Its one primary goal is the triumph of visual illusion. Trompe l’oeil’s quest for visual fidelity results in a set of well-defined rules that guide everything from style and technique to subject matter. The composition must be a life-size representation that fits perfectly in the setting for which it is intended. The painting should convey a sense of depth and dimension, with its objects standing out sharply and [End Page 145] appearing to occupy the spectator’s space. The artist creates this three- dimensional perspective by projecting objects out of the frame through hard lines, dark, intensified shadows, brilliant highlights, invisible brushstrokes, and expertly blended colors, usually a harmony of muted tones. Live figures are avoided because their appearance seldom deceives the viewer and their dress and accessories tend to date the painting. Click for larger view View full resolution Sharon Moody, Famous Beauties, oil on panel, 2005 [End Page 146] Click for larger view View full resolution Sharon Moody, Rock, Paper, Scissors, oil on canvas, 2008; Yesterday’s Heroes, oil on panel, 2015; It’s Wonder Woman, oil on panel, 2017 [End Page 147] Click for larger view View full resolution Janet Monafo, White Eggs, White Eggplants, pastel on paper, 2007 The charm of trompe l’oeil lies in its vocabulary of familiar and disorderly arranged objects. Classical statuary, shells, butterflies, snakes, and apothecary bottles are scattered among quill pens, dog-eared books, musical instruments, and other exotic curios. These treasures of various kinds are displayed projecting outward from curio cabinets, wall cupboards, and half-opened glass paneled doors or tucked away in niches [End Page 148] Click for larger view View full resolution Janet Monafo, Red Globes and Apricots, pastel on paper, 2002; Fruit and Flowers, pastel on paper, 2018...

A Lady Has the Floor: Belva Lockwood Speaks Out for Women's Rights by Kate Hannigan

Reviewed by: A Lady Has the Floor: Belva Lockwood Speaks Out for Women's Rights by Kate Hannigan Elizabeth Bush Hannigan, Kate A Lady Has the Floor: Belva Lockwood Speaks Out for Women's Rights; illus. by Alison Jay. Calkins Creek, 2018 [32p] ISBN 978-1-62979-453-2 $17.95 Reviewed from galleys Ad 7-9 yrs For an ambitious girl born in 1830 New York state, every milestone passed meant another struggle overcome. A college degree? A battle to be admitted into a men's educational system. A law degree? It took a letter to President Grant to claim the document she had already earned. The right to argue a case in any court of law? That took a five-year crusade. A run for the presidency? Good luck with that, when the all-male electorate thinks it's a hoot to dress up like women to mock your campaign. Nonetheless, Belva Ann Bennett Lockwood managed to rack up a string of women's "firsts" by storming the gates during a period in which Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Susan B. Anthony could seem somewhat passive in comparison. Not all Lockwood's accomplishments are made clear for young listeners, though, who would benefit from fuller explanation of why Lockwood could practice law but not argue before the Supreme Court, and who would also be interested in how her rising career worked in with the marriages noted in the concluding timeline. Jay eschews both caricature and portraiture in the art, quoting instead a folk-art style with elongated figures, muted tones, and a crazed finish to convey a sense of antiquity. A bibliography, sources notes, and a late nineteenth-century photograph of Lockwood are appended. [End Page 249] Copyright © 2018 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

