Three years ago, in order to better translate Lioni’s works, I found the original version of “Girl with the Brown Crayon”, because it is said that this book records many children’s reactions to reading Lioni’s works.
I absolutely adore Lioni’s work. I know many adult readers love it, too. Lioni has been called the “Aesop of picture books” because his stories, crafted through text and illustration, have a distinct allegorical bent, profound yet unpretentious. Almost anyone with extensive reading or life experience can find something in his stories, sparking reflection and discussion. I even feel that Lioni is a very old-fashioned storyteller. Perhaps only “Little Blue and Little Yellow” can be described as “novel.” Most of his stories are told in a leisurely, unhurried flow, and the structure and artistic techniques are restrainedly adhering to a self-imposed “cliché.” It’s not surprising that those who enjoy Alfred Field Mouse’s “daze” (or, in other words, meditative contemplation) also enjoy Lioni. But what about children? After all, they are the primary readers of picture books.
As a father and a storyteller who promotes reading, I often tell my children stories by Lioni. They rarely leap for joy when listening to Lioni’s stories. While they might occasionally laugh, they’re generally quite quiet. Indeed, they often listen quietly, a spark of light flickering in their clear eyes, a smile playing on their lips, and then the story ends. I’m deeply curious: what do the stories of the little black fish, Alfred the field mouse, Cornelius the crocodile, Alexander, and Willy the Wind-up Mouse evoke in these children? But I don’t want to spoil the wonderful feeling of the stories with potentially boring questions; the quiet reflection and reflection after listening to a story is truly satisfying.
Reading The Girl with the Brown Crayon opened up a whole new world for me. We saw a state of reading that could be described as perfect—reading like this is almost like heaven!
The author, Vivian, is a kindergarten teacher—a profession we often associate with a “kindergarten teacher,” perhaps a young, recently graduated woman, lively and adorable, talented in singing and dancing, or perhaps an older, long-time professional, somewhat fussy but also affable. However, the narrator of this book likely doesn’t fit our image at all. She was 65, in the final year of her career, and she was also a writer (perhaps a very famous one in the United States). While there are examples of kindergarten teachers rising to fame as writers in our culture, there’s no precedent for a writer who also worked as a kindergarten teacher until retirement.
Author Vivian is the lead teacher in a kindergarten class of children aged 5–6 (equivalent to our senior or preschool classes). Her co-teacher is Nisha, and the two teachers work in perfect harmony. The class is small, with names mentioned in the book likely including Rennie, Corey, Kevin, Bruce, Oliver, Jonathan, Anita, Walter, and Jenny. The teacher-student ratio is estimated to be around 1:5. Interestingly, with only a handful of children in the class, there are both white and black children (such as Rennie, Kevin, and Bruce), Walter, a recent Polish immigrant, and Oliver, who may be labeled autistic. Nisha is of Indian descent, and Vivian herself is Jewish!
Aren’t you curious about how this unique group of people, with a diverse mix of races and ages, managed to happily study Leo Lionni for a whole year?
Whenever adults want to lead children through a reading session with a particular work or author, they naturally contemplate how to guide them, devising specific strategies tailored to children’s psychology and receptive abilities. Surely, as a writer, Vivian must have some clever tricks up her sleeve? If you’re expecting this, you might be a bit disappointed reading this book. Vivian appears to have no instructional design, no pre-defined learning objectives or specific implementation plans. For parents who expect their children to learn at least some basic knowledge in kindergarten—literacy, arithmetic, foreign languages, at least to “get ahead at the starting line,” Vivian’s teaching methods are likely just a tedious way to pass the time. Let go of these anxious expectations for a moment and read and contemplate this book.
In this kindergarten example, the teacher passed the baton to the children! Of course, it was handed over very carefully and unobtrusively to a unique child, a brown-skinned black girl who always drew with a brown crayon. Reni, captivated by Leonie, read a profoundly unusual message from Alfred the field mouse, and she unconsciously shared this message, unexpectedly igniting everyone’s enthusiasm. Vivian saw and heard this, and was deeply inspired (or rather, shocked) by it, so she tried to have Reni lead everyone on Leonie’s journey.
Can you believe the guidance of a little girl just over five years old? I do. In his book, “A Child’s Universe,” Hayao Kawai demonstrates the profound spiritual power that children possess, and I’ve often deeply experienced this power myself in my interactions with children. Yes, Reni, the black girl with the brown crayon, truly possesses this power. She motivated the entire class to study Leonie for an entire year, engaging in numerous related activities: drawing posters, making crafts, engaging in correspondence with the artist, and discussing and analyzing the truths Leonie sought to explore and the secrets he willingly shared. This inspired and beautiful feeling deeply etched in the hearts of everyone involved, including, of course, Vivian and Teacher Nisha, as well as all the parents involved.
So, what role did teacher Vivian, who recorded and narrated this story, play? I believe she served as a true educator. She was the mastermind behind the entire event, yet she handed the stage to her students, even though they were only five or six years old. Her understanding and support of Reni’s unique interests were the foundation of this wonderful event, and her timely promotion of each crucial link created the opportunity for miracles to unfold. She herself, on stage, complemented the leader with a completely authentic individual, experiencing real struggles, genuine insights, and tangible growth. As we watched the children continuously unearth golden truths through the imaginative world created by Lionni, it was like watching flowers of wisdom bloom one after another. Vivian smiled, and so did we. The most beautiful thing was that teacher Vivian seemed to do nothing; everything happened so naturally. Isn’t this the secret of Lao Tzu’s saying, “To act without action, to teach without words”?
The Girl with the Brown Crayon is a short book, but one I couldn’t resist sharing. I highly recommend it to the Chinese editor, hoping that friends who enjoy Leoni’s picture books and are constantly pondering issues related to children’s education will also share in its joy. I believe this is a book worth rereading, a book that can truly help people grow.
During the Red Mud’s study activity on Lioni’s works, I was the first to share this book with several enthusiasts. A mother said with emotion: “Reading this book makes people feel warm. An angelic teacher leads a group of angelic children to wander in Lioni’s works for a whole year. It really feels like being in heaven.” This is exactly how I feel.
Perhaps, we can live in such a paradise every day as long as we are willing to listen quietly to the sound of flowers blooming in paradise.
Ajia …
Written in Beijing, October 2012
Listening to the Sound of Flowers Blooming in Heaven (Reflections on “The Girl with the Brown Crayon”)
