Mystère Neigeux

cold Gordian knot
intricate complexies
finite - without end

Zimt

stream of memories
tinkling like a piano
cinnamon murmurs

How a Book is Born

Via Facebook/Pinterest, the publisher Houghton Mifflin Harcourt shared this humorous image titled:
"How a Book is Born."

30Y.30L: Vassar Pioneer Times

The 30Y.30L Campaign made the front page of the Vassar Pioneer Times. A big thank you to Eric Andreychuk (director of Bullard Sanford in Vassar), Andy Thompson (graphic designer), and Megan Decker (reporter).

Transcript:
'30Y.30L Voyage Visits Vassar'
'Local woman will visit 30 libraries for 30th birthday'
By Megan Decker / Vassar Pioneer Times

Vassar - For her 30th birthday, library student and enthusiast, Jill Collins Brown put a plan into action to visit 30 public libraries to celebrate her personal milestone.

"Many of my friends and I were turning 30 this year and I wanted to do something unique and special to mark the milestone," Brown said. "Being born in December has its challenges when planning a celebration so I ruled out many of the traditional ideas. Being a graduate student studying library and information science, I thought about arranging a behind-the-scenes tour of the State archives or the Detroit Institute of Art. Following that same train of thought, I came up with the idea to tour a few public libraries and write about my experiences via my blog, Hermionish."

Brown kicked-off what she dubbed 30 Years and 30 Libraries (30Y.30L) on Nov, 15 with a visit at the Moore Public Library in Kingston (correction: Lexington). She hopes to conclude her library tour in January. She celebrated her third decade at the approximate midway point in her 30Y.30L journey on Dec. 11.

"Of course, I had a literary-themed birthday cake, Little Women by Louisa May Alcott," she said.

Since beginning her project, Brown has visited two-thirds of the libraries on her list.

Among previous stops on her 30Y.30L tour was Vassar's own Bullard Sanford Memorial Library. Brown visited the Vassar library on Nov. 23.

"Selecting the libraries was a challenge and certainly not a perfect science," Brown explained. "While I absolutely love a road trip, my time this semester was limited due to my full-time student status. Keeping that in mind, I knew that I needed to keep the majority of my selections to the Thumb area and southeastern-lower Michigan. My concentration at Wayne State is public libraries and I have aspirations of practicing rural librarianship in the near future; therefore, the majority of the agencies selected for this project were rural in nature with a few suburban libraries sprinkled in for added depth and diversity."

In her blog, Hermionish, Brown explained the Bullard Sanford Memorial Library's collection, its service population and shared information about new director Eric Andreychuk. Brown also wrote (note: by way of Kate Van Auken's eulogy) about the late Jim Rancilio. She has written about similar facts at her other stops.

"I've enjoyed learning how each library delivers services to their community as well as networking with professionals in the field. Like the communities that they serve, each library is unique and has a history," Brown said.

Brown first became interested in becoming a librarian as a small child and her passion for libraries grew as a student, she said.

"From the days of pulling my Radio Flyer wagon to the library as a young child to hiking across campus at Ferris State University for a paper on minority groups in America, I have been a lifelong library user," Brown added. "Back in the day, I used to shelf books at Oxford Public Library and spent practically my entire lunch hour in the school media center.

Being interested in the field goes well beyond the mere love of books and reading and draws upon my background of helping people. Librarianship is a soft form of social work -- helping people find information whether it be for entertainment purposes or helping a patron research a scary new diagnosis given by a doctor. The library field is truly about helping others and giving back to the community."

Brown plans to complete her studies in early 2013. Following her graduation, she hopes to work as a rural public librarian.

"I hope to practice rural librarianship under a seasoned library director," Brown explained. "I am also kicking around the notion of writing a book about the history of Thumb area libraries."

...

Brown's 20 library visits have each been very rewarding thus far, she said.

"(Everyone) has been very warm and welcoming," Brown said. "A number of directors and staff interviewed during this project actually began their careers in the education field. They truly have a talent for teaching."

Not only has Brown been able to celebrate her 30 years, she has also had the opportunity to use this project as a learning experience.

"Let's just say that to date, I have killed three brand new pens and filled five legal pads," Brown said. "Every library serves a different community with a wide range of information needs. I am learning a ton and loving every minute of this project. I'd really like to thank the directors and library staff for meeting with me and helping to fill those legal pads."

She looks forward to the remaining ten libraries. At this time, she only has seven remaining libraries selected, but hopes to narrow down the final three in coming weeks.

"I am three agencies short of 30. I must admit that I experienced some difficulty in making contact with a few libraries which was rather disappointing at first. The question I have been asking by many, 'how will you fill those three slots?' Just about every director interviewed thus far has shared the name of another library -- whether it is an old favorite from their childhood, a library visited while traveling, or an agency that is very innovative and has unique practices -- and I took notes. After the holidays, I'll begin making arrangements and will announce the three libraries on my blog."

To learn about Brown's experience and to read about her library visits, view www.hermionish.com.

I Geek...

Early this morning, around 4:30, I woke from a dream in which I had been visiting my parents down in the suburbs of Oakland County. In reading their newspaper, I found a whole section devoted to Geek the Library -- specifically World War II history. With the 70th anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor less than a month away, the mythical library in my dream collaborated with local history teachers, historians, and even a few college professors to present a myriad of articles on the topic. I was totally geeked!

An American Vampire in Europe: A Short Story

Notes before reading...

• This story was developed for an exercise for LIS 7560 with Professor Dian Walster: Vampires, Wizards, and Superheroes. It initially began as an introductory exercise for the class; however, it was amended, further developed, and expanded for a later exercise in the same course.
• It is geared for a young adult audience (muted violence and sexual content).  
• To download this story in PDF version: An American Vampire in Europe 

For Williams

1   

 

It’s complicated. Not my relationship status, but rather how I became a vampire. My story starts with my work as the lead researcher and curator at a prestigious American museum on the east coast. America was still recovering from the Depression which meant less people coming through our doors. With money being scarce, acquisitions slowed and I hadn’t experienced an overseas adventure in some time. Don’t get me wrong – I thoroughly enjoyed caring for the museum’s artifacts and documents, but I would much rather be working on a foreign acquisition project tucked away in some far-off corner of the world.

It came as a complete surprise when a military official stepped into my office on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. A caller like this might make others feel faint, but I didn’t have any family serving overseas. What could he possibly want? After several moments, the purpose of his visit was quite clear: an obscure branch of the Army needed a specialist to help identify and rescue artifacts stolen by the Nazis in Germany and other occupied countries. My expertise was being solicited and didn’t I just say that I was keen on an adventure? Needless to say, within the week, my trunks were packed and I was soon abroad the USS Chateau Thierry en route to a stopover in Africa.