Varieties of Inheritance: Leithauser, Kirsch, Sinclair, Allen, Sanders

Varieties of Inheritance:Leithauser, Kirsch, Sinclair, Allen, Sanders Stephen Kampa (bio) Emily Leithauser's poems forgo histrionics. With their careful, muted tones and measured progress toward quiet conclusions, they might seem too modest were it not for the soft-spoken brutality underlying some of them. In "Undertow," a speaker responsible for a younger swimmer considers options: I tell you that I'll steer us through,but something pulls and I release your palm from mine, letting the currentcomb and choke your little ribs for half a second. Then I decideto tug you up and lead us home. Granted, it's half a second, but it's the half a second most of us would prefer to forget. The preponderance of monosyllables and the tetrameter lend a certain childish, nursery-rhyme quality to these lines, but the verb "decide" is all grown up and frighteningly precise. It makes what might have been an anecdote about a startling day at the beach a moral assertion: to decide is to admit the possibility of having decided something else, something much darker than the language of the poem would otherwise suggest. The title of Leithauser's debut collection makes clear her themes: The Borrowed World acknowledges the world as an inheritance (that it is borrowed means that it has belonged, and perhaps still belongs, to someone else), and a contingent one (that it is borrowed means eventually we will have to give it back). The question of borrowing must be especially urgent for a writer who has two writers for parents, a fact Leithauser does not shy from in her acknowledgments. Faced with such predecessors, a poet has two options: to pretend as though she has sprung fully formed from some Greek egg or to accept her indebtedness and brave forward. Wisely, Leithauser chooses the latter, and her poems—though at times perhaps [End Page 302] tonally or formally reminiscent of the work of Brad Leithauser or Mary Jo Salter (and how could they not be?)—achieve their own successes on their own terms. The poems are richest in their wisdom about relationships, and if it seems as though the bulk of the book concerns familial grief or gratitude and a certain romantic restlessness, I see no problem: most of our lives are concerned with these very things. Leithauser can be unsparing: looking through photographs in "Haiku for a Divorce," she sees her parents in Tokyo, "such tourists / in marriage," and one senses in that phrase both her recognition of their newlywed naïveté and her rage at dissolution. In "Jacket," she considers the implications of the look—in more than one sense—of her mother in a dust jacket photo. … My mother has duly mastered self-willed words without a fuss. Unshelved, she's a vision on a book I browse and almost buy. The phrase "almost buy" surely pertains not only to the book, but also to the vision. Elsewhere, she remembers an unidentified "you / telling me a riddle" and imagines … we'd had a childwho waits to hear the answer,who finds a good excusenot to play close to meuntil I'm of some use. Those final lines are both canny and un-, making of the paradigm of innocence—a playing child—a study in pragmatism. Formally speaking, there are few surprises here—although "My Mother's Riddle" rhymes anagrammatically to dazzling effect ("amend" and "named" is the big payoff)—but Leithauser's poems do not aim for the surprise of novelty; they aim for the surprise of perfection. When she finishes a poem by rhyming cemetery and hard to carry, one thinks, "Exactly so." When she writes, "These past three days I've missed you comically," [End Page 303] one thinks, "Comically? Of course!" If I wished on occasion that Leithauser would let a poem off its leash, I came back to the final lines of "Instinct," a poem in which the speaker prepares herself to crush the skull of a suffering animal but can't find the animal after arming herself with a rock: I place the rock back in my purse. It's for the best— this instinct teased, and put to rest...

Dylan the Villain by K. G. Campbell (review)

Reviewed by: Dylan the Villain by K. G. Campbell Jeannette Hulick Campbell, K. G. Dylan the Villain; written and illus. by K. G. Campbell. Viking, 2016 [32p] ISBN 978-0-451-47642-5 $17.99 Reviewed from galleys R 5-7 yrs Dylan’s birth as a super-villain, complete with cobalt eye mask, comes as a surprise to his parents, Mr. and Mrs. Snivels, but once they’ve adjusted to the idea, they take pride in their son’s talents. At super-villain school, however, Dylan pales in comparison with icy, blue-haired Addison Van Malice: Dylan can’t best her costume, her evil laugh, or her nefarious inventions. However, when he hits the “launch” button on her diabolical robot suit, that sends it—and Addison—into orbit just in time for Dylan to clinch the “diabolical robot trophy.” There’s a sly hint of social commentary in Dylan’s parents’ enthusiastic over-praising of their son (and in his subsequent feelings of villain-entitlement), but Dylan’s inability to beat Addison at anything scholastic will resonate with plenty of kids who have experienced the same situation in a less villainous climate. The muted tones and soft shading of the watercolor and colored pencil illustrations give them a stylish, classic look, while judicious use of deeper and brighter hues keeps the art stimulating. Humorous details (teacher Miss Slither’s lower body is a snake tail but her human upper body dressed in a perky sweater set) will also tickle young audiences. Young fans of Disney TV’s The Descendants and kids who adore the cinematic Minions will find the villainous Dylan particularly appealing. [End Page 346] Copyright © 2016 Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

