My thoughts on participating in the Teachers’ Children’s Classics Reading Workshop

Last week­end I par­tic­i­pat­ed in two group activ­i­ties at a chil­dren’s clas­sic lit­er­a­ture read­ing work­shop in Hefei, and it was quite reward­ing. I’ve been busy ever since I got back to Bei­jing, but I’m tak­ing a moment today to jot down some notes.

The Rain­bow Fish Group held its first for­mal dis­cus­sion on the after­noon of August 21st in the con­fer­ence room on the sec­ond floor of Tunxi Road Pri­ma­ry School. The books dis­cussed includ­ed: *Where the Wild Things Are*, *The Zhu Fam­i­ly Sto­ry*, *Feifei is Angry*, and *Tues­day*.


I am very grate­ful to Ms. Ziy­ouz­izai from Shuguang Pri­ma­ry School. She brave­ly fired the first shot and was clear­ly well-pre­pared. Her speech tru­ly gave me a glimpse of hope. Ziy­ouz­izai sys­tem­at­i­cal­ly reviewed *Where the Wild Things Are*, and her state­ment that “fan­ta­sy is an essen­tial path to men­tal matu­ri­ty” res­onat­ed deeply with me. An Amer­i­can inde­pen­dent researcher (also a moth­er of two) also made a sim­i­lar point in her book *The Mag­ic of Chil­dren’s Books*. It’s not easy to grasp such depth. Many peo­ple often see hav­ing fan­tasies as an obsta­cle to men­tal matu­ri­ty, unaware that pre­ma­ture­ly aban­don­ing fan­ta­sy only results in a cold, imper­son­al world—in Ende’s writ­ing, even a world on the verge of destruc­tion (*The Nev­erend­ing Sto­ry*). Ziy­ouz­iza­i’s analy­sis of the work also revealed a clue: the pro­tag­o­nist, Max, grad­u­al­ly reach­es the pin­na­cle of pow­er and desire ful­fill­ment in his wild fan­tasies, but then he sud­den­ly real­izes that these are not what he ulti­mate­ly wants. He longs to return to the haven of love, and when he does, his moth­er’s love melts his heart.

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The wild beasts have begun!

Mr. Qingfeng, a teacher from Tunx­i­ao Ele­men­tary School, then com­ment­ed on *The Wild Things*. His speech was long and bril­liant, but indeed very long, so I had to inter­rupt him mid­way. Mr. Qingfeng had come very well pre­pared: he had bought a copy for him­self to share with his sixth-grade daugh­ter, read it more than six times, rem­i­nisc­ing about his child­hood as he read, and even found the film adap­ta­tion, *Where the Wild Things Are*, to share with his daugh­ter… Per­haps because of this, the book seemed to offer him end­less top­ics of con­ver­sa­tion; he could even talk about the eight meth­ods he had fig­ured out for mak­ing bait when he was a child! —If you under­stand the book deeply, this is not sur­pris­ing at all. Sendak spent eight years from con­cep­tion to com­ple­tion of this book, and it had a life­long and last­ing impact on the illus­tra­tor him­self. This pic­ture book tru­ly pos­sess­es a unique mag­ic; the col­lec­tions of papers dis­cussing this book by var­i­ous researchers could stack up to be taller than Sendak him­self!

Teacher Qingfeng focused on explor­ing the con­nec­tion between the wild­ness in *The Beast* and his own child­hood mem­o­ries. He described it as a “wild” work, where the young pro­tag­o­nist typ­i­cal­ly speaks only sin­gle words. Using this wild­ness to observe child­hood (includ­ing his own child­hood mem­o­ries), he dis­cov­ered a con­nec­tion between this destruc­tive force and cre­ativ­i­ty. He argued that if this wild­ness isn’t guid­ed but exces­sive­ly sup­pressed, it actu­al­ly sti­fles cre­ativ­i­ty. Qingfeng’s think­ing was quite expan­sive. Two exam­ples he gave left a deep impres­sion on me: one was a moth­er’s way of dis­ci­plin­ing her son on a bus; the oth­er was the mod­er­ate­ly thick adobe hous­es built by Native Amer­i­cans (to be hon­est, I did­n’t ini­tial­ly under­stand the log­i­cal con­nec­tion between these exam­ples, haha). He empha­sized the “degree” in guid­ing chil­dren; tol­er­at­ing wild­ness means max­i­miz­ing their cre­ativ­i­ty. What Qingfeng was most proud of was that Max’s wild­ness in *The Beast* paled in com­par­i­son to his own child­hood wild­ness O(∩_∩)O haha~

