Close encounters with children's writers, part 2

Here is the next installment of my encounters, prompted by my present location. I happen to have a decent knowledge of Brazilian children's literature because some of it is translated into Russian and Swedish. Ana Maria Machado is by far the most famous, and I have read some of her books in Swedish. She is a great writer, or Writer, or crosswriter. She has received all possible awards, including the Andersen Medal. At the time, I was in San Diego, and the editor of the IBBY journal Bookbird approached me before the winner was announced to ask whether I would be prepared to write about the winner very quickly for the special Andersen Medal issue. I'd have to do it within two weeks after the announcement. I looked at the list of nominees and said to myself, OMG, hope it's someone I know well. I was delighted that Ana Maria Machado won, not only because she was worth it, but also because it was a joy - and a challenge - to write about her. My text was sent to Brazil for approval, and the Bookbird editor got back to me with a comment: "Who is this person and how can she understand Brazilian children's literature without being Brazilian?" I asked the editor to forward my reply: "I grew up under dictatorship".

Since then I met Ana Maria several times at book fairs and other events. She is an extremely warm and generous person and has sent me loads of books, some of which I have read, with my non-existent Portuguese.

I know that writers of her rank are busy, so I was a bit uncertain when I tentatively responded to my Brazilian hosts' question about any special wishes during my visit. I don't know whether they were surprised or impressed or whatever, but today I had the privilege to have lunch with the most famous and loved Brazilian children's writer, and, incidentally, the President of the Brazilian Academy of Letters. All because I grew up under dictatorship.

Mother of the bride

I am fully aware that I have not shared my experience of being the mother of the bride. Those of you who may have read about my shopping for my wedding outfit are probably expecting a report on how it felt to be wearing it. I have during the past week started a blog post several times and given up. What can I say? That I cried exactly when I was supposed to cry? That the bride was pretty? That they looked each other in the eyes so that I would have been envious if I hadn't been so endlessly happy? That every detail in the wedding was perfect, and there were wonderful funny touches, such as the bride being kidnapped by a bunch of Finnish cousins, so that the groom had to pay ransome (apparently this is a Finnish custom)?

Here are pictures that supposedly say more than a thousand words. You can see my outfit, that almost everybody complimented me for.

What has changed for me now that my baby is a married lady? If anything changed, it happened a year and a half ago when she told me she had met the right one.

I know it's a privilege to be happy on behalf of your children.

Academic serendipities

My Brazilian contacts are, like almost everything, the result of serendipity. Six years ago (as we figured out yesterday) a younger colleague from Brazil who had a fellowship at the International Youth Library in Munich, contacted me because he wanted to take some side trips while in Europe. I wasn't in a position to invite him to Stockholm, but offered Åbo as second-best, and he did an excellent presentation at the children's literature colloquium, and I also remember some nice meals together. As usual, we talked a lot about my coming to Brazil, but if I pursued all casual invitations to diferent parts of the world, I would never have time for anything else (I also tell everybody I meet: "You must come and visit us in Cambridge").

However, three years ago I received a proper invitation to a conference in Sao Paolo, and then I contacted André and came over for a few days to Rio de Janeiro and the wonderful Catedra de Leitura. I have a strong interest in Brazilian children's literature because of two great writers, Lygia Bojunga and Ana Maria Machado. I met Lygia in Stockholm in mid-80s, and then she won the ALMA award and came to collect it, so we met again. I met Ana Maria Machado on several occasions. I have written about both, and I find thier books absolutely fascinating and like nothing else. For obvious reasons I am interersted in children's literature in totalitarian and post-totalitarian countries. In passing, I have also discovered that Brazil has some marvelous picturebooks.

So this is what brought me here this time, picturebooks. My book, co-authored with Carole Scott, How Picturebooks Work, has been translated into Portuguese (Livro illustrado: palavras e imagens), and yesterday it was officially launched, accompanied by a day symposium. The speakers were a great mix of academics and non-academics, and the organisers managed to find an illustrator who can talk about picturebooks (far from self-evident); the audience was enthusiastic and asked so many questions that the round table would never end. Afterwards, I sat at a table, next to another launched author, and signed the book. There were people who actually bought my book! Presumably because they were interested. These moments make the pains of writing academic books worth while.

More travel concerns

Apparently me and travel to Brazil don't go together. After my misadventures three years ago I couldn't imagine anything worse, but here we go. The travel agent told me that the flight would stop at Sao Paolo, but I didn't have to change planes. At check in they said the luggage was going straight to Rio de Janeiro. To be on the safe side, I asked the flight attendant, and no, it wasn't the same plane and I had to disembark. What about my luggage? I must take it through customs in Sao Paolo. Fair enough. The line for passport control is worse than Heathrow and Moscow together. Takes almost an hour of my precious hour and a half until next flight. My luggage is not on the band, and when I ask and show my boarding pass, they tell me that my luggage has indeed gone straight to Rio, and if I run very fast I may catch my flight. I run as fast as I can, but the airport is huge, and nobody can give me directions, and I miss the plane and have to stand in another long line to get a new flight, and nobody speaks English, and I know that my good angel Renata is waiting for me in Rio de Janeiro. When I have the new boarding pass for a flight two hours later, I try various ways to reach Renata. My British phone says "Thank you for taking me to Brazil" (honestly, that's what the message said!), but when it comes to ringing or texting, it just went dead. The public phone didn't take credit cards. I tried email, Skype and Facebook, but the connection broke all the time, and there wasn't any public computer around (of course, everybody has a laptop these days). I imagined myself in Renata's place (been there) and decided that she either waits until the next flight or assumes that I am a grownup person who can take care of herself.