The Baby Swap by Jan Ormerod (review)

Reviewed by: The Baby Swap by Jan Ormerod Jeannette Hulick Ormerod, Jan The Baby Swap; illus. by Andrew Joyner. Little Simon, 2015 32p ISBN 978-1-4814-1914-7 $16.99 R 4-6 yrs Young Caroline Crocodile is jealous of her baby brother, so when her mother leaves the drooling baby reptile in Caroline’s care, Caroline heads to the Baby Shop in hopes of trading him in for a more satisfactory model. She first trades him for a baby panda, but when they go to a café for a snack, the panda eats his bamboo chair (and Caroline’s). Next she tries a baby elephant but a visit to a fountain ends in water everywhere and a broken fountain. Twin baby tigers seem cute but wreak havoc in the toy store. Finally she settles on swapping them back for her own baby brother, who has gained a tooth in her absence (“That is why he was dribbling!” she realizes). The premise in this Australian import of offloading an affection-usurping baby will have undeniable appeal among green-eyed older siblings. The sturdy structure of the storyline helps balance some of the situational ridiculousness, and there’s catharsis in the idea of temporarily giving away one’s sibling but reuniting in the end. Joyner’s art is a delight, with a retro sensibility (reminiscent of the work of H. A. Rey or Margaret Bloy Graham) in both the dynamic figures smudgily outlined in black and the muted tones of the coloration. Modern touches (such as a llama checking his smart phone while crossing the street) make it clear that this is the present day, however, and kids will enjoy poring over the details of the scenery. Use this to add a bit of bite to a babies-themed storytime, or pull it out to sympathetically share with an older sib once the shine has worn off that infant who’s taken over the household. Copyright © 2015 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

Malala, a Brave Girl from Pakistan; Iqbal, a Brave Boy from Pakistan by Jeanette Winter (review)

Reviewed by: Malala, a Brave Girl from Pakistan; Iqbal, a Brave Boy from Pakistan by Jeanette Winter Elizabeth Bush Winter, Jeanette Malala, a Brave Girl from Pakistan; Iqbal, a Brave Boy from Pakistan; written and illus. by Jeanette Winter. Beach Lane/Simon, 2014 40 p Trade ed. ISBN 978-1-4814-2294-9 $17.99 E-book ed. ISBN 978-1-4814-2295-6 $10.99 Ad 6–8 yrs This picture book, which features two stories linked back to back in the same volume, highlights two powerful advocates for children’s rights, each a young person of exceptional courage. Iqbal Masih, a child indentured to a carpet factory owner to secure his family’s modest debt, spoke out among fellow child laborers concerning the illegality of the Peshgi loan system and gained international attention. Known to be in the crosshairs of the carpet factory owners, he was shot to death in 1995 at age thirteen while riding his bicycle. Malala Yousafzai, an outspoken proponent of children’s right to education, was shot through the head by a Taliban fighter, was evacuated to Great Britain for treatment, and currently continues to advocate for civil rights back in Pakistan. Winter begins each story with an introductory note in prose considerably more sophisticated than the ensuing text. The two biographies share a scant forty pages, and the abridgment of the complex tales leaves notable gaps: for example, how does a child like Iqbal, who has been chained to a loom since early childhood, learn to read the public notice about the outlawed Peshgi system? Why is Malala wearing a uniform when “the brave girls of Swat Valley outwit the Taliban fighters by wearing everyday clothes to school”? Muted tones and doll-like representations of the two heroes soften the tragedy of the stories, and the inclusion of kites as symbols of freedom are used to advantage as the ghostly Iqbal and vibrant Malala exchange kites on the transition spread between stories. With Malala’s recent Nobel Peace Prize award (made after this title’s publication), this work will fill demand for material at a primary-grade level. Copyright © 2014 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