Anoth­er teacher from Tunx­i­ao Ele­men­tary School offered anoth­er per­spec­tive. He argued that *The Beast* ini­tial­ly depicts a boy’s extreme­ly repressed and unre­leased emo­tions, evi­dent in the shad­ows and frame size of the illus­tra­tions. The pro­tag­o­nist then enters a fan­ta­sy world, gain­ing pow­er and release with­in it, ulti­mate­ly achiev­ing inner peace. This is rem­i­nis­cent of works like *The Angry Soup*, which essen­tial­ly helps chil­dren learn how to man­age their neg­a­tive emo­tions. This teacher’s cross-dis­ci­pli­nary con­nec­tion is quite inter­est­ing. Oth­er books in this cat­e­go­ry, such as *Fifi’s Angry* and *Angry Arthur*, are also inter­est­ing and insight­ful when observed togeth­er.

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Changes to the frame size of Where the Wild Things Are

Xiaox­ing’s teacher, Hap­py Bird, added a few more points. She point­ed out that the rela­tion­ship between the text and illus­tra­tions in “The Beast” is par­tic­u­lar­ly note­wor­thy, espe­cial­ly the sub­tle vari­a­tions in the size of the pic­ture frames, which demon­strate remark­able crafts­man­ship. Regard­ing the sto­ry as a whole, Hap­py Bird believes the true core is the line, “He want­ed to be where some­one loved him most.” She believes the entire sto­ry’s emo­tions orig­i­nate from this line and ulti­mate­ly con­verge there. —This insight also deeply moved me!
I vivid­ly remem­ber how I painstak­ing­ly pon­dered the trans­la­tion of this sen­tence when I first trans­lat­ed this book (about six years ago), because it was so cru­cial! At the time, I trans­lat­ed it sim­ply for my own amuse­ment, to tell my daugh­ter, and to read to my moth­er, who was over sev­en­ty. The orig­i­nal sen­tence was “(he)”.
want­ed to be where some­one loved him best of
I pre­pared sev­er­al dif­fer­ent trans­la­tions for the phrase, and while it could have been more flu­ent, I felt that if it were too flu­ent, read­ers might sim­ply pass it by and over­look it. So, I ulti­mate­ly chose this trans­la­tion, which isn’t quite as smooth to read but has a clear mean­ing. I believe it will leave a deep­er impres­sion on read­ers. Lat­er, when I told sto­ries to chil­dren, I often paused at this point, and I could­n’t help but curi­ous­ly ask them, “Do you know where ‘some­one loves them­selves the most’?” They nev­er let me down, and almost always answered with­out hes­i­ta­tion, “Home!” Although I’ve heard this answer many times, I can’t help but feel excit­ed every time.

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He wants to be where some­one loves him the most…

Teacher Dayu from Shuguang Pri­ma­ry School guid­ed every­one through a detailed expla­na­tion of “The Sto­ry of the Zhu Fam­i­ly.” Every­one shared a self-suf­fi­cient inter­pre­ta­tion process, mov­ing from pri­mar­i­ly inter­pret­ing the illus­tra­tions to com­bin­ing them with the text, and final­ly con­nect­ing them to their own life expe­ri­ences. Teacher Dayu was extreme­ly atten­tive, explain­ing many details, mak­ing it dif­fi­cult to sum­ma­rize here.
Regard­ing the end­ing of “The Sto­ry of the Zhu Fam­i­ly,” where the moth­er repairs the car, sev­er­al dif­fer­ent inter­pre­ta­tions have been offered: It empha­sizes that roles with­in the fam­i­ly can be inter­changed, with men doing “wom­en’s work” and daugh­ters doing “men’s work”; the car is used as a metaphor for this mod­ern fam­i­ly, which ini­tial­ly expe­ri­enced some prob­lems, but the moth­er ulti­mate­ly fixed them…

Teacher Wu from Tai­hu Road con­tin­ued this dis­cus­sion, point­ing out that renowned authors like Sendak and Antho­ny Browne often leave unex­pect­ed end­ings in their works, enrich­ing the pos­si­bil­i­ties for inter­pre­ta­tion. There­fore, we don’t nec­es­sar­i­ly need to find a fixed answer.