At the gate, I tried to get some cash, but there were no cash machines in sight, and in the money exchange booth they didn't take cards. I changed the miraculously saved forty pounds and got a cup of something that was supposed to be cappuchino, but was more like brown syrup. I was the only alien on the flight, so the new passport control went smoothly. Don't ask me why the flight between Sao Paolo and Rio de Janeiro counts as international.

With all these changes I was fully prepared not to see my luggage on the band, and it wasn't. I went to talk to the airline representative, who didn't speak English, but after some thinking said very confidently; "Wait" and produced my bag like a conjuror. It had come on the previous flight.

I still had some vague hope to see Renata, but I didn't. There were several booths offering taxi service to the city, and I decided that if I pre-pay maybe there was a chance that the driver would take me where I wanted to go. And they took credit cards, and it only took two attempts before it worked. The hotel reception did have my reservation and, bless her, the receptionist called Renata who had, clever girl, left her number.

So the story has a happy ending, and I had a lovely long Brazilian lunch and a lovely walk on the beach. Yet: why does this always have to happen to me?

Moominmamma's concerns

It just so happens that during our three years in the UK Staffan and I have not travelled together. We do not travel together often as we both usually travel on business and do not share each other's business. We have both travelled a lot these three years, but this is the first time we were away from home and had to ask someone to take care of the cat and the garden.

It is not very hard to find someone to cat- and house-sit in a large, well-equipped house in Cambridge, so we had a father and son from Finland staying here over the last weekend, and now that we are going away to Brazil, another family is coming.

In the Moomin stories, Moominmamma always asks guests and newcomers how many pillows they need and what they want for breakfast. Concerning pillows, I give the guests two each, and if they only need one they can throw the other in the corner. I asked the Finnish father and son what they wanted for breakfast and got a very detailed description of what kind of bread they preferred and the boy sometimes liked youghurt, but only banana youghurt, and the father wanted chicken or turkey for his sandwich, but not ham. I am glad I asked, for there were none of the aforementioned items available in the house. The family coming this weekend didn't specify what kind of bread they wanted. I hope they find something to their liking.

We will be away when they arrive, and we are leaving detailed instructions, including things such as remote control for the garage, rainwater tub by the greenhouse, garbage recycling and other things you normally don't notice. I am walking around the house thinking of daily routines and adding to the list: "Extra towels in the bathroom cabinet..."

I remind myself that I have borrowed or rented other people's houses and always survived.

Me and my Kindle

When I worked as a tour guide, rule number one was when the tourists asked how long it would take us to get where we were going, to add at least fifteen minutes to the estimated time and let it be a nice surspise when we are early. The other way round, you get grumpy tourists.

Amazon seems to follow the same principle. They give you an estimate delivery date with a wide margin, and you get happy when you get your order earlier. Since three days ago, I am a happy owner of a Kindle.

Being a professional reader, I cannot but reflect on the implications. I showed my new toy to a Russian friend with whom I was talking on Skype, and she commented, unimpressed, "Oh yes, I have one too". Apparently people do not make much fuss about their Kindles. However, I have resisted so long that I really need to contemplate the pros and cons.

It is vey small. Smaller than I thought it would be. It is smaller than a paperback book, and the screen is smaller yet. My first reaction was, I can't read that small text. But yes, I can. It is a pleasurable font size and background, and I don't feel any radical difference from reading a paper book. I don't mind having one page at a time, and I can get two pages if I want. It is very light and easy to hold, and after ten minutes I turn pages without thinking about it. After the initial settings, I don't use the keyboard because I find it too small and inconvenient to use. I have downloaded the first fifteen free classics that I wanted to re-read anyway, and they will keep me busy for a while. I downloaded them through my compuer, which I think is very good service. I feel much more comfortable with my computer with its large keyboard and mouse.

I have played a bit with the toy, reading the manual and testing what it can do. So far, I don't need anything that it can do. I don't want to clip my favourite passages and share them on Facebook. I may want at some point to clip quotes to paste them direct into my own writing, but I am not there yet. I don't need to read my Facebook or check my email on the run - I don't have a smartphone either.

So what is a Kindle for me? IT'S A BOOK!

Further reflections on e-books

Yesterday night I read some more Tess, this time on my little laptop, and it was just as easy and not as heavy. The cat was happy beside it. Apart from enjoying the book very much (I was too young to enjoy it when I read it first time), I tried to think what was actually different from reading a paper book. One thing, of course, is that you cannot physically see how much you have read and how much is still to read. Although Kindle told me, when I put in a bookmark, that I had read 15%. Putting in a bookmark is good, and unlike a physical bookmark, you cannot lose it. I have all kinds of fancy bookmarks, but I always end up using a receipt or a boarding pass.

What I definitely miss is the paratexts. As one of my students would expertly explain, paratexts is everything that is not part of the text. The cover, for instance. There is no cover on my Kindle Tess, and thus no cover image. I don't really mind it, but still worth noting. What I mind - or at least lack - is the back cover, with a publisher blurb. I tell my students to skip blurbs because they are stupid, but I always read blurbs carefully, perhaps exactly because they are stupid. Especially when you have read the book before and know how stupid the blurb is.

I also miss the pages where the author is presented.I miss the copyright page. I miss the table of contents - I always go back to it several times when I read a book. For Tess particularly, I miss the Introduction, timeline and notes they have in Penguin Classics. I usually read notes in advance because I don't wnat to be interrupted in my reading, but don't want to miss the comments. I guess there is another e-edition of Tess that has notes hyperlinked. Kindle has, without my consent, downloaded Oxford American (!) dictionary so that I can look up words I don't know. I haven't tried it yet, but it might prove useful. They say you ought to read books to learn.

I do not not miss the gentle rustle of pages, nor the feel of paper. Is there anything fundamentally wrong with me?