It’s Our Nature by R. Orozoco

Orozoco, Rebeca. It’s Our Nature. Illus. Menena Cottin. Toronto: Tundra Books, 2012. Print.Informative and educational, with beautiful minimalist illustrations, this book is an excellent resource for character education. The author correlates animal behaviours with values and behaviours children are learning: altruism, community, communication, generosity, responsibility, trust, commitment, solidarity, brotherhood, and tolerance.The connection implicit in the text, that animals and humans bear many similar valued traits, beautifully underlies this book. At first glance, it seems perfect for a budding biologist, but upon further exploration, it would be a wonderful book for any child. Reading the preface is a necessity to really understand the purpose of the book and the underlying message. Due to its location directly opposite the publication information, I mistook it for a dedication and skipped in on my first read.The deceivingly simple artwork is fantastic and is a perfect partner for the abundant text. The inside cover is a vibrant orange but the artist uses muted tones in the illustrations. The font and text is a little dense. While I appreciate whitespace created by grouping the text together, it does not really increase the readability in this case. Recommended: 3 out of 4 starsReviewer: Jorden SmithJorden is a Public Services Librarian in Rutherford Humanities and Social Sciences Library at the University of Alberta. She is an avid fiction reader and subscribes to Hemingway’s belief that “there is no friend as loyal as a book.”

The Dark by Lemony Snicket (review)

Reviewed by: The Dark by Lemony Snicket Jeannette Hulick, Reviewer Snicket, Lemony The Dark; illus. by Jon Klassen. Little, 2013 40p ISBN 978-0-316-18748-0 $16.99 R* 5–7 yrs The dark that fills the shadowy corners and the pitch-black basement of Laszlo’s old creaky house pays a visit to the boy in his bedroom one night. A nervous Laszlo asks what the dark wants, and it replies, “I want to show you something.” Laszlo checks the closet and behind the shower curtain, but it’s the basement where the dark wants him to go. Summoning his courage, Laszlo descends the stairs as the dark beckons him to come closer to a chest of drawers, where the boy finds a stash of glowing light bulbs the same size as the burnt-out one in his nightlight. Laszlo thanks the dark and returns to bed, visiting the basement next morning to say “Hi” to the dark; while the dark doesn’t answer, the still-open bottom drawer looks like [End Page 483] a smile, and the dark “never bothered him again.” This is an offbeat—and spookily atmospheric—approach to fear of the dark, with a creative story and high-impact artwork The limited perspective of Laszlo’s flashlight beam, shrouded around the edges in opaque blackness, allows for a pleasantly creepy build-up of suspense that is then cheerily deflated by the surprise benevolence of the dark. Klassen’s slightly retro gouache and digital art in attractive, muted tones is a perfect match for the text, with the diminutive Laszlo, clad in blue footie pajamas, a fine foil for all the matte black space lurking in doorways and behind curtains; sharp-eyed viewers will note the absence of Laszlo’s ever-present flashlight at book’s end, once he’s made peace with the dark. Kids comfortable with delicious shivers will find this an enjoyable thrill. Copyright © 2013 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

Pirates vs. Cowboys by Aaron Reynolds (review)

