Hanukkah in Alaska

How long has it been since one of the big New York houses published a picture book by an Alaskan? (If you know the answer, please share!) A drum roll and congratulations to Barbara Brown, whose Hanukkah in Alaska, illustrated by Stacy Schuett, recently came out with Henry Holt, “publishers since 1866.”

Brown tells the story of a young girl and the neighborhood moose that worries her. You know that critter – hanging out in your yard, chomping your trees, sleeping between you and your car during a deep-snow winter. Unpredictable and possibly ornery. Our young heroine is justifiably worried about the mayhem this moose can cause in her backyard.

Hanukkah in Alaska does a nice job of bringing the child-centered realities of winter in many Alaska towns to a greater audience: hugging trees for moose safety, layers of clothing, northern lights, and streets filled with snow. At times, informative asides aimed at Lower 48 readers, such as a definition of “Outside,” threaten to distract from the story, but are probably necessary for an audience beyond Alaska.

While Alaska and its moose dominate the first half of the book, they eventually lead to a unique “Hanukkah in Alaska” experience that connects the lights of this Jewish festival with that pesky moose, for a surprising and holiday-appropriate ending. A cataloging note mentions that an earlier version appeared as a short story in the anthology A Hanukkah Treasury (Holt, 1998). That may explain the somewhat meandering route this tale takes, which is unusual in these days of very concise, short-form picture books. An Author’s Note at the end discusses both Hanukkah and the aurora borealis.

Schuett’s acrylic and gouache paintings contrast the dark skies of winter with white snow, the purple tones of low light, and brightly colored parkas, streetlights, and interiors. She captures well the tension between the girl and the moose, particularly through interesting juxtaposition of the two in numerous scenes. My only quibble with the artwork is an overly literal interpretation of the text’s description of northern lights as “a rainbow on black velvet.” I’ve never seen the aurora look that horizontal and tidy. Her other aurora paintings, however, are evocative and lovely.

Hanukkah in Alaska is a welcome addition to children’s books about Alaska. And I especially love to see Alaskans writing them!

With Both Caps On

I’m back! I hope. After an embarrassingly long hiatus, I hope to carve out time for the occasional post to review new (or new to me) Alaska children’s books.

I’ve always worn two hats – my library bun and my writing cap. Sometimes it can be a trifle tricky wearing both at the same time. But I love children’s books and I love Alaska, so I can’t seem to stop myself.

I know first hand the joy and excitement of sharing good books with children, of exploring new ideas with fresh minds, of watching kids make connections with the world at large and the equally vast universe within through literature.

If we want our children to read well, they must want to read, to be internally motivated to read for pleasure and not just externally motivated to pass tests. That love of reading comes primarily from one thing: exposure to a wide variety of good books and intriguing stories.

All children need and deserve well-written books that accurately reflect their own experience, as well as stories that expand their horizons. In the spirit of aspiring to create the best books for children, I’ll do my best to review books about Alaska and by Alaskan authors that I find interesting and worth sharing. Stay tuned for more!

Raven House Mouse

The subtitle for this unique book reads “How a lonely orphan came to be accepted into a Tlingit clan.” Who is this orphan? A mouse!

First, a little background for non-Alaskan readers. The Tlingit Indians are indigenous people of Southeast Alaska. The Raven House of the book’s title is a clan house, used by the Indian community, in Haines, Alaska. You may have seen a photograph of the beautiful carving of a raven by renowned carver Nathan Jackson, which is attached to this building.

The story, a picture book, is told from the perspective of an orphaned mouse who stumbles into Raven House, attracted by the warmth emanating from a dryer vent as winter is setting in. Soon the little mouse observes the traditional dancing, drumming and singing practices that take place in the house, which is occupied by a man called “the caretaker.” Impressed by the dancers’ regalia, the mouse makes his own button-blanket, head band and drum from salvaged scraps. Soon he is practicing along with the Tlingit dance troupe, unobserved (he believes). Adventures and friendship ensue…

This interesting little story amuses and intrigues as much as it teaches. Tlingit cultural values are integral throughout, portrayed thoughtfully through the plot, characters, language, foreward, author’s note, glossary and art, rather than heavy-handed didacticism. Robert Davis, a Tlingit artist from the small village of Kake in Southeast Alaska, employs a traditional style of designs based on carving to represent all the characters, both people and animals.

Coupled with clean lines and plenty of white space, the overall effect is direct, unpretentious and engaging, the type of art that supports and enhances the story rather than overwhelming it with gorgeousness. This highly symbolic style of art, best known outside of Alaska in totem poles, is surprisingly effective, though it may require some interpretation for children unfamiliar with it. In terms of synthesizing the traditional and the modern, I especially enjoy the illustrations of the “dryer vent with glorious blast of steam,” the Christmas tree, and the caretaker, snoozing in his recliner amidst his regalia.