The ship was full of interesting characters and I soon found myself a perch in which I could comfortably read while taking in my surroundings. It wasn’t long and I soon noticed an intriguing and incredibly handsome gentleman who looked to be doing the very same thing. He would sit for hours reading and barely move – sometimes it looked as though he never blinked. At dinner, the next evening, the mysterious gentleman interrupted my solitary yet literary meal (I was reading Pride and Prejudice – my comfort read) by sitting directly across from me.

Through his thick German accent, I learned that he, Faramund Braun, immigrated to the States in 1933 shortly after the Deutsche Studentenschaft’s disgusting book burnings in Berlin and the Nazi’s ruling on what they deemed to be entartete Kunst – degenerate art, in our native tongue. At the end of our intense and entrancing conversation, I realized that we had completely lost track of time as the mess deck was empty. I must admit that I was perturbed that he interrupted my meal, but I found his company to be strangely comforting. Upon turning in for the night, in my cramped quarters, I found myself pondering my next visit with Herr Braun.

Docking in Eritrea is the next time I saw Herr Braun – he looked tired with dark circles under his eyes. Rumors on the ship circulated that he wasn’t sleeping and was often found pacing the corridors or scribbling notes into what looked to be a leather-bound journal. When I boarded the ship that would take us to France, I looked for him in hopes that we could make plans for dinner together again. Unfortunately, we did not cross paths until two days out from France and when I did finally set eyes upon him, I couldn’t look away. The sensation was like magnetism. He looked extremely well -- almost as if he stepped out of a painting. For lack of a better description, he closely resembled Mr. Darcy in Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, but far more handsome with an angular face and the bluest of eyes. The odd part was: he couldn’t look away, either.

Never having considered myself vain, when I finally managed to look away, thanks to a welcomed distraction, I quickly checked my reflection via a porthole and found my cheeks burning red. At that very moment I felt uncomfortable in my own skin -- clumsy, awkward, quiet, and too tall. Was he really looking at mousy me or noting the fact that earlier I spilled tea on my cardigan? Being just two inches shy of six feet tall, when most girls were a petite 5'3", meant not getting asked to the school dances. In fact, to be completely honest, dating was downright difficult. By the end of my second year in high school, I gave up on the idea completely and turned to my studies.

Over the years, my friends and family have often teased me about my height. Finding fashionable clothing has always remained a challenge reminiscent of an artifact hunt in the far reaches of Tibet. As a result, I end up making most of my own clothing. Once again, my friends tease me, not about my craftiness, but rather my choice of colors. In opening my wardrobe and surveying the contents, you would find scores of dark blouses, dark cardigans, dark skirts and, of course, dark sensible shoes. My rationale for the selection of dark colors is simple: to not draw any more attention to myself. I prefer being a wallflower.

2

While the distance from Bordeaux, France to Füssen, Germany (located in the Bavarian Alps region) wasn't great, the travel was slow and quite dangerous due to on-going military operations. To pass the time, I tabled my well-read copy of Pride and Prejudice and I found myself switching between Jane Eyre by Charlotte Brontë and Dracula by Bram Stoker. In reading Dracula, I felt inspired to begin keeping a journal of my travels -- a place to record my observations and something to reflect upon at a later time. On the cusp of the French, Swiss, and German borders, our small convey stopped at a small cafe in Basel, Switzerland for lunch. It was there that I became formerly introduced to my artifact-hunting partner.

"Ms. Pocchiola?"

I looked up from my copy of Dracula to find an Army officer, holding his hat, with Herr Braun at his side. How very curious. Mr. Darcy and his friend Charles Bingley. I couldn't help but smile.

"I am Russell McGregor, assistant to your handler, Herr Adlersflügel. We met a few weeks back in your office."

I stood up and he decorously took my hand in greeting.

"Since Adlersflügel isn't here, I have been given the honor of introductions -- although by the way Herr Braun...Faramund... has spoken it seems that the two of you have already been acquainted. At any rate, the two of you will be working together for the duration of this campaign."

Making direct eye contact with me, Herr Faramund Braun politely took my hand and kissed it. His hand felt like ice.

Accompanying an elite group of soldiers, the next few weeks and months were filled with adventure. Once enemy forces have been eliminated and the all-clear is given, Faramund and I would enter the scene and scour the buildings and compounds for stolen artifacts while the soldiers secured enemy intelligence in hopes of ending the war. Not only did we recover paintings of breath-taking beauty, jewel-encrusted swords, leather-bound books with gold pages, and other antiquities that belong in dreams, but we were ensconced by extraordinary surroundings. The locations that the Nazis took up for headquarters were not homes belonging to mere peasants, but elaborate estates featuring domed ceilings, sweeping staircases, ponds with streaming fountains, and imported black swans floating dreamily in the water. It was all brilliant and very exciting.

In celebrating success with the troops and the recovery of a long sought-after artifact, Faramund and I toured the newly captured grounds – a prominent home of a high-ranking Nazi officer. In actuality, the home was likely never his, but rather that of a wealthy Jewish family that sought refuge abroad earlier in the war. I like to consider that scenario to be the circumstance surrounding the abandonment of this prime piece of real estate rather than the alternative: being transported to a concentration camp. I hope the family escaped intact and unharmed. Shortly before the raid, for whatever the reason, the power to the estate was cut rendering the long and echoing hallways dark thus making our work and subsequent tour more than difficult. Perhaps the darkness or maybe too much schnapps (Germans love their schnapps) caused my life to abruptly change when I fell down a dark stairway.

I must admit, my memory of the event is quite fuzzy, but I recall waking to a sense of peace with Faramund at my bedside looking relieved. The sense of peace soon left when I was overwhelmed by my senses. It was as though life and the menagerie of senses came roaring and trampling back to me. Behind me, I heard the sound of small scurrying footsteps. When I turned to find the source of the noise, I was reminded that I was still in bed and all that remained behind me was the intricately carved headboard and the wall. Even though the window was closed, I could smell the heavy and moist scent of freshly turned earth in the garden. In fact, I could almost taste it -- how peculiar yet strangely pleasant. Surveying the grounds from the exquisite ten-foot, glass paneled French doors that led to the balcony in the upstairs bedroom, I could see the white star-like petals of das Edelweiß dancing in the Bavarian breeze without the aid of my glasses.