Reviewed by: Pirates vs. Cowboys by Aaron Reynolds Jeannette Hulick Reynolds, Aaron . Pirates vs. Cowboys; illus. by David Barneda. Knopf, 2013. [32p]. ISBN 978-0-375-85874-1 $16.99 Reviewed from galleys R 6-9 yrs. When all the usual treasure hiding spots of pirate Burnt Beard (an octopus-like creature who is "the scourge of the seven seas, the four oceans, and several lakes") are at capacity, he and his crew end up inland in Old Cheyenne, home of bison-like cowboy Black Bob McKraw, "the terror of the Old West." Since Burnt Beard can only parse in pirate and Black Bob can only communicate in cowboy, a misunderstanding soon erupts and escalates until the pirate crew and band of rustlers are on the verge of a showdown. Enter crocodilian Pegleg Highnoon, "the world's only pirate cowboy," who finds unexpected common ground between pirates and cow-boys: their stench. The over-the-top piratical and cowboy vernacular of Reynolds' narration is ripe for reading aloud ("[Black Bob's] gang of rip-roarin' rustlers were nastier than week-old chili, and twice as gassy"), and the pirates vs. cowboys theme will entertain a wide range of readers and listeners. Barneda's comical acrylic and colored pencil illustrations are a natural match for the cleverly absurd story, and illustrative details (Black Bob inexplicably has a sneering, potted cactus as one of his posse, while one member of Burnt Beard's crew appears to be a headscarf-wearing giant sea slug) provide plenty of visual humor. The dusty, muted tones of the Old West setting are attractively accented with the reds of bandannas and scarves. Read this one aloud with gusto, me hearties, for a rootin'-tootin' good time. Copyright © 2013 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

Everybody Gets the Blues (review)

Reviewed by: Everybody Gets the Blues Jeannette Hulick Staub, Leslie . Everybody Gets the Blues; illus. by R. G. Roth. Harcourt, 2012. [32p]. ISBN 978-0-15-206300-9 $16.99 Reviewed from galleys Ad 5-7 yrs. A young boy describes his changing moods, explaining that "sometimes I'm happy under the great blue sky./ Other times I cry and cry." At times like those, he is visited by "Blues Guy," who plays his horn and commiserates. The boy and Blues Guy go on to expound that "everybody gets the blues sometimes," and together they sing the blues "sweet and slow for everyone who's feeling low," until the mood passes and people cheer up. This poetic look at sad feelings has about as much substance as the pale clouds that pepper the illustrations, and while much of the text possesses a reasonably blues-like cadence, a few lines are a bit ponderous: "We sing: 'I've got the blues so bad, I want to cry, cry, cry,/ I feel so bad and mad and sad inside!'" Still, the message about the universality of occasional blues may be a useful talking point for adults and kids (flap copy states that the author, a New Orleans native, was inspired by the way people survived and rallied after Hurricane Katrina). Roth's sophisticated and stylized art, blending the handmade with the digital, uses appropriately muted tones of blues, grays, and browns. Subtle scratchy or fabric-like textures, especially in collage elements, add richness, while the blocky, angular human figures accentuate the sharpness of the bad feelings. A pleasantly retro sensibility and the pale tones keep things from becoming too depressing, however—this is blues lite—and while kids may not walk away much greater understanding of blue moods from this, it might make an attractive and useful partner to Rosen's Michael Rosen's Sad Book (BCCB 4/05). Copyright © 2012 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

Harriet Jacobs (review)