Ms. Yu from Shuguang then shared her page-by-page inter­pre­ta­tion of “Tues­day.” She point­ed out that the book’s cre­ative tech­nique is what the painter Zhu Chengliang (the illus­tra­tor of “Flame” and “Reunion”) called “movie-mak­ing.” The book cre­ates a very eerie atmos­phere from the cov­er and end­pa­pers. It uses seem­ing­ly real­is­tic illus­tra­tions to tell the sto­ry, con­stant­ly rais­ing ques­tions (sur­pris­es) in the process of devel­op­ment, then giv­ing answers, and then rais­ing sur­pris­es again… The rhythm of the sto­ry­telling is well con­trolled, some­times tense and some­times calm.

How­ev­er, for a book that tells a sto­ry almost entire­ly through pic­tures, the work­shop par­tic­i­pants did­n’t seem to quite con­nect with it, find­ing it dif­fi­cult to res­onate. Regard­ing David Wies­ner’s works of this type, we can also look at *The Three Lit­tle Pigs*, *Dream Fac­to­ry No. 7*, *The Secret of the Sea*, and *June 29, 1999*. Delv­ing into these works can help us quick­ly improve our abil­i­ty to read sto­ries from pic­tures. Rel­a­tive­ly speak­ing, chil­dren are more adept at this and more enthu­si­as­tic.

Teacher Liwo Qianx­i­ao from Tunx­i­ao shared her inter­pre­ta­tion of “Feifei is Angry.” Her expe­ri­ence as an ear­ly child­hood edu­ca­tor gave her a unique per­spec­tive. She point­ed out that while the illus­tra­tions weren’t her favorite style, the book clear­ly depict­ed the process of a child throw­ing a tantrum, from ini­tial­ly hop­ing to get atten­tion and becom­ing gen­uine­ly angry, to vent­ing through cry­ing, shout­ing, and scream­ing, until it abrupt­ly ends. This is a gen­er­al overview of how chil­dren express their emo­tions. Sev­er­al teach­ers also offered their opin­ions on how to han­dle such sit­u­a­tions, with most agree­ing with the “cold treat­ment” strat­e­gy adopt­ed by the adults in Feifei’s fam­i­ly.

Dur­ing his shar­ing ses­sion, Teacher Dayu care­ful­ly read through “Feifei is Angry.” He said the illus­tra­tions in the book remind­ed him of Wang Guowei’s “When I observe things, they all take on my own col­or.” This asso­ci­a­tion great­ly inspired me. Indeed, apply­ing this phrase to the pic­ture book, the Amer­i­can female illus­tra­tor’s cre­ative process becomes clear­ly dis­cernible. Using West­ern prin­ci­ples, this is the rich­est analy­sis of art psy­chol­o­gy by Arn­heim; from an East­ern aes­thet­ic per­spec­tive, it rep­re­sents a pro­found under­stand­ing of a high­er realm. Teacher Dayu’s inge­nious use of this phrase in his analy­sis of this pic­ture book has left a last­ing impres­sion on me and also remind­ed me of the inter­est­ing term “men­tal imagery.”

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Feifei slammed the door in anger and left. The trees were all dyed red, lean­ing and about to fall, with sharp edges.

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After the rage, Feifei was depressed and deject­ed, and the hill­side, trees, flow­ers and leaves seemed to change accord­ing­ly.

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Feifei regained her com­po­sure. This was prob­a­bly the reverse effect of “see­ing things through my own eyes, and see­ing them through my own eyes.”

