GEORGE PLIMPTON: THE LOST PICTURE BOOK

YOUNG BOY: But there are more things I want to know. I want to know about the rabbit with the umbrella.

GEORGE PLIMPTON DID LITTLE to appease that young boy in the epilogue to his children's novel The Rabbit's Umbrella (1955). (See my previous post here.) There were suggestions and insinuations, but really at best what the reader got was a wink. "Life is full of mysteries, and it's nice to have a mystery that is a rabbit with an umbrella."

But in 1989, future Oregon poet laureate Lawson Inada hoped to grant children access to Plimpton's umbrellaed rabbit community. Lawson had co-founded Kids Matter in 1986 with David Zaslow, a publishing and recording company that primarily offered modernized versions of traditional Mother Goose rhymes and fairy tales.

He hoped to add The Rabbit's Umbrella to the Kids Matter list, and adapted a portion of Plimpton's epilogue into a picture book script intended for younger readers.

"I want you to know about rabbits with umbrellas, let me tell you about them."

At the time, Inada taught creative writing at Southern Oregon University. He approached one of his students, Nancy Bright, who was also an artist and asked her to illustrate the book, which she did.

"And where are these rabbits to be found?"

"Skipping about behind closed doors...And hopping through the magical dreams of tabby cats."

It's not clear why the book reached the completed art stage, but was never published. And it's not clear to what extent George Plimpton was involved with the project. Perhaps when he was informed of it, he disapproved. In any case, even though the book is listed in some library records, The Rabbit's Umbrella by George Plimpton, adapted by Lawson Inada with illustrations by Nancy Bright never saw print. But...

"If you want to know about squirrels with small pianos...and mice skating on frozen lakes...I'll tell you about them..."

Thank you to Nancy Bright, for dusting off this beautiful artwork and giving me the opportunity to at last let it be seen. For more of Ms. Bright's art for The Rabbit's Umbrella, see my Flickr set here. And for more bunnies and other art besides, visit her website Bright Creations Art.

"Good night, young child, good night."

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ILONKA KARASZ WRAP UP: THE TWELVE DAYS OF CHRISTMAS AND PHYLLIS MCGINLEY'S MERRY CHRISTMAS, HAPPY NEW YEAR

LAST WEEK I WROTE about William Maxwell's children's book The Heavenly Tenants illustrated by Ilonka Karasz, and also discussed Ilonka Karasz's work as a mapmaker. Karasz's career is so broad and prolific an entire blog could be dedicated to it. For now, as I've previously mentioned, the best overview of her career can be found in Enchanting Modern: Ilonka Karasz by Ashley Callahan. I want to take this opportunity to highlight two additional books illustrated by Karasz, both inadvertently about Christmas: The Twelve Days of Christmas and Merry Christmas, Happy New Year by Phyllis McGinley.

From The New York Times review by Ellen Lewis Buell:

One of the most beautiful books of the year is "The Twelve Days of Christmas." Here Ilonka Karasz has set the verses of that lovely old carol against twelve pictures which combine modern technique with the exuberance of the medieval tradition...It is a miracle of design and imagination.

Karasz chose to include The Twelve Days of Christmas in the annual exhibition held by the Book Jacket Designers Guild in 1949. And the American Institute of Graphic Arts (AIGA) selected it that year as one of the "Fifty Books of the Year."

To see the rest of the art for The Twelve Days of Christmas visit my Flickr set here.

PHYLLIS MCGINLEY (1905-1978) was a children's author and poet considered one of the best American writers of light verse in the twentieth century, on par with Ogden Nash and Dorothy Parker. Her poems appeared in The New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, Good Housekeeping, The Saturday Evening Post, and many others. Her 1949 children's book All Around the Town illustrated by Helen Stone was a Caldecott Honor book, and her 1957 children's book The Year Without a Santa Claus inspired the 1974 TV classic of the same name. She won the Pulitzer Prize in 1961 for Times Three: Selected Verse from Three Decades. And she appeared on the cover of the June 18, 1965 issue of Time magazine where it was said that

Phyllis McGinley's appeal can best be measured by the fact that today, almost by inadvertence, she finds herself the sturdiest exponent of the glory of housewifery, standing almost alone against a rising chorus of voices summoning women away from the hearth.

(She also accepts an invitation to The White House by President Lyndon Johnson in the same article.)

In 1958, Phyllis McGinley released a collection of her Christmas poems (and one essay about New Year's) as Merry Christmas, Happy New Year with decorations by Ilonka Karasz.

In the first poem in the book (after the brilliant Greeting Card for Bibliophiles), McGinley turns her wry sense of humor to the twelve days of Christmas, giving Karasz an opportunity to revisit the same material from her own Christmas book.

