children’s books – [art]seen

Truth be told, across all societal provocations, nothing makes me want to take flight faster than a sniffly horde of fruit-juice-charged youth excitedly tugging at their weary caretakers’ outwear. Yet for the sake of reviewing Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! (The Musical!) from the most irrelevant age bracket’s perspective, I was ready to face even the most high fructose children of Ann Arbor.

Family engagement is a major part of most forms of educational entertainment fed to American children, and this show was no exception. Prior to the show, the Michigan Theater compiled a fun guide to facilitate viewers’ interaction during the performance that included detachable finger puppets and a musical cues document. Also, before the puppets took the stage by storm, an enthusiastic man led the audience in a collective warm up dance that had entire families jumping up and down in anticipation for the pigeon-ness that was to follow.

Mo Willems’ original children’s book series for Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! has a minimalist aesthetic – most pages consist of one subject, most memorably the blue feathered protagonist, and a stylized speech bubble containing expressive text. However, director Jerry Whiddon and the show’s set designers went beyond Willems’ original minimalist aesthetic and transformed the stage into a colorful and flashy puppet world in which the sounds of a bus sputtering are personified into 30-second-long gibberish monologues. My favorite set elements were the two dynamic mini doors framing the main scene; actors would occasionally pop out of its segments to deliver funny additions to the musical number. Besides the wonderful gibberish bits and intense hot-dog eating noises, the performers shone with Jessica Hartman’s playful choreography with each musical number.

As far as the narrative goes, little bits and pieces of the performance triggered vague memories from my childhood experience with Willems’ works. In the original picture books, the Pigeon puts forth countless attempts to convince the reader to let them drive the bus. This component is often credited as a great introduction to teaching kids philosophical topics like the moral implications of giving into persuasion or viewing punishment and disappointment through new perspectives. In comparison, the musical adaptation seemed to capitalize on the concept of ‘finding oneself’, or one’s purpose, and the overall process of growing up – as told through the perspective of a wide-eyed periwinkle-colored pigeon. Indeed, Willems’ writing even suggested that the Pigeon was undergoing an existential crisis, which would shed light on much of the erratic behavior exhibited by the main puppet. The Pigeon’s bumpy journey from under-appreciated bird to important bus-driver’s assistant is reminiscent of many cartoonish underdog characters who discover their purpose within the universe’s workings near the story’s resolution, like Rudolph, Wilbur the pig, or James and his giant peach. Because it is a universally ideal human experience, especially for children and confused adolescents, this approach comes across as heartfelt and fulfilling in ending.

For someone who never meant to be an artist or a writer, Chris van Allsburg has fallen into one giant success story of a career. With over 20 children’s books, including Caldecott Medal Winners ‘Jumanji’ and ‘The Polar Express’, Chris has undoubtedly one of the most magical voices in the literature world.

Sitting in the newly debuted second floor of the Literati Bookstore, I waited, buzzing with excitement, along with other fans, both young and old. A clean-cut man, with just a smattering of white hair trimmed carefully around his head and square black glasses, appeared behind the podium. He looked just like someone you would want writing your child’s stories.

“Well, let’s begin,” he said. Somehow, his almost solemn, dry humor could still light up the room, like the headlights of the Polar Express itself. Chris, a U-M graduate, told us his story about how in the good ole days, if you wanted to go to a university, you simply had an interview, brought in your high school transcript, and by the end of the talk, you knew if you were in or not. The college-age kids, including myself, let out a collective envious groan. Chris went into his U-M interview with his choice of school unmarked. With only his fingerprinting, model-building skills from 12 years ago to keep him afloat at college, he pressed on and said that he wanted to pursue Art and Design.

What began as a career in Sculpting (which he still does privately today), Chris fell into the publishing world when his wife showed his personal sketches to a children’s publishing house. They loved his work, and wanted him to illustrate their story ideas. But Chris refused to illustrate “stories about Duck’s first day of school.” He prefers to draw his own original drawings.

He went on to explain his style of “cognitive dissonance,” and showed us slides of his early drawings. A chair floating in the middle of an ocean.

How did the chair get there? Did it fall off a ship? Is it close to shore? How long has it been there? Is it missing a leg? “Cognitive dissonance” can be defined as the uncomfortable tension that occurs when two conflicting images are unexpectedly juxtaposed. Chris is drawn to this psychological phenomenon, which explains why such strange things happen in his unconventional stories. Rhinos stampede through a perfectly plain house? Cognitive dissonance. A locomotive train hisses through a sleepy suburb street to transport a boy to the North Pole? Cognitive dissonance.

Chris van Allsburg is never afraid of the new. He’s expanded his oeuvre to include a children’s non-fiction biography, called “Queen of the Falls,” about Annie Edson Taylor, the 62-year-old woman who was the first person to survive riding down Niagara Falls in a barrel. He has also written a book called “Bad Day at Riverbend” which questions the feelings of coloring book characters. Do they disdain the fact that one day, their entire blank world will be covered with a waxy colorful goo? It’s questions like these that give children the opportunity to grow and think about the world in a different way.

The actual purpose of van Allsburg’s reading was to promote his newest book, “The Misadventures of Sweetie Pie,” which follows the almost fatal escape of a hamster back to his place in the wilderness. I found the book a little disappointing in comparison to his older tales. Perhaps it was the absence of cognitive dissonance that did it. In some ways, writing about a hamster who feels lonely in his cage at school seemed just like the “duck’s first day of school” plotline line that Chris had rejected in the past. But I suppose it was worth a try.

Nevertheless, I think that Chris van Allsburg is an inspiration to all aspiring artists and storytellers alike. In an age when every day, we students are forced to think about our future and our career, van Allsburg is proof that ‘doing what you love and what you’re good at’ will get you where you need to be. When in doubt, just listen for the jingle of a sleigh bell…and keep faith.

Tag: children’s books

REVIEW: Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus!

REVIEW: Chris van Allsburg at Literati Bookstore