Dur­ing the dis­cus­sion of “Feifei Gets Angry,” Teacher Wu offered anoth­er per­spec­tive. He believes that the emo­tion­al adjust­ment process depict­ed in this pic­ture book is an expe­ri­ence most adults have had. Could this book reflect an adult way of think­ing, mak­ing it more appeal­ing to adult read­ers and less like­ly to be loved by chil­dren? This is indeed a ques­tion, and we can observe chil­dren’s reac­tions when we have the oppor­tu­ni­ty to share it with them.

On the after­noon of August 22, the new­ly formed Fly­ing Pig Group held its first prepara­to­ry dis­cus­sion in the con­fer­ence room on the fourth floor of Weigang Pri­ma­ry School. The book dis­cussed was “The Sto­ry of the Zhu Fam­i­ly”.
As a pre­lim­i­nary dis­cus­sion, the main focus is on the process of get­ting to know each oth­er and try­ing to read a book togeth­er. The dis­cus­sion is rough­ly divid­ed into two parts: the “Who am I?” game; and read­ing and dis­cussing “The Sto­ry of the Zhu Fam­i­ly”.

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“The “Who Am I?” game is derived from pic­ture books like “I Don’t Know Who I Am” and “The Zhu Fam­i­ly Sto­ry.” In “The Zhu Fam­i­ly Sto­ry,” the father and sons of the Zhu fam­i­ly grad­u­al­ly trans­form into pig fig­ures before final­ly revert­ing to their orig­i­nal forms. The illus­tra­tor Antho­ny Browne suc­cess­ful­ly and mag­i­cal­ly depict­ed this trans­for­ma­tion process—the devel­op­ment of events, the char­ac­ters’ per­son­al­i­ties, appear­ances, and actions—achieving a con­sis­ten­cy between con­cept and image. The “Who Am I?” game first requires par­tic­i­pants to asso­ciate them­selves with anoth­er type of image (such as an ani­mal), ide­al­ly asso­ci­at­ing their entire fam­i­ly with one or more images (just like the illus­tra­tor in the pic­ture book), striv­ing to make the asso­ci­a­tions plau­si­ble. Then, the host, with­out reveal­ing their name (or not sign­ing at all), ran­dom­ly reads out an image, and every­one tries to guess “who he/she is.”

Before start­ing the game, first-time par­tic­i­pants often find it extreme­ly dif­fi­cult, with almost no chance of guess­ing the answer. How­ev­er, the real­i­ty is that as every­one relax­es dur­ing the game, most of the mys­ter­ies are nat­u­ral­ly solved. The most inter­est­ing part is that seem­ing­ly absurd and illog­i­cal answers become per­fect­ly log­i­cal after being explained by the par­tic­i­pants. This “unex­pect­ed yet rea­son­able” dynam­ic is the kind of fun that skill­ful sto­ry­tellers bring to peo­ple. Such games are actu­al­ly about expe­ri­enc­ing this psy­cho­log­i­cal process of cre­ation and inter­pre­ta­tion; as read­ers, what we read in the work is clear­ly our­selves!

In that day’s game, Prin­ci­pal Jin from Tai­hu Road was undoubt­ed­ly the cham­pi­on of the rid­dle-solv­ing com­pe­ti­tion. As soon as a cer­tain image (espe­cial­ly a group of images rep­re­sent­ing a fam­i­ly) was read aloud, she could accu­rate­ly call out the answer. I think this is part­ly due to her excep­tion­al under­stand­ing of her col­leagues, and part­ly a demon­stra­tion of a spe­cial kind of visu­al think­ing abil­i­ty.

Many sparks flew dur­ing the shared read­ing and dis­cus­sion of “The Sto­ry of the Zhu Fam­i­ly,” but I was focused on par­tic­i­pat­ing in the read­ing and did­n’t take any notes. So here I can only record a few of the most inspir­ing and mem­o­rable moments for me.
In the first pic­ture, we see a very mod­ern and seem­ing­ly hap­py home, but the text men­tions the wife, which is not shown in the pic­ture. The way the father is stand­ing is some­what sim­i­lar to the way the father is stand­ing on the page in “My Father” where it says “My father is as tall as a house”.

