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  • Posted on August 25, 2019

Nobody Hugs a Cactus

Many years ago, a former boss gave everyone on her team a cactus just before the Christmas break. It was an unusually pointy gift, and my suspicion about its inherent symbolism was confirmed a year later, when we all received knock-off Swiss army knives. Stay away – I am prickly. The fact that we already knew this about her was not the point, no pun intended. For some reason, she wanted to give us tiny versions of herself. We got the message, and we obliged.

In Nobody Hugs a Cactus by Carter Goodrich, the main character – Hank, the aforementioned succulent, is indeed, very prickly, and boy oh boy he does not want anyone or anything to come near. He is content to sit in his window perch, alone, staring out into the “hot, dry, peaceful and quiet” desert landscape.  

Hank watches suspiciously as a parade of well-meaning critters of the animal, reptile, human and tumbleweed variety pass by, all of whom try to woo Hank out of his self-imposed isolation. They are rebuffed, one by one.  

It’s a cowboy, striding in on hilariously long legs, who first suggests to Hank that he might need a hug, but then adds, “Too bad nobody hugs a cactus.”

One gets the impression that Hank may not know what a hug is, but whatever it is, he doesn’t want it, and so he doubles down on his next insult to a skittering lizard. “Just in case you’re wondering, I don’t want a hug.” The lizard is only too happy to comply. “That’s good, because I don’t want to give you one.” The tables have now turned, and it’s the visitors who reject Hank. A little hurt by the lizard’s remark, he begrudgingly offers to hug an owl, who abruptly turns him down.

For the first time, Hank feels lonely.  

We don’t always know what we need, or we do and we fear asking for it. In choosing a cactus with all its barbs and pointy spines to convey vulnerability, Goodrich is suggesting that underneath even the strongest, most impenetrable armour, there is always something soft. Something that needs attention. Lucky for Hank, in a moment of distress – amusing to the reader but not so much for Hank – he is rescued, literally and figuratively, by Rosie, a cheerful tumbleweed.

The way he thanks his new friend, by growing a flower for her, is the reason I bought this book. This illustration is so hopeful, so beautiful, so full of heart. The posture of his arm, outstretched, with “the best flower he could grow” is Goodrich at his best. He is able to convey feeling without being cloying or manipulative. His illustrations often make me laugh – and one with a jackrabbit made me laugh out loud in the bookstore – but they also make me love. Deeply. When he unveils this flower, I love Hank. And readers will love Hank. He is trying, very, very hard to make a connection. In opening up to kindness, Hank himself becomes kind.

This is not the end of the story, but suffice to say, Hank is a changed cactus.

In Nobody Hugs a Cactus, Goodrich paints the desert background in golden watercolour washes, the details diffuse, focusing instead on the wild array of characters who populate the otherwise sparse landscape. Expression, posture, emotion – this is Goodrich territory. With a deft hand and an empathetic heart, he imbues his characters, even a small, ornery cactus, with such lovableness, it is impossible not to care. This succulent may be prickly, but as Goodrich knows, it’s all surface. Bring it in, Hank.

I have long been a fan of Carter Goodrich. My entry drug was his beautiful and often politically barbed covers for the New Yorker, but it’s his trilogy of books featuring two dogs, Mister Bud and Zorro, that made me fall in love with this two-time Society of Illustrators gold medal winning illustrator. No surprise, Goodrich is also a character designer for such films as Brave, Despicable Me and Ratatouille, for which won the International Animated Film Society’s Annie Award for character design.

Nobody Hugs a Cactus by Carter Goodrich. Published by Simon & Schuster, 2019.

Check out Carter Goodrich’s website here.

Read my review of Mister Bud Wears the Cone

Read my review of Zorro Gets an Outfit

Read my review of Say Hello to Zorro!

  • Posted on December 15, 2014

The Farmer and the Clown

I was lucky enough to see some illustrations for this book earlier in the year and immediately thought The Farmer and the Clown by Marla Frazee will be the book of 2014. There have been many beautiful children’s picture books published this year, with subject matter and illustration styles so diverse, it seems ridiculous to pick a favourite. And yet, there it is, in exquisite company yes…but at the top. The Farmer and the Clown is uncluttered storytelling; no words, but huge, breathtaking heart. It is a book told entirely in pictures – a visual narrative that is simply unforgettable.

The Farmer & the Clown meets farmer

The story opens on a prairie landscape of endless, empty horizon. A white-bearded farmer in a black hat is hoeing his field, a little stooped, crows circling in the sepia sky, when a circus train rolls by in the distance. Something falls off the caboose, and as the farmer approaches the figure, he sees a tiny clown in a pointed hat. He takes the clown in hand, and off they go to his farmhouse. In full makeup, the little clown is always smiling, but once the makeup is removed, so is the smile, and the face that emerges is both young, and frightened. The clown-child is confused and sad, but the farmer does his goofy best to cheer him up. Both are alien to one another, but the strangeness soon fades as the farmer teaches the child about life on the farm. They work and play alongside each other, milking the cow, juggling eggs, and enjoying a picnic under a tree. It’s hard to say who needs who the most. The farmer is alone, and possibly lonely, and the kid is far from home and family. There is no back story – we do not know what preceeded their current states, but in the here and now, they are wondrously present for one another. The farmer’s kindness toward the little clown is returned in amiable companionship and a dose of fun that was almost certainly missing from his life. Eventually, when the circus train returns, one story ends, but another begins. At the conclusion of The Farmer and the Clown, if there is any question that their lives have been uplifted, especially the farmer’s, it is answered with the final exchange of hats. Everything is different.