Reviewed by: Harriet Jacobs Jocelyn L. Buckner Harriet Jacobs. By Lydia R. Diamond. Directed by Jessica Thebus. Kansas City Repertory Theatre. Copaken Stage, Kansas City. 30 October 2010. Harriet Jacobs, a slave in nineteenth-century America, documented her life and the ordeal of her escape in her memoir Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl. Fleeing the torments of a lecherous, sexually obsessed master and his jealous wife by hiding for seven years in a tiny attic garret above her grandmother's house, Jacobs finally seized an opportunity to board a ship to freedom in New York. Written after her escape and published in 1861, the slave narrative became one of the most important texts of the abolitionist movement and was the inspiration for Harriet Jacobs, Lydia Diamond's newest literary adaptation for the stage. Harriet Jacobs provided artists and audiences alike the opportunity to understand the American slave experience through the live performance of one individual's journey to freedom. Seeing Jacobs's struggles embodied onstage created an intimacy and urgency to her story that is not immediately accessible in the formal language of her memoir. Kansas City Repertory Theatre director Jessica Thebus used spare yet versatile design elements, staged the act of writing to locate Jacobs's voice within and as the basis of the performance, and juxtaposed energetic ensemble scenes with quietly arresting monologues to emphasize the communal struggles and individual isolation of slavery in this dramatic representation of Jacobs's story. The spare staging echoed the bareness of Jacobs's hiding place, her bleak prospects for escape, and the stark world of slavery. Collette Pollard (set design), J. R. Lederle (lighting design), Andre Pluess (composer/sound design), and Jeffrey Cady (projection design) developed an integrated aesthetic that evoked a sense of entrapment and desperation in the world of the play: Edenton, North Carolina, 1827-32. [End Page 460] The set consisted of a large, splintery wooden structure reminiscent of a primitive slave shack. In the back wall of the set were several tall, thin windows, which opened to a scrim that was lit for dramatic effect. At the beginning and end of the performance, projected on the scrim was the title page of Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, in homage to the inspiration for the play. Throughout the performance, the scrim displayed acres of cotton and tall pine trees, defining the topography where the slaves lived and worked. Through the windows, the performers' silhouettes appeared against this backdrop during scenes of harvesting, singing, and dancing. Viewing the performers through the set's narrow windows created the impression of looking between the bars of a jail cell, symbolizing the slaves' entrapment in the system. This eerie, stylized depiction of slaves' extreme physical labor, psychological burden, and resilient humanity both allowed the audience to imagine their experiences and created an aesthetic distance to facilitate critical reflection on the institution of slavery itself. Click for larger view View full resolution Cast of Harriet Jacobs. (Photo: Don Ipock.) Other design elements also communicated the desperate circumstances of the slaves' world. Using only essential hand-props and the occasional stool to establish location and action during scenes, the slaves' labor often involved stylized pantomime (Tyrone Aiken, movement director). The all-black cast played slaves, masters, and mistresses, the latter being designated by the donning of blindingly white costume pieces like gloves, top hat, and coattails or a corset and skirt worn on top of the actors' slave costumes. These pieces stood in stark contrast to the neutral and muted tones of the set and the slaves' clothing and threw the white characters into high relief against the slaves' environment. Jeremy Floyd's multilayered costume design emphasized the arbitrary designation, social construction, and material conditions of racial identities both during Jacobs's lifetime and in our contemporary society. Diamond's script dramatizes Jacobs's documentation of her time in hiding. In this production, Jacobs's handwriting visually scrawled across the scrim, while the sound of writing aurally scratched through the air. This theatricalization emphasized the sheer volume of her writings and the passage of time. The prominent use of writing in the show highlighted Jacobs's narration of...

All's Well That Ends Well , and: The Taming of the Shrew (review)