At first, I thought that I had died and must be in heaven because of my keen senses and my overall lack of pain -- after all, I did take quite a tumble. My throat felt curiously raw and hoarse like I had been screaming or perhaps I was just very thirsty from being unconscious. Now aware of what I might look like -- missing teeth, a blackened eye, bruises and contusions -- I walked across the room to the full-length mirror and to my surprise I found only two small puncture wounds on my neck. A confused look must have crossed my face because Faramund was instantly at my side. It was then that I heard the shuffling of feet leaving the room and the echo of a metal click as the latch caught in the heavy carved wood door; it was as if it had closed on a chapter in my life.

3

Faramund, without even batting an eyelash, proceeded to explain the details surrounding my accident and as a result the mystery of my current state began to become more focused. Apparently, when I fell down the staircase I hit my head quite hard. With wounds to the head, there is always much blood and as a result our comrades feared the worst and thought me dead. One of the medics attempted to find a pulse, but to no avail. Fortunately, Faramund was present at the scene and was able to find a weak pulse and carried me to an empty bedroom. An Army nurse was summoned for my care and managed to stabilize me, but was called away after several hours to care for a severely wounded soldier returning from another raid.

It was then that Faramund laid something on me that felt like a ton of bricks to my curiously buoyant body: I actually died. Shortly after the nurse left, I took a turn for the worse and Faramund humbly admitted to saving me. When I inquired as to how he did it, silence settled upon the room like a heavy fog. We were watching each other for the next move. After a long pause, Faramund turned away from me and walked to the window with his hands in the pockets of his trousers.

After several more minutes of silence, he must have mustered enough courage from the view of the Alps in the glowing dusk because he returned to my side and took both of my hands in his. His blue eyes searched my face and met my green eyes, but this time I did not feel my cheeks begin to warm. How incredibly strange. What I immediately noticed was that his pupils were different from any that I have ever seen before. Why didn't I ever notice? After all, this wasn't the first the first time I have so openly studied his face before. Once again, he must have noticed my alarm because he began to speak...

"I don't know how to begin..."

"Faramund, my dear friend, please do not worry. I am just happy to be alive and in one piece."

The burning in my throat intensified and I looked for the pitcher of water that was situated on the small nightstand next to the bed.

"It won't help. You've been changed."

I certainly noticed changes, my sharpened senses and lack of pain, but I attributed that to my recovery. A second chance. A rebirth.

"Julianne, you died."

As I poured water into the goblet, I replied, "Yes, I am aware of that fact." Faramund was watching me closely. I took a big gulp of water in hopes of quenching the ever-growing fire in my throat, but found that it had no effect.

"I am a vampire and I didn't save your life. I took it."

In my shock, the crystal goblet in my hand began to falter and it soon began to fall to the floor. Without even a second's delay, Faramund reached down and caught the goblet before it had a chance to shatter on the polished and ornate parquet floor. If he was a vampire, then the puncture wounds on my neck could only be... He saved me, yes, but he didn't save my life. What about my family back home in the States? I had so many questions and the room felt as though all of the sound in the world had returned at full volume. The cacophonous noise roared in my ears and I felt completely overwhelmed. Not to mention, that the aggravating burning in my throat was becoming almost unbearable. For the first time in my life, I collapsed on the bed and cried.

4

Unlike much vampire lore, mostly myths and legends, Faramund and I were not limited to the darkness. We could walk side by side with any mortal without raising suspicion other than the fact that we must make ourselves blink. Rather than mingle with mortals, we prefer the company of each other. Now that sleep was no longer necessary, I took advantage of this newfound freedom and took to the mountains. The Bavarian Alps are full of spectacular sights such as moss-covered boulders the size of a house, majestic forests full of gigantic fir trees, and pristine alpine lakes that sparkle like blue sapphires. The region was also home to a plethora of animals. Surprisingly, I was more interested in the wildlife.

I soon learned that the burning sensation in my throat was due to hunger or rather thirst. To say that I was squeamish of blood wouldn't be accurate; however, the idea of maiming and possibly killing humans for their blood thoroughly repulsed me. Fortunately, Faramund deemed himself a “vegetarian” and would feed upon wildlife consisting primarily of deer, wolves, and the occasional bear which made the transformation process for me much easier considering our current location. Since I was a neophyte and learning how to become a Jäger, hunter in our native tongue, I focused on smaller animals such as rabbits, fox, otters, and wolves.

As the weeks passed and I began slowly adapting to the changes, I commenced learning everything that I could about my new supernatural status. As I already mentioned, the stories are just that...stories. For the sake of appearances, Faramund and I would still make our way to the dining room three times a day, but rather than fill ourselves with food for mortals, like our comrades, we picked and grazed not eating much. Garlic, an ingredient common to my favorite foods as a mortal, has no effect on our kind. Silver, crucifixes, and coffins are also the elements of myths; however, a wooden stake through the heart could do the trick. Based on my earliest moments as a supernatural, sharpened senses and quick reflexes, at least one truth was discovered: we were designed to hunt.

The weather in the region was frigidly cold which, personally, didn't faze Faramund and I like it did the soldiers, but rather it created a challenge for our hunting. Our prey was not as plentiful as it was before the weather changed, but we still managed to feed on errant deer. One afternoon while scavenging a great distance away from our current compound, I heard the sound of soldiers and upon further investigation it was confirmed: a Skijäger-Division. From our position, without saying a word to each other, we covertly observed the white-clad Nazi infantry unit performing drills and tactical movements on skis. After several moments, I turned my attention to Faramund. New scents were coming from him, scents in which I have never before experienced -- those of rage and disgust.

When Faramund turned to meet my eyes, his face looked grim and his eyes had a hard determined set about them. Inaudible to the mortal ear, he demanded that I stay put and I watched as he effortlessly made his way into the thick cover bordering the snow-covered slope. When I attempted to follow Faramund, I found a curiously strange tingling sensation in my limbs almost as if they were falling asleep. I could not move. Even more curious, when I opted for a better vantage point rather than to follow Faramund, I found the sensation had vanished. In my new perch, I witnessed something in which will never leave me...

5

Faramund, in a fit of pure rage, began attacking the Nazis. While those humans were certainly below scum of the world, killing humans was against our philosophy as I had been learning over the past few weeks. Panic instilled in my body. If adrenaline was still possible, it would have been coursing through my veins. The sensation was back; as a result, I was unable to stop him. In less than 10 minutes, every man in the Skijäger-Division was laying dead in the crimson-stained alpine snow.

"Julianne, you may join me now," Faramund called. Fear and doubt plagued my mind. While Faramund was certainly full of surprises as of late, I began to ponder if he truly is who he claimed to be. Reluctantly, I made my way down to him and retched at the carnage surrounding him. The scene was horrific and intensified by my newfound senses.