For the rest of the art from Merry Christmas, Happy New Year (and especially to read the aforementioned Greeting Card for Bibliophiles), see my Flickr set here.

AND TO WRAP UP my discussion of Ilonka Karasz, as is inevitable in any discussion of Ilonka Karasz, I present some New Yorker covers.

First, an instance of personal plagiarism:

Karasz's 1946 cover for The Heavenly Tenants.

September 20, 1947

March 28, 1953

And while we're on convergences, a wholly accidental children's book convergence:

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WILLIAM MAXWELL: MRS. DONALD'S DOG BUN AND HIS HOME AWAY FROM HOME

FOR ALL THE FANFARE that met William Maxwell's first children's book The Heavenly Tenants, his second children's book Mrs. Donald's Dog Bun and His Home Away from Home (1995) appears to have made no mark at all. None of the major newspapers reviewed it. His own New Yorker did not review it. The first biography of Maxwell, William Maxwell: A Literary Life by Barbara A. Burkhardt does not mention it once.

The book is illustrated by the great James Stevenson, who has contributed over two thousand cartoons to The New Yorker and written and/or illustrated over one hundred books for children. (I particularly like Could Be Worse.) But Stevenson maintains a reclusive shroud around his personal life, and so, no light can be shed on Mrs. Donald's Dog Bun through that channel.

The only personal tidbit available is the dedication: "For Bun's faithful friend E.G.M., without whom this book would be nowhere." "E.G.M." is Emily Gilman Maxwell, Maxwell's wife of fifty-five years. (They were so committed to each other that they died of natural causes within a week of one another.) For many years, Maxwell wrote a series of fairy tales, which he called "improvisations," for his wife, stories that he would tell her before they went to sleep at night. But Mrs. Donald's Dog Bun is not a once-upon-a-time story. Rather, it's a humorous, cozy story about a dog who is not quite a dog, but is definitely not a person.

"THE DOG THAT BELONGED to Dr. and Mrs. Donald was named Bun, and he was partly Boston bull, partly sheepdog, and partly Labrador retriever, so he was very sensitive to remarks about his appearance." Bun lives in a nice house where "the bones that came from their table were worth waiting for," but he is forced to sleep on an old piece of carpeting in a much-traveled hallway. Bun, for all of his comforts, dreams of one day having a house all his own.


And then, the movers arrive. The Donalds are moving--not far away--but to a "new house [that] was larger and more comfortable than the old one."

More importantly, there's a little house out back "made of two upright piano boxes nailed together." It had been a child's playhouse, but Bun immediately sees its potential. He sets out to restore the house. He repairs the roof, paints the shutters and the trim and the floor and the walls, and buries some bones in the yard "just to make the place seem lived in."








No sooner has he finished then the local dogs come by to see the new neighbor and examine his luxurious doghouse. A cocker spaniel and an Airedale, a poodle and an Irish terrier, and those dogs' friends and friends of those dogs' friends.

"That made lots of dogs, and there was something about the Irish terrier that the Airedale just couldn't stand, and the Irish terrier felt the same way about the Airedale, and the first thing Bun knew there was a dogfight going on right there in his own front yard."

Mrs. Donald douses the combatants, and the dogs agree to a truce. As long as they agree to be peaceful they are welcome at Bun's house. And they take great advantage of Bun's welcome.

Soon Bun is forced out of his own home. Someone else sits in his favorite chair. There's no room for him inside when the weather is nasty. Bun's home away from home just isn't that homelike. So...

He padlocks the house, puts out a sign that reads "to let" and moves back in with the Donalds. "'Why, Bun!' [Mrs. Donald] exclaimed. 'This is a surprise...Yes, yes, of course, and we've missed you too.'" Bun trots to the back hall and finds his old familiar piece of worn out rug, and lays down content.

MRS. DONALD'S DOG BUN AND HIS HOME AWAY FROM HOME does not make clear why the primary downside of having your own home is that other people come and live in it. (After all, couldn't Bun just padlock the door for the doghouse from the inside, and have everything he wants?) But Maxwell's quiet humor matched with Stevenson's dogs provides a wry chuckle for dog lovers.

Still, in many ways, one of James Stevenson's cartoons for The New Yorker, which predates Mrs. Donald's Dog by only a few years, sums up Bun's problem--perhaps all dog's problems-- in a more succinct fashion.

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ILONKA KARASZ: CARTOGRAPHER

EXACTLY ONE YEAR AFTER HER DEATH, the Greenwich Village gallery Fifty/50 staged a solo show of work by the modernist designer and illustrator Ilonka Karasz. In the New York Times article on the show, Karasz's versatility was highlighted.