Reviewed by: All's Well That Ends Well, and: The Taming of the Shrew Barbara Ann Lukacs All's Well That Ends Well Presented by the Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey at the F.M. Kirby Theatre at Drew University in Madison, New Jersey. September 15–October 10, 2010. Directed by Stephen Fried. Set by Bill Clarke. Costumes by Emily Pepper. Lighting by Tony Galaska. Sound by Karin Graybash. Stage management by Denise Cardarelli. With Ellen Adair (Helena), Clifton Duncan (Bertram), Clark Carmichael (Parolles), Tamara Tunie (Countess of Rossillion, Counselor to the King, Widow Capilet), John Ahlin (King of France, Lavatch, Peasant, Florentine Soldier), Robin Chadwick (Lafew, Peasant, Florentine Soldier), Izzie Steele (Rinalda, Nurse to the King, Courtier, Diana), and others The Taming of the Shrew Presented by the Shakespeare Theatre of New Jersey at the F.M. Kirby Theatre at Drew University in Madison, New Jersey. June 2–June 27, 2010. Directed by Bonnie J. Monte. Costumes by Erin Murphy. Lighting by Michael Giannitti. Sound by Karin Graybash. Stage management by Josiane M. Lemieux. With Victoria Mack (Katherina), Steve Wilson (Petruchio), James Michael Reilly (Grumio), Jack Moran (Lucentio), Jon Barker (Tranio), Joe Costa (Baptista Minola), John Seidman (Gremio), Scott Whitehurst (Hortensio), Katie Fabel (Bianca), Joel Rainwater (Biondello, Curtis), Jake Berger (Walter, Pedant, Tailor), Amanda Bailey (Sugarsop, Haberdasher, Widow), Stewart Schneck (Nathaniel, Vincentio), Matt Ogonowski (Nicholas, Servant), Katie Van Rensalier (Ralph, Servant). Director Stephen Fried's production of All's Well That Ends Well was a creative and innovative interpretation of one of Shakespeare's so-called "problem" plays. Fried chose, both for cost effectiveness and, more importantly, artistic interest and vision, to use a cast of only nine actors, thereby necessitating the doubling and tripling of roles. The exceptions were the roles of Helena, Bertram, and Parolles. Through this choice, Fried defined this production as their play. They were the centers, the axes about which the rest of the world of the play rotated, and it was the orthogonal character of their intents that resulted in the dramatic tension and action that filled the stage. Though this play is classified as a comedy, it is far darker than many of Shakespeare's other comedies and this production emphasized these aspects. The stage was lit in muted tones. There was no sunshine, only the dark of night, dim sunrises, and even dimmer sunsets. The stage properties were minimal. An ornate, dark chest and two ladder-back chairs denoted the home of the late Count Rossillion, whose influence was still felt as he looked out from a framed photograph. A feeling of intimacy [End Page 77] was conveyed by the proximity of the furniture and the actors to the audience. On a grander scale, the King's palace was created by the hoisting of an elaborate crystal chandelier that was hidden behind a black cloth and screen at the rear of the stage. Through a series of lighting effects, a rear wall of panes of glass was projected onto a black scrim and suggested the Hall of Mirrors at Versailles. The Florentine camp was evoked through the placement of a few wooden crates. These Spartan set choices made sense both in terms of budget and quick scene changes. The costuming reflected the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The soldiers' uniforms were of WWI vintage with high woolen oversocks, black boots, riding britches, and short-cropped jackets. The men at court wore white tie and tails. The gowns worn by the Countess and Helena were Victorian, with high starched collars and stiff, heavy fabrics in muted tones. This production was, at heart, a war story and the costuming and staging choices, particularly Helena's outfit, highlighted this directorial decision. Helena, dressed in a gray, ankle-length overcoat, white shirt, brown vest, long skirt, and tall boots resembled Florence Nightingale, come to do battle with and to defeat the King's infirmities. She never lost her simple, homespun outward appearance, even after she cured the King. Despite her noble deeds and bearing, she remained throughout a country girl of lower birth. Helena's costume highlighted her classical beauty, her poise, and her dignity. She was reminiscent of a battlefield nurse and resistance...

The Marshmallow Incident (review)