Busying himself, Faramund bent over and began washing his bloodied hands in the snow. When his hands were spotless, he used fresh snow to clean the blood from his lips and chin. The sight was appalling and I found myself reeling. Who was this man that I came to know?

"We need to talk," he said.

"Obviously, but I prefer elsewhere."

"No, here." Faramund said resolutely.

I was growing more and more uncomfortable -- fearful that we would be discovered. Faramund causally traipsed the scene and using the toe of his boot, he seemed to examine the faces of the fallen Skijäger-Division.

"I can't help but keep a list of those I have killed. I might not know their names, but I remember their faces. Even after becoming a vampire, human death disturbs me."

Faramund kicked a Maschinenpistole-40 away from a feeble soldier, lying in a pool of his own blood. It was miraculous that he survived the attack. Faramund bent down and twisted the man's neck to an unnatural angle. The soldier ceased all further movement. I continued my silence -- waiting for an explanation to Faramund's violence.

"I must tell you... Thus far, I've purposely been quite mysterious about my background. I was afraid to share too much. I knew you were capable of connecting the dots. Julianne, I wasn't recruited for this mission due to expertise, like you, but rather for a different set of skills..."

He must have smelled the disgust and contempt permeating from my body because he changed his course.

"How much do you know about this war?! How much?! Or are you only focused on rescuing artifacts?! These...vile... animals..."

Faramund's voice was a hard staccato, colder than our surroundings, and traces of venom escaped from his mouth making the snow sizzle and steam where it landed.

"...have pillaged...tortured...disfigured...raped...and murdered...innocent human beings! I might have left Deutschland prior to the 'war'; however, the true war began when that Drecksau, Hitler came to power. Over 100 years before this hell even began, a German poet by the name of Heinrich Heine stated, 'Wo sie Bücher zu verbrennen, werden sie auch verbrennen die Menschen.' It translates to: 'Where they burn books, they will also burn people.' Julianne, they are burning people, you idiot girl!"

I felt his eyes on me, searching my face, demanding a response, but for the first time I couldn't meet his eyes. I was ashamed. Ashamed that I had kept my nose in the books and as a result was naive and oblivious ...ashamed that Faramund saw this side of me. Several minutes of silence passed between us.

Much quieter and his voice dripping with hurt,

"My parents are dead and gone. After I was changed, I stayed away. Out of love. Because of the blood found, my wife thought I was murdered. I didn't want to scare them or put them in harm's way. It was easier to just stay away. Not all vampires follow our philosophy and I didn't want to attract unnecessary attention. I watched my family from a safe distance...watched my wife marry my best friend...watched my children grow old and die. I cannot even begin to tell you how lonely this life is...

Much like you, I filled the void with books and my studies; however, unlike you, sleep was no longer a requirement. I became fluent in English, immigrated to the States, and felt compelled for something bigger than merely existing. Without further thought, I applied to The Citadel in Charleston, South Carolina.

Keeping my supernatural status a secret was a challenge, but even more challenging was trying not to outperform the humans and draw attention. For the first time in my life, I failed. One night while pretending to cool down from a run, my mentor approached me some distance away from my quarters. He looked and smelled different. Something was wrong. Walther Adlersflügel said, 'Braun, I know what you are.' A very long story made short: he, too, was a vampire and recruited me..."

In less than 30 minutes, I witnessed Faramund murder an entire Skijäger-Division and just found out that my ever-absent handler, Adlersflügel, is a vampire -- not to mention that my "partner" has been carrying out covert operations right under my nose. I simply had enough. As I turned to leave, Faramund grabbed my arm.

"We aren't finished yet."

"We are finished here, Faramund. I cannot stand your casualness with death. I am returning."

As immature as it might be, I hope that stung. When I caught his scent, I knew I went too far.

6

Upon our return, we found the manor to be in a somewhat organized state of chaos. Gear was being loaded onto trucks and we found it difficult to break through the lines of soldiers hurrying to carry out their assigned duties. After several minutes of Faramund and I pretending to be jostled, a harried-looking soldier approached us and delivered a message: we were to join Herr Walther Adlersflügel in his office immediately. Pressing through the troops, we made our way into what could only be the temporary office of Herr Adlersflügel. A stifling room fashioned of dark wainscoting and solid wood bookshelves lined with substantial amounts of hand-stamped and leather-bound volumes. My newfound eyesight noticed some of the works exhibited characteristics of red rot—a breakdown of the leather—followed by my sharp sense of smell confirming the suspicion. The smell of decay was in the air.

"Ahhh... You must be Fräulein Pocchiolo." Surprisingly, Herr Adlersflügel's voice still carried a German accent.

"Your Familie hails from Vadena? In my native tongue, we refer to it as Pfatten." I nodded.

"It is wunderbar to meet another Pocchiolo. I once courted a beautiful woman by the name of Ginerva. Any relation to you?"

"Sir, yes. She was my great-grandmother. If you do not mind me asking, when did you meet her?"

"I first set eyes upon Ginerva when she was leaving Mass with her family, but I digress. We have much more pressing matters to attend. Julianne, I am honored to be acquainted at last. Faramund has said much about you. Will you please have a seat?"

I knew to make no mistake about it -- that was not a question, but rather a demand. I nodded my head and took a seat next to Faramund.

"Faramund, I trust that you have brought Fräulein Pocchiolo up to speed?"

"Sir, she is aware of me being recruited."

"How surprising," Herr Adlersflügel drawled. "I thought the moment you became a Maker, you would spill all of your secrets."

I could smell irritability undulating from Faramund. Herr Adlersflügel picked up a tarnished hand bell and gave it a quick ring. In walked a servant pushing a cart with tea and scones. With the flick of his fingers, as if he was batting a fly, Walther dismissed the servant with an air of superiority.

Motioning to the cart, Adlersflügel said unemotionally,

“For the sake of appearances." Then through gleaming teeth he added, “However, I must admit that I do enjoy the English and their customs.”

Faramund had sympathetically explained his vegetarian philosophy which had helped me ease into my new life. He also explained that not all vampires possess the strength or will to follow suit. I noted that this man was not one to be trifled with.

After the slightest of pauses he continued,

"As the two of you can see, duty calls. Death squads, more formally known as Einsatzgruppen der Sicherheitspolizei und des SD, have been wreaking havoc in the east. Soviet territory."

 With pause, but in a heavy and forceful tone, he continued,

"Later this morning, we move out. You're dismissed."

Not wanting to stay a moment longer in this man's presence, I gathered my superfluous winter garments and started to leave the room until he spoke again.

