You're *not* the centre of the universe

From the great xkcd, puzzled that an older civilisation would have got naming rights for much of the world, and understandably puzzled by using relative locations.

(And for those in the northern hemisphere, please also learn 'north' does not = 'up'.)

James

Curl House

Both Bev and I very much enjoyed being shown the architecture of the San Francisco Bay area by Mike and Ania. This one - I think in the Alameda area - gets a special vote.

While the slight weathering and peeling paint could be seen to detract from the design, in a country that over-values neat newness and (sometimes) undervalues architectural originality in vernacular architecture, it provides a different balance.

It's also interesting how the house changes its look even in such two close viewpoints.

James

Mumm

What's better than one glass of champagne?

Several, of course. Thanks to Mike and Ania, we were able to sample the wares of Mumm in California, and it was rather nice.

Welcome to San Francisco!

We've returned from a pretty intense trip through New Zealand and North America, and only now are we getting to stuff like the blogs. Watch this space though, there's lots to come.

With an amazing array of neat and cool stuff throughout, what could be a better start than the magnificent hat we saw in San Francisco's International airport. It is, of course, from the San Francisco institution Beach Blanket Babylon. Why is it in the airport? Well for a start this is an airport with several art galleries and a aviation history museum, and secondly, it's in honour of an anniversary:

"In honor of Beach Blanket Babylon's 35th Anniversary, the San Francisco Airport is presenting a display of various hats that have appeared in the show throughout the years. At San Francisco International you will find the 25th Anniversary Skyline Hat, which was first presented at the Herbst Theatre in 1999. This lavish hat, which was part of our Silver Anniversary finale, paid tribute to Steve Silver. The hat is 15 feet wide, 10 feet deep and grew to 29 feet tall. At 300 pounds, the brim alone required 60 yards of taffeta and 200 ostrich feathers."

From Jo Silver's blog here.

This was just one of the magnificent and over the top things we got to see in an all too brief stay in San Francisco - most guided by our hosts Mike and Ania.

Some hat.

Sky yacht

High observation deck?


Thanks to the photo archives at LIFE magazine, another period post on my Vintage Aero Writer blog. Pop over for a look at a unique yacht and an early example of the bikini.

James

Ghosts of Christmases Past

Lake Okanagan, -25 degrees C (-13 F).

Maryborough, Victoria, Australia. 25 degrees C (77 F) at night.

Montecito, California.

Why kids' books are important

I would say that children's books are the most consistently under-rated type of book. A moment's thought would indicate how powerful an effect they can have, and most of us will remember certain childhood books in ways 'more important' literature fails to stick as it drains from the memory. A successful children's book will achieve classic status in a way few other books ever can.


Recently, I was making a list of the greats in kids books. To make it harder, I had to pick just one from each country I could think of. Some were shoo-ins, others fought hard to squeeze into the niche. And then there are those that were the result of a multi-national background. I was aware that Eric Carle's The Very Hungry Caterpillar was from a German-American, and so much of what it is comes from his background, but I didn't realise how much of it. This recent Guardian interview (well worth reading in total) takes us through the story behind the story. And it's an amazing one.

Carle, like many who have seen the worst in the world (he was forced to dig the Sigfried Line as a 15 year old, with people dying around him) appreciates the motivation deprivation gives, something the affluent don't have. Like many authors his work comes, in part, from his old environment;

For his first six years, Carle lived in upstate New York with his parents, who had emigrated from Germany. In the mid-30s his mother, homesick, took the family back to Stuttgart at a time when everyone was trying to move the other way. War broke out, his father was drafted into the German army and spent eight years as a prisoner of the Russians. Before the war, he had been his son's great ally, a gentle man, an amateur artist. When he came back, he was broken. Carle turns over the memories of this period slowly. He is very careful to get things right.

His mother was supportive of her son's love of art - "in awe" of it, in fact - but was in other ways a rather distant figure. She was not a "warm" individual. "She was a good mother. But ... I hate to say this... I loved her, she was responsible, she was good ... But I don't have this feeling which I have towards my father, as something incredibly deep. When I was little, from the beginning, he read the funny papers to me, told me stories, drew pictures, went for walks. Telling stories and walking and stopping and looking; nothing terribly important. But that has been so important in my life. The older I get, the more I know that's so true."

Carle was 10 when his father left for the army and 18 when he came back, "this sick man. Psychologically, physically devastated." Did he try to coax him back to his old self? "We didn't talk any more much. Only superficial things. I had other interests. I was in art school, an artist. I was interested in women." He puffs out his chest in parody of his 18-year-old self. "This old man, coming from Russia, we got along without you." That's pretty much how it felt, he says. "It's so sad."

And art, as so often was important - perverted for power or (as the Nazis had it) 'degenerate':

The other seminal figure in his childhood was Herr Kraus, his high school art teacher, who at great personal risk noticed Carle's talent and invited him to his house to look at banned art; in Carle's memory, it was Klee, Matisse and Picasso, but he can't be sure. Anyway, it was expressionist and it made a profound impression on him. "I didn't have the slightest idea that something like that existed, because I was used to art being flag-waving, gun-toting Aryans - super-realistic Aryan farmers, the women with their brute arms. That was art. Of course. That was a shock."

Eric Carle. Photograph: Maggie Steber, via The Guardian.

As ever, the involvement of others than the author was critical; and discipline in content another critical factor:

The Very Hungry Caterpillar was initially conceived of by Carle as a hungry bookworm, eating its way through the pages. His long-time editor, Ann Beneduce, wasn't sure about a worm as a central character and suggested a caterpillar. "Butterfly!" exclaimed Carle, and so it was born.

"I often joke," he says, "that with a novel you start out with a 35-word idea and you build out to 35,000 words. With a children's book you have a 35,000-word idea and you reduce it to 35. That's an exaggeration, but that's what's taking place with picture books."

It's easy to project meanings into these books. As vehicles for acorn imaginations, they can be a lot of things. Adults, as ever, can be pretty crude.

The book's success has spawned a lot of crank interpretations. It has been described as an allegory of both Christianity and capitalism. "Right after the Wall fell, I was signing books in the former East Germany and was invited by a group of young librarians to have lunch with them. One said the caterpillar is capitalist, he eats into every food one little bit and then the food rots away. Wasteful capitalist. Interesting. I think that if you're indoctrinated, that's how you will see it."

As a kid myself, I was never a fan of The Very Hungry Caterpillar; my graphic requirements from books were always more stringent than the rough-edged collage of Carle. I may not have been a fan, but I can certainly respect the achievement. It remains a justified best-seller.

But the story makes the best-seller for lots of reasons; one key one, according to Carle (here on the Penguin Books website) makes a lot of sense to me:

The success of my books, I think is also due to their emotional impact. Caterpillar, for instance, is a book of hope. It says that you too - an ugly, little thing - will open your wings and fly. Kids who are insecure and young identify with that."

Insecurity? They know that the future is unwritten, and who knows what current activities will help them in the future. Perhaps they are just more realistic about life's potential.

James