Farmer & the Clown no makeup

The Farmer and the Clown goodnight

The Farmer & the Clown the train

Marla Frazee is a relatively recent addition to my circus tent of brilliant illustrators. I first became acquainted with her work in Boot & Shoe (Beach Lane, 2013), which was one of my favourite books from last year, as well as God Got a Dog (Cynthia Rylant, Beach Lane, 2013). In those books, produced in her signature prismacolour, pencil and gouache, Frazee brings an unusual energy to her illustrations, as if there is an unseen breeze wafting through the imagery. In The Farmer and the Clown, Frazee’s illustrations are stilled, quieter. The endearing characterizations are there, and the gentle humour, but the overall atmosphere is more reflective, allowing the graceful story to unfold in warm, prairie-wide vignettes. Colour is flat and minimal, perhaps a reflection of the farmer’s lackluster life, until a little clown in yellow ruffles and a red cap shows up. The Farmer and the Clown is a profoundly moving, deeply charming, and gorgeously illustrated book about kindness, acceptance, and how unexpected moments and unlikely friendships can transform lives.

Farmer & the Clown goodbye

And there it is, my favourite book of 2014.

farmer-and-clown-cover

Marla Frazee is a southern California-based author and illustrator. She was awarded a Caldecott Honor for All the World and A Couple of Boys Have the Best Week Ever. She is the author-illustrator of Roller Coaster, Walk On!, Santa Claus the World’s Number One Toy Expert, The Boss Baby, Boot & Shoe, as well as the illustrator of many other books including Mrs Biddlebox, The Seven Silly Eaters, Stars, and God Got a Dog. Marla teaches at Art Center College of Design in Pasadena, CA, has three grown sons, works in a small backyard cabin under an avocado tree, and has a dog named Toaster.

THE FARMER AND THE CLOWN by Marla Frazee. Published by Beach Lane Books, 2014

My short reviews of BOOT & SHOE and GOD GOT A DOG (click on the links and scroll down)

  • Posted on November 30, 2013

On a Snowy Night

I walk in the river valley and ravines of my city. It is my daily exercise, but more than that, it is my meditation. In the solitude and loveliness of nature, my cup runneth over. I’ve seen many miraculous things, but none that touched my heart more than an unlikely creature spotted one morning, nuzzling yellowed grass in the dead landscape of November. A small brown rabbit had taken up residence on a hill near the city’s centre. Large, sturdy-footed hares are ubiquitous in Edmonton, but this fellow was clearly domestic. Lost or abandoned, he had found a home beneath a set of stairs in full view of trail walkers like myself and the ever vigilant predatory wildlife who make their home in the river valley. I observed Brown Rabbit (pictured on the right) on numerous occasions, but after the first snow, I was surprised to find him Brown Rabbit by Donna McKinnonin his usual spot, nibbling a branch. After that, I began filling my pockets with vegetables and making strategic drops near the staircase. On good days, he would come out and feast on the bounty. Some days, usually cold days, he was nowhere to be found. I worried about Brown Rabbit, and I was not alone. Remnants of other ‘care packages’ were visible in the area, but calls to various wildlife rescue organizations proved fruitless. On the remote chance that he could be lured into a cage, no one was really interested in another abandoned domestic rabbit. “Best not to move him.” I was told.

On a blue-sky December afternoon near Christmas, I sat on the steps in the park and watched Brown Rabbit emerge from beneath the stairs, nearer to me than he’d ever previously dared. Perched on the steps just above the rabbit, the sun fiercely bright and cold on my face, I listened as he nibbled on vegetable tops and straws of timothy hay. In that moment it felt like I’d entered a state of grace with this little life. On some level, Brown Rabbit understood that I meant no harm. An animal’s trust is a gift. Once earned, it must be safeguarded.

On a Snowy Night abandonedOn a Snowy Night by Jean Little, with illustrations by Brian Deines, is the story of a broken trust. It is also a story of compassion, and unexpected friendships. When a young boy named Brandon is given a rabbit for his fifth birthday, he names her Rosa and proclaims her ‘perfect.’ For awhile, the boy is attentive, but as is often the case with children and pets, interest wanes, and Brandon begins to neglect Rosa, even forgetting to feed her. Excited by the freshly fallen snow on Christmas Eve, Brandon brings Rosa outside and inadvertently leaves her there when he runs inside to answer a call. Rosa tries to find her way back, but gets lost. The chickadees warm Rosa with their down feathers and a squirrel finds Brandon’s lost mitten (apparently this kid is easily distracted), and gently nudges the still shivering rabbit onto its woolen surface. A raccoon pops the nose off a snowman and offers Rosa the carrot. “I thought wild animals ate each other?” says Rosa. “Not on this night,” replies a hawk, who leads the rabbit back to her home, where an anxious Brandon is reunited with his lost bunny. Interestingly, Jean Little ends the story ambiguously. While Rosa is happy to be back home, she is a realist (if rabbits can be realists.) On a snowy night, on Christmas Eve, kindness and friendship may be found in unlikely places.

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