Looking at Faramund, he said,

"The girl needs to know...and one more thing: fantastisch job with the Skijäger-Division."

7

Left alone for the first time in hours, I began packing away what meager belongings and personal effects I brought with me; however, not without mulling over the conversation with Herr Adlersflügel. From Adlersflügel's closing remarks, it seemed that Faramund was recruited for the solitary purpose of hunting and assassinating Nazis. A vampire assassin. I struggled with wrapping my mind around Faramund, my Mr. Darcy, murdering anyone -- yet on the other hand, the incident with the Skijäger-Division was fresh and still glistening in my mind.

A quick knock on my door preceded Faramund's head poking in room. As if nothing had happened between the two of us, he inquired if I was packed and ready. Silently nodding my head, he reached for my bags much to my chagrin.

"I might be a lady, but as vampire, I can certainly handle carrying my own bags. Thank you!"

"Listen, Julianne. You have every right to be upset with me and even not trust me, but know this: we must maintain appearances."

Without delay, he held the door open for me and proceeded to follow me downstairs.

Unfortunately, Herr Adlersflügel arranged a private vehicle for Faramund and I. Knowing I would be stuck with him for immeasurable hours; I pulled my copy of Pride and Prejudice from one of my bags. As I scanned the pages and pretended to not hear him, Faramund continued the conversation in which I had abruptly ended earlier in the day. My hunch was confirmed. He was, indeed, hired as an assassin to take out Nazis. I was recruited as his cover. Now that I was a vampire, which according to Faramund was never planned, I was expected to partake in Herr Adlersflügel's special covert missions. The idea sickened me and I am certain that Faramund picked up my scent. Because it was winter and the nature of business had everything to do with the war at hand, conditions were dangerous which made travel much slower. Thankfully, Faramund stopped his harangue and we passed the rest of the trip, just shy of two weeks, to Leningrad (St. Petersburg) from Füssen, Bavaria in relative peace and quiet.

Thanks to the well-frozen Lake Ladoga, the Soviets had been able to successfully evacuate the contents of many museums and treasuries via an ice road across the lake referred to as the Road of Life. Not only were they able to rescue some of their cultural heritage via the Road of Life, but it also served as an artery for desperately needed food and supplies for the region. The citizens of Leningrad were starving including the Soviet soldiers. In fact, it wasn't unusual to see looting shortly after rations were distributed to the civilians. Since Faramund and I were eating merely for appearances, I pocketed most of what I could and discretely gave it to the local woman who was enlisted to care for our quarters.

After settling in, Faramund and I were summoned by Herr Adlersflügel for a briefing. Over the course of the past two weeks, the intelligence gathered has indicated the possibility of a large cache of artifacts being stored in a very rural area northeast of Leningrad -- across Lake Ladoga. While obvious that we were being activated for another artifact recovery mission, I knew that Faramund would be engaging in multiple assassinations. Even if it was covert, I was thankful that Herr Adlersflügel made no mention of the additional mission. I couldn't bear to hear any gruesome details.

Later that same night under the cover of darkness, Faramund and I began the dangerous trek which required crossing enemy lines multiple times. Because of our supernatural status, we were able to quickly travel cross-country via the woods virtually undetected which saved much time; however, our travel was neither light nor easy. Corpses of men, women, and even children lay partially covered in snow with many of them frozen like statues. By their various positions, it was apparent that these innocent people had been lined up and shot in the back. It was absolutely heart wrenching.

I couldn't help but recall Faramund, his frustrations with me, and my feeling of shame. Between the long hours I logged for the museum which entailed acquisitioning artifacts, cataloging, and then carefully preserving them -- coupled with pure and plain avoidance -- I was oblivious to the atrocities of this war. Faramund and I weren't serving on the frontlines of the war effort. To date, beyond seeing the effects of war such as malnutrition and looting, I had not seen dead civilians. Anger soon began to simmer inside of me.

8

It wasn't long after we began finding corpses in the woods, did we begin hearing soldiers and the sound of the occasional car on a dirt road. Still under the cover of trees and darkness, as we got closer to the road we located the site of our objective: a magnificent mansion of a house was set off some distance off the road. At the end of the driveway, an intricate wrought-iron gate stood guarded by several Nazi soldiers. For whatever reason, perhaps caught up in the excitement of rescuing more artifacts, I now came to the abrupt realization that Herr Adlersflügel sent only the two of us. Cold and chilling thoughts came crashing into my mind like an avalanche. How are we going to pull off this mission? Am I expected to kill? I knew Faramund could smell my fear and anxiety.

"Julianne, we can do this; however, we certainly are not going to waltz in the front door and ask for accommodations. Follow me."

I felt compelled to follow him. Faramund, my Maker was far more experienced than I, and for the second time in my life as a vampire, he used the Maker-progeny bond to command me. I had no choice, other than guaranteed extreme pain, but to follow him. Faramund led us away from the headquarters via the woods and up a steep hill. From our location, situated behind the immense mansion, we had the perfect vantage point which afforded us a view of what looked to be the main parlor where Nazi soldiers were being entertained. Once again, I grew anxious; however, this time the anger that began simmering earlier now turned to a boil. There is no mistaking the fact that those officers whom look to be having a jovial time around a warm stone fireplace ordered the killing of those innocent families who now lay frozen in the woods. The dissonance was utterly distressing.

"Einsatzgruppen," remarked Faramund. "Some of the most brutal and cold men under the Third Reich. I don't expect you to immediately follow me. I can come for you when I have secured the grounds."

"Faramund, you can't handle taking them down alone."

"You would be surprised. In comparison to the Skijäger-Division, there is much less of them; however, if you are offering to help, sully your face and clothing. Present yourself to the guards at the front gate. It will create a distraction and you'll gain access to the mansion. Because you are a vampire, they won't be able to hurt you. Besides, I don't think they would want to cause you any harm. At least not immediately."

I watched as he effortlessly descended the bluff and approached the mansion. If I was going to assist him, I knew I needed to act. Through the trees I ran, making my way back towards the wrought-iron gate where two Nazis stood guard. I managed to find a jagged rock in which I used to make a small incision on my hand and rip my trousers. It wasn't long and I must have looked like I had spent days lost in the woods -- blood and dirt soiled my face and parka. I wasn't going to be any more ready than I was now.