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The first one
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Com­pare the illus­tra­tions in My Dad

In the sec­ond dou­ble-page spread, the two sons are shout­ing, “Mom, where’s break­fast?” with their mouths wide open. The text says the father is also shout­ing, but his face is obscured by the news­pa­per, while the peo­ple in the news­pa­per (includ­ing a goril­la) are also shout­ing. Sev­er­al inter­est­ing obser­va­tions are made here: the faces of the peo­ple shout­ing in the illus­tra­tion resem­ble pigs (espe­cial­ly the noses); sev­er­al food con­tain­ers have images of pigs; and the goril­la is rem­i­nis­cent of Antho­ny Browne’s oth­er book, *The Goril­la* (in fact, the shout­ing peo­ple in the news­pa­per also remind me of the famous paint­ing *The Scream*). But what sur­prised me most was a teacher’s sug­ges­tion that the peo­ple shout­ing in the news­pa­per (not Mr. Zhu) imply that the idea that “women should make break­fast for men” is a voice of pub­lic media, belong­ing to the main­stream social con­scious­ness! —This inter­pre­ta­tion is tru­ly unex­pect­ed, yet it makes per­fect sense. Antho­ny Browne may gen­uine­ly be tar­get­ing a tra­di­tion­al main­stream con­scious­ness, rather than an “iso­lat­ed phe­nom­e­non” in cer­tain fam­i­lies.

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The sec­ond pic­ture

In the third dou­ble-page spread, every­one noticed the somber col­ors and that we could­n’t see the moth­er’s (Mrs. Zhu’s) face. Par­tic­u­lar­ly note­wor­thy was a teacher’s obser­va­tion that the moth­er appears to take the bus to work, as the shad­ow of a bus stop sign can be seen in the small image in the low­er right cor­ner, and Mrs. Zhu is like­ly search­ing for her bus pass (or change) in her bag. This dis­cov­ery helped me solve anoth­er mys­tery: the two small white shapes on the right side of this image. The low­er one is clear­ly a pig’s face, but what about the upper one? It now seems like­ly to be the image of a car steer­ing wheel, sug­gest­ing that the moth­er could actu­al­ly dri­ve her­self to work (this nat­u­ral­ly echoes the men­tion of a car on the first page and the repair of the car on the last page).

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The third pic­ture

In the fourth dou­ble-page spread, the teach­ers made two dis­cov­er­ies I had­n’t noticed before. One was the col­or of the child’s clothes ver­sus the col­or of the father’s (Mr. Zhu’s) socks—the for­mer was red, and the lat­ter was blue. It’s unusu­al for an adult man to wear bright blue socks, and in this pic­ture book, red and blue cloth­ing like­ly sym­bol­ize impor­tance. Fol­low­ing this line of thought, in the sixth illus­tra­tion (watch­ing TV after din­ner), the father’s blue socks and the red of the lamp above the TV stand out. And as the sto­ry pro­gress­es to the four­teenth dou­ble-page spread (Dad cook­ing with the chil­dren, Mom is also hap­py), the father’s blue has changed to kitchen gloves, the child’s red to an apron, and the moth­er is wear­ing large patch­es of red (a sweater) and blue over­alls (a car mechan­ic’s uni­form)!

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The fourth pic­ture

Fol­low­ing this line of thought, in the fourth dou­ble-page spread, the child occu­pies red, the father blue, but what about the moth­er’s col­or? Actu­al­ly, the moth­er isn’t in the pic­ture, but log­i­cal­ly she must be present. At this point, the read­ing teacher at Weigang Ele­men­tary School made a very insight­ful dis­cov­ery: the sofa Mr. Zhu is sit­ting on!—The sofa’s pat­tern imme­di­ate­ly evokes the pat­tern on the moth­er’s paja­mas in the book *My Moth­er*, and that book also depicts a very sim­i­lar sofa (on the page “As Com­fort­able as a Sofa”). This dis­cov­ery pro­vides two clues: first, the sofa appear­ing in the fourth dou­ble-page spread and sev­er­al sub­se­quent illus­tra­tions is like­ly a sym­bol of the moth­er; sec­ond, the moth­er’s orig­i­nal dom­i­nant col­or was yel­low (some­times also pink).