Reviewed by: The Marshmallow Incident Jeannette Hulick Barrett, Judi. The Marshmallow Incident; illus. by Ron Barrett and Paul Colin. Scholastic, 2009 32p. ISBN 978-0-545-04653-4 $16.99 Ad 5-8 yrs Long ago, the two towns of Right and Left (so named for the handedness of their residents) were separated by opposing philosophies and a painted yellow line; when a resident of Right accidentally crosses over the line into Left, the knights panic and launch the ammunition at hand—marshmallows—at the town of Right. Finally, after a confectionery pelting, "one of the knights realized how silly the whole thing was," and the two towns meet. The decision is made to abolish the line between them, peace, love, and marshmallows reign, and the occasion is henceforth commemorated annually in a campfire marshmallow-roasting event. Though this new work by the author of Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs (BCCB 2/79) begins promisingly, it's ultimately as fluffy and insubstantial as a marshmallow itself, as well as being rather pointless and unfocused about its fairly hackneyed message. The eradication of the yellow line is presented so suddenly and conveniently that it deflates the narrative buildup. The main appeal lies in the marshmallows and their creative uses as they are, by turns, food, ammunition, and recreational inspiration. Ron Barrett's detailed pen and ink drawings (digitally colored in muted tones by Paul Colin) effectively convey the festive faux-medieval setting. Strategic placement of marshmallows (one fallen marshmallow is made to look as though it's the tail of a rabbit, while another lands egg-like in a hen's nest) and clever signs (signs in Left bluntly state, "Righties, go home!") capitalize on the plot's humorous potential. Though this isn't as clever as it could have been, the marshmallows are diverting, and there's some seriously sweet potential for post-reading activities. Copyright © 2010 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois

Why I Came West: A Memoir

Rick Bass has been answering his title's question for a long time, but his readers will not be disappointed by this latest version. Bass has long embodied, as much as has any environmental writer, the split in energies between art and activism, the writing life and grassroots lobbying work. Perhaps that schism has unwittingly become his primary subject. Certainly, Why I Came West demonstrates Bass's now middle-aged mulling over the seemingly endless gap between his earlier life in fiction and his life working on behalf of his beloved Yaak Valley in Montana. At the end of many of his books and speeches, Bass provides advice and contact information so that readers can help lobby to preserve the remaining roadless areas in Montana's northwest corner—what in one essay he calls “Fourteen Gardens” (roadless areas of fewer than 200,000 acres). Readers familiar with Bass's work will find many familiar metaphors and images in Why I Came West, yet Bass turns out some remarkable sentences that showcase a dazzling new coinage. Why I Came West can be profitably read as a meditation on his earlier The Book of Yaak and Fiber. It chronicles the view of, and from, middle age, when the preservationist passion still burns hot but now burns more sporadically or in more muted tones.

The Man Who Lived in a Hollow Tree (review)

Reviewed by: The Man Who Lived in a Hollow Tree Hope Morrison Shelby, Anne , ad. The Man Who Lived in a Hollow Tree; illus. by Cor Hazelaar. Jackson/Atheneum, 2009 [32p]. ISBN 978-0-689-86169-7 $17.99 Reviewed from galleys Ad 5-8 yrs A carpenter named Harlan Burch, striding through the woods in search of material, comes across a giant hollow sycamore tree and decides to move in. When Harlan's very old, a unusual thing happens: he starts to grow younger. His newly limber limbs lead him to take up dancing, which leads to courting, which leads to marriage, which leads to a whole mess of kids growing up in that sycamore tree, which leads, eventually, to Harlan's death "at the grand old age of a hundred and forty-two." There's an appealing style here: the folksy tale, based, according to a note, on a story the adapter heard from her uncle, evinces an engaging rhythm and a nicely oral turn of phrase. Unfortunately, there's little plot and less conflict, and the mechanism behind the magic is unclear. Harlan's general association with trees ("His sap rose") and sustainable approach to their use suggests that the trees are giving back to him, but that's really not clear, and it still raises unanswered questions (why did his reverse aging stop when it did, and why did he eventually age again?). The paintings, rendered in acrylic on cardboard and linen, are simple and direct, with a softness in their texture and a sharpness of outline that recall cut paper. Hazelaar also incorporates tiny quilt blocks, annotated in a concluding note, into each spread, with each referencing an event relevant to that page in the story. That's a conceptually interesting dimension, but it doesn't add much to the immediate audience experience, and the muted tones and flat style distance the scenes. Kids may therefore prefer the more rollicking Appalachian folklore of Wooldridge's Wicked Jack (BCCB 12/95), but quiet young listeners may appreciate the simple magic in this gentle tale. Copyright © 2009 The Board of Trustees of the University of Illinois