Knowing only a miniscule amount of German, mostly the names of units, I could not understand what the soldiers were yelling; however, common sense dictated that I should halt and put my hands in the air. Thankfully my stress was barely contained because I was able to burst into tears without much effort. Surprisingly, they handled me gently and both idiots escorted me, via the black Mercedes-Benz that had been parked by the gate, up to the mansion thus leaving the gate unguarded. In hindsight, the probability of enemy combatants approaching this secluded fort was slim. After all, the nearby town was rendered extinct between their brutality and sending the Jews to concentration camps. This mansion, like the estate in Füssen in which we temporarily resided, was likely confiscated from a Jewish family.

Rage bubbled up inside of me and I made my first bold move as a vampire by sinking my fangs into the passenger's neck. His scream was abruptly cut off as I drained the last bit of blood from his body. The driver of the car, utterly shocked, jumped from the moving vehicle causing it to veer of course and strike a tree. Out of the vehicle and on the ground before the remaining guard could pull himself up, I was by his side and had his blood drained before he could begin to scream for help. I couldn't help but feel a sense of justice seeping into my body. An insatiable burning I knew only to be thirst made my throat feel ragged and raw. I wanted more.

9

Inside the mansion, Faramund had his work cut out for him. After eliminating the soldiers gallivanting in the parlor by the fire, he found a dozen more feasting in the dining room where I joined him via the cellar. The table was laden with hearty food and the soldier's faces were flushed with drink. Surprised to see fresh blood on my chin, Faramund smiled at me and said,

"Julianne, how nice of you to join the party. Let the feast begin!" 

 The sound of shattering china muffled the screams as we quickly finished off the German dinner party with pure brute force. Faramund silently motioned for me to follow him upstairs.

Upon reaching the upstairs, we were presented with a "U" shaped hallway that curved around the winding staircase. A large crystal chandelier lit the hallway with wall scones strategically placed between the doors to the various bedrooms. Because of our strength, we chose to divide and conquer. When I tried the knob to the first room, I found it to be locked. Moving on down the hallway, I could smell the sweet-scent of alcohol and sour breath coming from the next room. On the grand four-poster bed a soldier laid, passed out from too much schnapps, with a large ring of skeleton keys resting on the nightstand. I grabbed the keys and locked the slumbering soldier in his room. The next room was found to be empty except for several uniforms hanging in the closet and what looked to be silver necklace on the floor.

Without much thought, I bent down to retrieve the delicate looking necklace. Upon closer inspection, I recognized the Star of David and realized that it had been forcefully torn from someone's neck. The silver reeked of pure terror and I immediately made the connection with the first bedroom and set of skeleton keys in my pocket. Running back down the hallway, I kicked in the door to the first bedroom. As I was knocked to my knees, shrieks of alarm filled the room. Spinning around, I found my assailant to be a young woman holding a poster from the bed. Four other women cowered in the corner attempting to stifle their sobs. At this precise moment, in strode Faramund his clothes tattered and torn but unhurt nonetheless.

In what I took to be Russian, whatever Faramund said to the women it had an immediate calming effect. Instead of cowering, they immediately began pulling linen and blankets from the bed. The youngest of the group, ran to the other bedrooms and retrieved more bedding.

Faramund looked to me and said, 

"In the shed, out back, there is a supply truck. The keys are in it. Bring it around front and we'll meet you there."

In fifteen minutes time, Faramund led the five women out the massive oak front doors to the military truck. Each woman, in addition to wearing a Nazi wool coat, was wrapped in bedding and carrying an artifact of some kind. Paintings, several vases, and a circlet were securely packed into the shipping crate left in the back of the truck. Faramund and I helped the women into the truck and wrapped the extra blankets around them. Before departing, I ran back into the house and gathered as much food and water as I could manage -- which being a vampire was a great deal. In their original terror and later excitement at being liberated from their inhumane captors, the women hadn't realized their hunger. When they saw the food in my arms, their eyes filled with tears.

Instead of joining me in the cab, Faramund requested that I drive the truck and meet him at the gate. As I pulled away, I watched him double-back into the mansion at an alarming rate of speed. Shortly after I reached the end of the driveway, I noticed smoke rising from behind us and smiled as I realized that Faramund had set fire to the Einsatzgruppen's house of horrors. While it was sad to see such a beautiful home destroyed, we knew that it was for the best. It was just a matter of time before more Nazis headed this way and turned it into a command post. An acrid smelling Faramund, sporting a Nazi officer's uniform, opened the door and climbed abroad.

10

The drive back to Leningrad was much more eventful than the brief romp Faramund and I had previously taken in the woods. Because we were traveling by road, rather than by our own volition, progress was slowed and the various checkpoints that we encountered certainly didn't help matters. Faramund and I switched places with him driving the truck. As we approached each checkpoint along the bleak countryside, I slipped in the back with the Russian women. While Faramund was answering the various questions posed by the soldiers, I gracefully extricated myself from under the tarp and personally greeted the soldiers. With our procedure in place, we made up for time lost due to the condition of the roads and the slow-moving truck. We offered to take the women where ever they wished once returning to Leningrad; however, according to Faramund, they were content to stay in the city amongst people rather than return to the isolated countryside.

Upon returning to our compound and finding rooms for the women, I was keen on a shower, hot or cold -- temperature didn't matter anymore; I wanted to wash away the blood and filth accumulated from our mission. Unfortunately, Adlersflügel was notified upon our return and we were summoned to his office. Like his previous office, the room was rich with dark wood and housed a large collection of antique books. A tray bearing hot coffee and rolls waited on a nearby table. For appearances, yes; however, the idea of partaking in a normal, human activity filled me with comfort and I poured myself a cup of coffee before Adlersflügel began the debriefing.

"Judging by your appearance, Fraülein Pocchiolo, it looks as though you were of great assistance to our friend Faramund."

"Yes, sir," I replied.

"Good. I am glad that you are embracing your new life. Big things are coming your way, Agent Pocchiolo. All in good time. For now, I need the two of you survey the contents the Hermitage. You're dismissed."

Being educated, well-read, and certainly well-traveled, I never considered myself as naive -- yet in some aspects, I came to realize that I truly am. I learned there is more to life than books, academia, and artifacts. For starters, vampires do exist. Evil in the form of mortal humans have walked this earth time and time again -- in the wise words of a former colleague, "mankind needs to be knowledgeable about history in order to not repeat it." And most importantly, learning doesn't always come from books, but rather by opening your eyes and heart.

If you know anything about history, you likely know the outcome of the war. Due to covert missions carried out by Faramund and I, the Allied forces experienced a significant drop in causalities and only a select group knew how or why. At the end of the Second World War, that small elite group developed into something much bigger and became the foundation of the Central Intelligence Agency. And I am known as Agent Julianne Braun.