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The sofa in “My Mom”

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Pic­ture 6 — Please note the sofa, Dad’s socks, and the lamp on the TV.

The changes in the pig’s image in this book are rel­a­tive­ly easy to notice, and most peo­ple have prob­a­bly noticed them, so I won’t go into detail here.
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Pic­ture 8 (Look at the changes in the pig shape)

The sto­ry unfolds on the eleventh dou­ble-page spread, where Mr. Zhu is with his two chil­dren, sniff­ing food on the floor, when Mrs. Zhu walks in. Every­one imme­di­ate­ly notices that the moth­er’s sil­hou­ette is that of the Vir­gin Mary. How­ev­er, fol­low­ing the ear­li­er clue that “sofa = moth­er,” we also dis­cov­er that the sofa on this page is delib­er­ate­ly left emp­ty, with no one sit­ting on it (com­pared to the fourth and sixth dou­ble-page spreads). This like­ly hints at the moth­er’s absence, sug­gest­ing that the fam­i­ly has lost its sup­port.

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Pic­ture 11 — Look at the emp­ty sofa and moth­er’s shad­ow

The thir­teenth dou­ble-page spread depicts a father help­ing his two chil­dren with chores. The pic­ture is refresh­ing and bright­ly col­ored, show­ing that they are good at doing chores and that chores can be enjoy­able. The col­or con­trast is obvi­ous com­pared to the ear­li­er illus­tra­tions of the moth­er doing chores and the father help­ing the chil­dren with chores after the moth­er leaves. Fur­ther­more, there is no hint of a pig on this page. When the detec­tive held up the book to show every­one the pic­tures, from a dis­tance, I vague­ly saw what appeared to be the out­line of a face in the right-hand pic­ture; the two beds were the eyes, and Mr. Zhu and the iron­ing board looked like the nose and mouth. Of course, this could also be a com­plete illu­sion.

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Thir­teenth

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Pic­ture 14 — Pay spe­cial atten­tion to the rela­tion­ship between red and blue and pic­tures 4 and 6

How­ev­er, Teacher Shu from Weigang also raised a dif­fer­ent point of view: Could things real­ly change com­plete­ly just by the moth­er leav­ing? Haha, every­one agrees that real­i­ty isn’t like that, and the gen­er­al advice is not to leave so eas­i­ly (after all, har­mo­ny and sta­bil­i­ty are impor­tant). This is a chil­dren’s book (still con­tain­ing fairy tale ele­ments), and the sto­ry express­es a view­point. While it may not offer spe­cif­ic and effec­tive solu­tions, the impor­tant thing is that it reminds us nev­er to give up hope.

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Regard­ing the last pic­ture, “She fixed the car,” the inter­pre­ta­tion by the Fly­ing Pig group was strik­ing­ly sim­i­lar to that of the Rain­bow Fish group the pre­vi­ous day. How­ev­er, a teacher from Tai­hu Road gave a slight­ly jok­ing inter­pre­ta­tion that amused every­one: if we con­sid­er the red car as the school, then Mrs. Zhu, who is repair­ing and dri­ving the car, rep­re­sents the female prin­ci­pals! Any inter­pre­ta­tion is pos­si­ble! O(∩_∩)O Haha~

Togeth­er, we read books, we learned about each oth­er, and we learned about our­selves.

Relat­ed links
[Shar­ing] How to Build a Pic­ture (Unveil­ing the Secrets of Pic­ture Book Nar­ra­tive)
[Study Group Home­work] Some Expe­ri­ences on Get­ting Start­ed with Pic­ture Books
[Study Ses­sion Top­ic] How to read sto­ries from pic­tures in pic­ture books?
[Post­script] Why I Like Where the Wild Things Are
[Read­ing Notes] Let­ter from the Edi­tor of Where the Wild Things Are to the Painter
Artists who tell sto­ries for chil­dren (VIII) — Sendak’s sto­ry

Argen­tine Primera División was com­piled on August 26 and 27, and the chart was added on August 31.