Author Jan Steinbright dedicates Raven House Mouse to elder Austin Hammond (Daanawáak in Tlingit), who was the caretaker of Raven House for many years and “freely shared his wisdom and knowledge with all people.” He died in 1993. Steinbright explains in her author’s notes that inspiration for the story came from a little mouse that lived at Raven House with Mr. Hammond’s approval. This attitude of acceptance taught her a lesson about respect for all living things, which is reflected in this story.

Raven House Mouse includes a foreward, author’s notes, glossary, and three photos.

Seven Things

Kate Boyan, the amazing beading artist and author/illustrator of The Blue Bead (see my earlier post here), passed on to me THE STYLISH BLOG AWARD. As far as I can tell, this high honor comes with the obligation to tell the world Seven Things People Don’t Know About Me.
In my case, it will have to be Seven Things MOST People Don’t Know About Me. I couldn’t think of seven things absolutely no one knows.

#1. I’m moving to Homer, Alaska at the end of the month. It’s true. After 29 years of living in lovely Willow, Alaska my husband and I are moving. Why? I’ve been offered the wonderful opportunity to be the new director of Homer’s fabulous public library.

#2. In one of my former (pre-Alaska) lives, I was a tree planter. I planted thousands of trees, all good, in mountains across the Pacific Northwest and Colorado. I still have the hoedad and caulk boots to prove it.

#3. I didn’t have a television for somewhere around 25 years. By choice. I got a lot of reading in. Try it sometime! You’ll be amazed.

#4. I grow three kinds of kale every summer: Toscano, Russian Red, and Winterbor.

#5. I wanted to be a writer and a tugboat captain when I was a kid. Instead, I became a writer and a librarian. Go figure. Maybe in my old age I’ll write my memoirs while volunteering on a boatmobile. (They do exist.)

#6. Not counting my high school newspaper, my first published piece was a sci-fi book review for a short-lived Cascadian journal called Seriatim.

#7. My favorite sections of the library are Fiction and 398.2. Always have been.

That’s it! And now....TA-DA…I pass on The Stylish Blog Award to my friend and fellow librarian/writer, Linda Shoup of the Purple Glasses Club. Congratulations! (No need to thank me. Have fun! Can’t wait to learn more about you.)

Public Lending Rights: Inquiring Minds Want to Know!

I asked Claire Eamer, author of Lizards in the Sky (most recently) and several other books, about her experience with PLR in Canada. Here are her comments. (Thank you, Claire!).

How did you find out about PLR?

Information about PLR is pretty widely distributed through writers’ organizations in Canada – including through informal listservs and meetings and workshops. Most writers will urge newly-published authors to registers, and organizations send out reminders.

How does it work, in your experience?

Once you’re registered the first time, the process is pretty painless. Each February, you get a cheque and a statement of how many of the 7 sample libraries your book was found in. In the same mailing is the registration form for any books published in the past year (or that you have neglected to register in the past). It’s a straightforward form where you provide title, ISBN numbers, number of pages…a few details like that. You attach photocopies of the title page, copyright page, and table of contents, and chuck it in the mail. And you’re done until next February. By the way, I’m right on top of this information because I filled out my registration for Lizards in the Sky two days ago and sent it off.

Do authors and illustrators split the per-book amount, as they typically do with royalties?

You indicate what level of responsibility you have for the book, which is based on the percentage of royalties you collect. For example, my first book was co-authored with a friend, so we each collect 50% of the PLR pay-out. For my other books, I collect 100%. However, I don’t have any picture books where I’m sharing royalties with an artist.

How does what you receive in PLR compare to what you receive in royalties for the same books?

I’ve made far more from PLR for my first book than I did in royalties, mainly because the book is long out of print and the publisher out of business but the book still consistently shows up in all 7 test libraries. No one has written a replacement book, so it’s still a reference that people use.

It’s difficult to compare the PLR payments to royalties because they depend on different things and work on different timeframes (see the example of my first book). I just checked my PLR statement and this year I got $339.22 for each of the recent books. That’s based on $48.46 per hit: i.e., a hit is the book showing up in one of the sample libraries. I got 7 out of 7 hits on each of the books, so I got the maximum pay-out. The older book gets a discounted rate of $29.08 per hit for books registered from 1986-1995.

Basically, you can’t live on PLR because it’s capped at about $5,000, but it’s certainly a nice addition to one’s income.

Do public lending rights make a difference in your ability to afford to work as a writer?

Yes. Every bit of income helps in this business. PLR will never be a major source of income, but it’s a part of the mosaic of income sources I put together.

In your opinion as a writer, are public lending rights a good idea? Why or why not?