A Look at Chris Van Allsburg: An American Author and Illustrator

Jumanji (1981)

Biography
Chris Van Allsburg, originally from the “mitten” state of Michigan, was born in 1949 to Richard and Doris (Christiansen) Van Allsburg and spent his childhood growing up in Grand Rapids. Without taking a single art class throughout his high school tenure, Van Allsburg craftily got accepted to the University of Michigan's art school in 1967 in which he majored in sculpture -- learning about resin molding, bronze casting, as well as wood carving. Upon graduating in 1972, he took his studies to Rhode Island School of Design (RISD) and pursued a Master of Fine Arts, once again focusing on sculpture. In 1975, he graduated from RISD and married Lisa Morrison, a young lady in which he met during his undergraduate years in Michigan.

Van Allsburg, better known for his writing and illustration work, stumbled upon that path rather indirectly. According to his biographical information shared on his website, Van Allsburg began exhibiting his sculpture work in various museums and galleries in New York and across the New England region. In the evenings while at home, he would draw which resulted in several pieces being put on display at the Whitney Museum of Art. His wife, Lisa, who was friends with author and illustrator David Macaulay, provided contact information to his editor, Walter Lorraine (Houghton Mifflin). Lorraine was impressed with Van Allsburg's work and encouraged him to develop stories to accompany his various illustrations. And so it began...

While Van Allsburg continued with his sculpture work, he began focusing time and energy towards the development of print works. From his very first published piece in 1979 (The Garden of Abdul Gasazi) winning the Caldecott Honor to present day, he has both illustrated and written seventeen books for his collection with two pieces earning the Caldecott Medal (Jumanji, 1981 and The Polar Express, 1985). Van Allsburg was also the illustrator of a trilogy written by author Mark Helprin (Swan Lake, 1989; A City in Winter, 1996; and, The Veil of Snows, 1997) -- the collection is published under the title of A Kingdom Far and Clear: The Complete Swan Lake Trilogy. In addition to the works already mentioned, his catalog includes: Ben's Dream (1982), The Wreck of the Zephyr (1983), The Mysteries of Harris Burdick (1984), The Stranger (1986), The Z Was Zapped (1987), Two Bad Ants (1988), Just a Dream (1990), The Wretched Stone (1991), The Widow's Broom (1992), The Sweetest Fig (1993), The Mysteries of Harris Burdick (portfolio edition, 1994), Bad Day at Riverbend (1995), Zathura (2002), Probuditi (2006), and Queen of the Falls (2011).

In each of Van Allsburg’s books, a small white dog is included in various forms: puppet, toy, and of course, in the traditional canine form. On his website, Van Allsburg addresses the story of Fritz:

The first story that I wrote, The Garden of Abdul Gasazi, had a dog in it named Fritz. When I thought about the kind of dog I wanted Fritz to be, I decided he should be a bull terrier. Unfortunately, I didn't know any bull terriers that could be my model for drawing pictures. I found some photographs, but they were not what I needed. What I needed was a real dog. My brother-in-law, David, visited one day, and told me he was thinking of getting a dog, possibly a golden retriever. I told him he should get himself something more interesting. Something really unusual. I showed him photos of bull terriers and he agreed that it was a most unusual and appealing dog.

Not long after that, he acquired a bull terrier puppy, and named him Winston. Winston became the model for Fritz, and because he was my brother-in-law's dog, I thought of Winston as a kind of nephew. Sadly, Winston had an accident that sent him to the big dog kennel in the sky at a young age. I decided to commemorate the contribution he made to my first book by including him (or at least a tiny part of him) in all of my books.

In addition to his books, Van Allsburg has created posters for many agencies, organizations, and causes including, but not limited to the Rhode Island Festival of Children's Books and Authors, American Library Association: Year of the Young Reader (1989), Portland Symphony Orchestra, and even a postage stamp in 1997 promoting awareness of childhood learning. Twelve of his drawings have been published and made available on his website. The more notable works are Cat Fish Bouillabaisse, A Little Place by the Sea, Design for the Arizona Lighthouse Trust, Disappearing Egg Cup, and Lost at Sea.

A scene from the Mysteries of Harris Burdick

Artistic Mediums
Surveying the illustrations for Van Allsburg's collection of books, the majority of his works feature monochromatic color with pieces in black and white and some works done in sepia tones. What sets Van Allsburg apart from other author-illustrators is that he does not always employ the same mediums for his work. In fact, in an interview hosted by Scholastic in November of 2004, a student inquired about the mediums used to create the illustrations Van Allsburg responded with:

I use many different things. I use charcoal pencils. I use colored pencils, pastels. I use a little watercolor sometimes. I use pen and ink, and I use something a little different for each book because that way it is always interesting for me to make the pictures.

Furthermore, in an interview by The Providence Journal (Projo) this past summer, Van Allsburg stated, "The reality is, if I had stuck with one set of materials, I probably would have developed a higher level of mastery. But one of the interesting things about making things is the learning process that happens."

Jumanji
Van Allsburg's second book, published two years after his first was later made into a blockbuster movie in 1995 that starred actor Robin Williams. Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data gives a concise summary, "Left on their own for an afternoon, two bored and restless children find more excitement than they bargained for in a mysterious and mystical jungle adventure board game." The book features a hunter green dust jacket with illustrations on the front and back; the cover work coming directly from the illustration in the text block while the illustration on the back cover is a close-up of the board game and pieces. Textured mustard-yellow endpapers adorn the inside of the book and an illustration of the board game is featured on the title page.

The story of Jumanji is shared with readers on unnumbered pages via matte paper. Narration for the story was placed on the verso-side and pencil-drawn illustrations have been placed on the recto-side. Because the story takes place in a domestic setting, Van Allsburg has devoted much detail to the furnishings and surroundings which added credibility and authenticity to the story. Several illustrations in the book employ the use of a higher vantage point that gives the appearance of looking down upon the scene while other illustrations give the impression that the reader is present and participating in the children's jungle adventure.

The Mysteries of Harris Burdick
The fifth book in the Van Allsburg collection, published five years after his first, differs from the rest in that it features a series of individual illustrations that do not follow a single cohesive story. Because of the complexity of this piece, an explanation from the inside flap of the dust jacket is needed to explain the concept.

When Chris Van Allsburg was invited to the home of Peter Wenders, he discovered fourteen drawings that were, like piece of a picture puzzle, clues to larger pictures. But the puzzles, the mysteries, presented by these drawings, are not what we are used to. They are not solved for us, as in the final pages of a book or a film's last reel. The solutions to these mysteries lie in a place at once closer at hand, yet far more remote. They lie in our imagination.