...very few designers had such breadth in 1912, when Miss Karasz's career began, according to Ralph Cutler, the gallery's co-owner.
     "I had a guy who collects her ceramics and didn't know she did magazine art," Mr. Cutler said. "Another woman knew her as The New Yorker's most well-known cover artist, and had no idea she did anything else."

Karasz did more than anything else. She designed textiles, wallpaper, wrapping paper, furniture, nurseries, tea sets, china plates, and book jackets. She illustrated books and magazine covers. She practiced interior design and painted. She co-founded the Society of Modern Art, a collective of European-born American Artists, and provided many of the illustrations for the Society's arts journal Modern Art Collector. She appeared in Vanity Fair, House Beautiful, and countless art magazines. She was an immigrant (born and educated in Hungary), a mother of two children, and an important player in introducing European modernism in the United States. And as Ralph Cutler said in The New York Times, "Her success is more remarkable because she worked in a time when few women were designing..."

Another skill, rarely talked about, was Ilonka Karasz's cartography. On numerous occasions, her work as an illustrator called for her to draft maps, always with illuminations and her distinctive style.

The Outline of Man's Knowledge: The Story of History, Science, Literature, Art, Religion, Philosophy (1927) by Clement Wood was illustrated by Louis Bromberg. But its maps, depicting three stages in world history, were by Ilonka Karasz.

As were the four-color endpapers for the 1944 My Unconsidered Judgment by Noel F. Busch, which credits Karasz with "Decorations in line" even though the maps were her only contribution to what is otherwise a book without illustrations.

In her wallpapers, Karasz believed that decorative designs should be two-dimensional; they should not try to introduce depth to a room. She carries this adherence to two-dimensional design in her maps, rendering the illuminations for the maps in My Unconsidered Judgment as mere silhouettes, so as not to detract from the overall flatness (they are in a book afterall) of the composition.

In addition to books, Karasz also did large scale maps, such as this stunning Plan de Paris.

But the book for which she prepared perhaps the greatest number of maps is New York: Not So Little and Not So Old (1926) by Sarah M. Lockwood.

From the front cover to the endpapers...

and throughout the book...

Karasz's distinctive maps blend perfectly with her woodblock illustrations.

And her proclivity for maps combines directly with her illustration in her most famous work, the covers of The New Yorker.

Background information on Ilonka Karasz's life and widespread art career comes from the only book length study of her work Enchanting Modern: Ilonka Karasz by Ashley Callahan, which, however, makes no mention of Karasz's maps.

To see all of the illustrations from New York: Not So Little and Not So Old, visit my Flickr set here. Don't miss Karasz's rendition of the Jolly Roger, the stocks and noose, and the Flatiron Building.

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WILLIAM MAXWELL: THE HEAVENLY TENANTS

WHEN KATHERINE WHITE, first fiction editor at The New Yorker and wife to essayist and children's author E.B. White, did her annual round up of children's books in the December 7, 1946 issue of the magazine, she wrote:

THE HEAVENLY TENANTS, by William Maxwell, illustrated by Ilonka Karasz (Harper). Wholly mater-of-fact children may be unable to sense the rare quality of this book, but imaginative ones will like it. It is to be recommended, too, to adults, for the distinction of its writing and its illustrations....The author's compound of realism, humanity, humor, and fantasy is unique, and the artist and publishers have designed a book of unusual beauty.

She did not mention that William Maxwell had been working at The New Yorker as an associate editor of fiction for ten years, or that Ilonka Karasz had illustrated nearly one hundred of the magazine's covers. (Maxwell's total tenure as a New Yorker fiction editor would last forty years, and Karasz's final tally of covers would reach 187.) During his career as an editor, Maxwell edited and often mentored a list of writers that includes J.D. Salinger, Vladimir Nabokov, John Updike, John Cheever, Isaac Bashevis Singer, Eudora Welty, Mavis Gallant, and Frank O'Connor. At the same time, he wrote acclaimed novels such as They Came Like Swallows (1937) and So Long, See You Tomorrow (1980), which received the William Dean Howells Medal for the best work of fiction in the preceding five years. And twice, in 1946 and much later in 1995, he wrote books for children. His first was The Heavenly Tenants.

 "THE MARVELLS WERE GOING to Virginia to visit the children's grandmother." Mrs. Marvell runs about the house, frantic to get the whole family--Mr. Marvell, eleven-year-old Roger, eight-year-old Heather, and the five-year-old twins Tom and Tim--ready for the three-week trip. Mr. Marvell, an unusually inquisitive farmer with academic inclinations, takes the children out to the field just as the sky grows dark in order to share his newest interest: the stars.

"'The zodiac is a beautiful broad region in the sky,' Mr. Marvell said, 'a pathway that the sun travels in the daytime and the moon and the planets at night.'" He points out the constellations and gives a basic lecture: their origin as navigation aids for shepherds and farmers, their names, and their order.