Yes. PLR recognizes the value of the writers’ work, no matter how it is distributed. And, as I said above, every little bit of income helps.

In your opinion as a taxpayer, are public lending rights a good idea? Why or why not?

Yes. I regard public libraries as an extremely important public utility, and the books in them are an extremely important public resource. (I practically lived in the Saskatoon Public Library when I was a kid.) The books won’t be available if people don’t write them, so it’s important to recognize and reward – even at a modest level – the work that goes into creating them. However, I don’t want that reward to come through direct fees charges to library users. Free access to libraries is enormously important in building a literate society that is open to all of its members, not just those with sufficient financial resources. Therefore, the financial recognition to creators should be paid from the collective funds which we, as members of the society, contribute through taxes, according to our ability. I would add, as a Canadian, like healthcare!

Public Lending Rights: How Do They Work?

Although the basic idea behind public lending rights (PLR) is the same across countries -- compensation to authors for use of their work in public libraries -- the details vary. According to Public Lending Rights International, three general approaches are used.

The first, found for example in Germany, Austria and the Netherlands, is based on copyright. In essence, libraries lease the right to provide authors’ works to the public, somewhat like they lease access to databases. In each country an organization representing writers deals with licensing and fee distribution. These transactions may be with the national or privincial government, or in some cases, directly with libraries. Under this arrangement, an author could choose to withhold use of their work in libraries as part of their copyright privilege.

A second type, used in the United Kingdom, considers PLR as an issue of compensation, rather than copyright. The UK’s 1979 PLR Act determined that government owes writers some remuneration for public use of their works in libraries. The act has nothing to do with licensing. A government agency oversees the program.

The third system is designed to support cultural goals. Scandinavian countries use PLR to encourage writing in their native languages. Authors receive no payment for books written in English, for example.

Denmark was the first country to initiate PLR in 1946. Norway followed in 1947, Sweden in 1954 and the UK in 1979. PLR are part of the European Union framework, as well. Another 13 countries have passed legislation regarding PLR but haven’t yet implemented systems for funding and payment.

PLR programs do not exist in the U.S., South America, Asia or Africa.

Various methods are used to calculate payments but the two most common are per library loan and per copy held by libraries. Statistics are gathered annually from a sampling of libraries to calculate payments. Criteria to qualify for PLR payments also vary by country; some apply only to books and authors, while others include illustrators, photographers, translators, and publishers. In some cases, audio books and music recordings are covered, as well.

Next: Canadian Claire Eamer on PLR in Canada.

What Are Public Lending Rights and Why Should You Care?

Sometimes it’s downright amazing to find out how things are done in other countries. Take public lending rights (PLR) for example. In the United States the concept is virtually unknown, yet this system of reimbursing authors for use of their work exists in 28 countries, including Canada, Australia, Israel, New Zealand and most of Europe.

Writers in the U.S. or other non-PLR countries, just imagine this: Once or twice a year you receive a check in the mail for the use of your books in libraries.

It should take about three seconds to grasp the significance to you as a writer. With 16,671 public libraries, 99,180 school libraries and 3,827 academic libraries in the United States, even a very small amount per book (or per check-out, depending on the system used) could add up. With your royalty checks, your school visits, and your personal book sales, what kind of difference might that make?

As writers know all too well, most of them, even the well-published, do not make a living (or much of one) from their writing. Finding ways to afford to keep writing, or to carve out time and energy to write between family and jobs, is often as challenging as the actual work of writing.

As a writer, I love the idea that the creator of a book is compensated for its repeated use in public institutions, not just its one-time purchase. In a country like the U.S., where the self-employed pay dearly for such basics as healthcare, a system of PLR might make the difference between doing without medical care, going broke as a writer, taking a job at the expense of writing, or being able to keep up the good work.

But wait! When I put on my cardigan (libraries are so often drafty, it seems, and we must keep the heating bill down) and consider PLR as a librarian, my feelings are more muddled. My first thought is panic: Oh my gosh, now you want libraries to do what? Keep track of all that data AND pay people? With budget cuts already threatening and even closing libraries across the country? ARE YOU NUTS?

Sorry, I shouldn’t be shouting in the library.

Once I calm down and begin to think about it, I can see some reasons why libraries might support the idea. One is that libraries are all about facilitating the flow of information and ideas to their citizenry. If writers can’t afford to write, or if only the well-positioned can afford to write, we lose important perspectives as a society -- possibly even the very concepts, visions, and stories we need to solve our numerous problems.

Now throw digital books into the mix. We are in the midst of an on-going effort between publishers, libraries, writers, content developers, and consumers to figure out a working financial model for e-books in the marketplace, including libraries. Does the PLR concept have a role to play in that debate?

I’ll be looking at public lending rights over the next few posts and posting comments from several writers who receive them.