I went to one of my favorite Toronto indie children’s bookstores yesterday–Mable’s Fables–and bought myself two picture books as treats: The Umbrella by Ingrid & Dieter Schubert–a beautiful, imaginative, wordless picture book of a dog that goes on a journey through an umbrella, and When a Dragon Moves Inby Jodi Moore, illustrated by Howard McWilliam, of a boy who has a dragon move into his sandcastle and no one believes him, but he has a lot of fun with the dragon any way. The only thing I’d change in that last book is the teasing of his sister, though I guess that’s what siblings do. Both books made me feel good to read; they both sparked my imagination, and made me feel hopeful.
I buy myself picture books as treats. Not only for the incredible artwork that lies between the pages, and the masterfully told stories, but also for the joy, the hopefulness, the encouragement, the hugely wonderful flights of imagination. Picture books made me feel good, period. Of course, I like to choose carefully, make sure that the story fits me, the text is well written, the illustrations beautiful–but when they do, picture books feel like treasure to me.
Do you buy yourself picture books? Or buy them for someone you love? Do you like to read them?