After their lesson, the children go to bed, everything prepared for their trip in the morning. When they rise, their hired man August has not arrived to do the morning chores. The Marvells tend to the farm and then leave. Just as they pull out of the drive, Mr. Marvell sees August down the road and is reassured that the farm will be taken care of. Only it's not August, who is laid up with his sciatica. And there is nobody to look after the farm.

They arrive in Virginia, and everything is as it should be at Grandma's. As soon as night falls, Mr. Marvell retrieves the telescope from the attic, and the family heads outside for another lesson. This time, Mr. Marvell regales his children with a story.

"'Once upon a time there was a man who borrowed a ladder from his next-door neighbor to clean his well.'" From the bottom of the well, the man learns that the stars are out even during the daytime. He spends months down the well, using the narrow view as an asset to study the sky in detail. Eventually, when the man is away learning more about astrology from a schoolteacher, the man's wife goes down the well to do the cleaning her husband has neglected to do. Just then, the neighbor comes to retrieve his ladder, leaving the woman stranded in the well. At last, her husband rescues her, and once she is wrapped and warm in bed, he teaches her about the astrologers of old.

Mr. Marvell then informs the children that Roger was born under Sagittarius--the Archer--and Tim and Tom under Gemini--the twins. Heather wonders if the people of the zodiac are like the family. Then Mr. Marvell notices something funny. The constellations seem to be missing.

At home, the neighbors have noticed something odd at the Marvells' vacant farm: a faint glow emanates from the place at night. The whole town comes to investigate. The firemen rush to the farm, but there is no fire, just a glow. The town wonders about it until "one of Art Anaker's geese was found dead right in the barnyard," at which point they are more concerned with "what kind of an animal killed it..."

"After two weeks August's hip still bothered him, but he grew tired of sitting in a rocking chair, and wondered who was looking after the Marvells' house and animals." He goes to the farm where he finds two glowing fish in a nearby stream, a young archer, who looks much like Roger, two little boys who "almost [could] have been Tom and Tim," a man with a crab in one pail and a scorpion in another. "He had about decided to go when a little girl about Heather Marvell's age came out of the house..." She goes to pick flowers that have grown in droves along the river. Flowers August has never seen before.

At just three weeks, the neighbors notice the glow at the Marvells' has disappeared. The Marvells come home late at night. "Tired though Mr. Marvell was, he went outside to look at the stars." The constellations have returned to the sky. In the morning, the family finds the farm in better than good condition. Everything is like new with odd sparks bursting like an aura around every object. Soon it fades away, and the family concludes "'sparks or no sparks, it's nice to be home.'"

AT THE OPENING TO THE ANNUAL EXHIBIT OF HOLIDAY GIFT SUGGESTIONS at the New York Public Library, William Maxwell and Ilonka Karasz both spoke about their featured book. Maxwell's speech may have featured the story he included in his author's bio at the end of The Heavenly Tenants:

THE HEAVENLY TENANTS is [Maxwell's] first book for children and owes its existence partly to a spell of homesickness on the island of Martinique. To pass the time while waiting for a boat to take him away from that romatic place, he walked along the sea shore night after night, watching the bright stars and recalling every detail of the Wisconsin farm with love and longing. Years later, when Ilonka Karasz showed him a drawing she had made of the spring equinox, he remembered the equatorial stars and his homesickness, and the two of them, collaborating closely, did this book about the zodiac in Wisconsin.

Harper must have felt strongly about the book's potential, featuring it in advertisements in the New York Times with other now classics The Little Fur Family by Margaret Wise Brown and Garth Williams, Pretzel and the Puppies, by the creators of Curious George Margaret and H.A. Rey, and other established greats such as Ruth Krauss, Meindert Dejong, and Marc Simont.

This support was either justified by (or paved the way to) Maxwell's reception of a Newbery Honor the following year for his first outing as a children's author.

A modern reader has to wonder at the buzz and accolades heaped on The Heavenly Tenants. Or rather, he can see clearly that it was a political celebration of two well-regarded and well-connected artists. The book is bogged down by Mr. Marvell's didactic lectures and the absolute lack of conflict. The reason for the constellations' visit is wholly unexplained, and the ending is unsatisfactory. Still, Maxwell's evocation of his childhood love of astronomy, like all of Maxwell's fiction, carries with it a tender warmth and a careful eye for nature that any fan would recognize.

To see all of Ilonka Karasz's excellent illuminations for The Heavenly Tenants (and especially the two color endpapers and title page), see my Flickr set here. Tomorrow I will feature more of her work as a book illustrator, just one facet of a career that involved painting, designing china, textiles, wall paper, and furniture.


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