Susan’s Almanac Project for November 27, 2018

It’s the birthday of noted children’s book author and illustrator Kevin Henkes (b. 1960), whose books have won numerous awards, including a Caldecott Medal for Kitten’s First Full Moon (2004).

Henkes was born in Racine, Wisconsin, the fourth of five children, an experience he credits with teaching him both what it’s like to be the youngest (as he was for some time) and to be an older sibling. He grew up expecting to be an artist and was always drawn to books with good illustrations; he loved Garth Williams’ illustrations in particular. Then a high school teacher encouraged his writing, and he realized that children’s books would be a way to combine the two interests. He wrote his first children’s book, All Alone (1981), during his freshman year at the University of Wisconsin and immediately got a book contract with Greenwillow Books, an imprint at HarperCollins, because it’s JUST THAT EASY. (Actually, Scholastic claims he drafted this first book while still in high school. Scholastic wouldn’t lie, would they? Would they? My seven-year-old son is going to a Scholastic book fair this very morning. They’ll take good care of him, right?)

Henkes has published steadily since that first contract and writes both children’s picture books and middle-grade novels. At some point, he shifted to using animals in his picture books because they allowed him greater creative license for humorous situations. Henkes’ famous mice adorn the cover of The 20th Century Children’s Book Treasury (1998), which, if you don’t already own it, you need to run out and buy because it contains many of the greatest children’s stories of the last century, including everything from The Snowy Day (Ezra Jack Keats) to Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (Judith Viorst/Ray Cruz) to Bedtime for Frances (Russell Hoban/Garth Williams) to one of Henkes’ own stories, Owen (1993). Owen tells the tale of a young mouse boy whose parents, under pressure from a nosy neighbor, are trying to get him to give up his beloved blankie, Fuzzy. Their struggles are funny, the final solution brilliant, and the whole tale will resonate with anyone who has ever loved a blankie or dealt with a lot of unwanted, unsolicited advice on child rearing.

Henkes writes in the attic on the third floor of his house, using a typewriter that belonged to his wife as a teenager. They have a son and a daughter (now grown), and while Henkes didn’t read his books to them a ton, he did read them novels over breakfast, including the Little House books and the Ramona books and many, many others.

Have a fine Tuesday with snow filling the air and stay scrupulously honest to the data.