In the media in order to create an air of mystery, Van Allsburg has portrayed this book as a compilation of illustrations by Harris Burdick; however, in actuality, the works were, indeed, illustrated by Van Allsburg himself.

Like Jumanji, Harris Burdick is illustrated in black and white on unnumbered matte pages. A black dust jacket, smooth black endpapers and a curious illustration featured on the title page contribute to the mystique of the book. In the text block, the verso-side plays host to sparse text, the title of the illustration with a caption, and the recto-side features a full-page illustration that invokes the reader's imagination. For example, the second illustration is titled Under the Rug with the caption reading, "Two weeks passed and it happened again." The illustration depicts a middle-aged man, holding a chair above his head, looking down at a large object hiding underneath the room's rug.

It is worth mentioning that the twelfth illustration titled Just Desert features a possible typographical error – the scene depicts a woman in the kitchen beginning to work on a baking project featuring a pumpkin. Because the book lacks narration and text beyond titles and captions, the error is contextual. In late October 2011, this book will be re-released under the title The Chronicles of Harris Burdick: Fourteen Amazing Authors Tell the Tales. As the title mentions, Van Allsburg collaborated with fourteen authors who developed narration for each illustration that is featured in the book. According to a review in Publisher’s Weekly, Lemony Snicket covered the introduction and the following authors contributed narration to the illustrations: Sherman Alexie, M.T. Anderson, Kate DiCamillo, Cory Doctorow, Jules Feiffer, Stephen King, Tabitha King, Lois Lowry, Gregory Maguire, Walter Dean Myers, Linda Sue Park, Louis Sachar, Jon Scieszka, as well as Van Allsburg.

The Polar Express
Just a year after The Mysteries of Harris Burdick, Van Allsburg published his renowned piece that earned a Caldecott Medal. Similar to an earlier piece of literature, Jumanji, this piece was also developed into a movie that was released in 1995 and featured actor Tom Hanks as the conductor of the Polar Express. Glossy white, the dust jacket features a large illustration of snow falling onto a residential scene with a train parked curiously in the road -- the illustration is continued onto the back of the jacket which gives impression of the train's size. A warm textured brown paper is used for the book's endpapers which is complementary of the cover art.

Unlike the previous two books which were drawn in black and white, The Polar Express features full color oil pastel illustrations rendered on glossy paper. Because the story takes place at night and the early hours of Christmas morning, the overall color used in this piece is darker than other full color books in the Van Allsburg collection. Also differing from Van Allsburg's other works, the illustrations in this piece were designed to take up the bulk of each two-page spread with the location of the text varying throughout the book. Fritz is featured on the very first page in puppet form.

The Widow's Broom
When visually surveying the books considered thus far, The Widow's Broom literally stands out. Rather than the traditional landscape format, this tall and narrow piece was published in portrait format which is seems appropriate when considering that the book is delivering the magical story of a broom. According to the cataloging information offered by the Library of Congress, The Widow's Broom is summarized as, "A witch's worn-out broom serves a widow well, until her neighbors decide the thing is wicked and dangerous." Like The Mysteries of Harris Burdick, this piece also has a black dust jacket and is adorned with black endpapers; however, in the case of The Widow's Broom, a warm brown, almost orange, color on the dust jacket and the boards give the book an autumn and Halloween-feel -- the time of year in which the story was set.

In contrast to the other works presented thus far, The Widow's Broom employs the use of several full two-page spread illustrations without text or narration. Also differing from the previous books introduced thus far, a border of pumpkins adorns the top and bottom of pages in which narration is present adding to the autumnal-feeling. Rather than the smooth illustrations done in black and white employed in other works by Van Allsburg, illustrations in The Widow's Broom are textured and rendered in sepia tones. From the broom's twigs, the boards of the wood floor and bead board walls, to the bark on the trees, Van Allsburg's use of lines is apparent throughout the illustrations in this piece. And for the Fritz fans, he makes his first appearance of several in this book, on page 17 in canine form.

Zathura
The sequel to Jumanji (1981), Zathura was published in book form in 2002 and made the silver screen when released to theaters in 2005. According to the dust jacket, a dark purple color, a brief overview of the story is offered by the publisher:

On the last page of the Caldecott Medal-winning book Jumanji, young Danny Budwing is seen running home with a game tucked under his arm. Now, after twenty years, Chris Van Allsburg is ready to reveal what happens when Danny and his brother roll the dice.

This time the name of the game is Zathura and Walter and Danner Budwing are in for the ride of their lives.

Like Jumanji, the story is illustrated in black and white and takes place in a domestic setting with detail given to the surroundings; however, the overall illustration style differs and it is quite similar to the grainy and textured drawings presented in The Widow's Broom and also has black endpapers. Also different from the books explored thus far, the illustrations in Zathura take up the entire two-page spread and the story's narration is shared via embedded white space surrounded by a thin-line border. Fritz, located in the first illustrated spread, was somewhat difficult to find as he was tucked into a model car parked on a shelf in the boys' bedroom.

Queen of the Falls
In an article published by School Library Journal, Debra Lau Whelan interviewed Van Allsburg about his latest work and offers a brief overview of the book: "... a true story of 62-year-old Annie Taylor, the first person to survive a trip over the Niagara Falls in a barrel, and the fame and fortune that she never received." His first piece of non-fiction features illustrations drawn via pencil, perfect for depicting water and movement, presented on glossy paper with sepia-tones. Like Zathura, the dust jacket is almost the same dark purple; however, rather than black end papers, Queen of the Falls is adorned with beautiful silvery-gray endpapers reminiscent of mist of Niagara Falls.

Earlier this year, Queen of the Falls was featured in a blog post titled Review of the Day also published by School Library Journal. The reviewer stated the following:

I was fascinated by Van Allsburg's choices of how to present one scene or another too. Picture book illustrators have reinterpreted the lives of famous (and not so famous) people for decades. But how Van Allsburg's take on Annie felt different, and I tried to figure out why this was. There is a moment in this book when a down-on-her-luck Ms. Edison scans The Bay City Bugle for jobs or ideas. On the left-hand page you see her resting her head on her hand, seemingly uninterested. On the right-hand page it's as if a light bulb has gone on in her brain. Everything about her is electrified and in the midst of her idea she has inadvertently knocked the flower vase on her table over. It's the "Ah ha!" moment, and feels almost cinematic.

As the reviewer described the layout of a pair of illustrations, it is certainly worth mentioning that the overall format of Queen of the Falls differs from any of Van Allsburg's other works. While full page illustrations are present throughout the book, smaller illustrations are embedded in areas previously reserved solely for the presentation of text and narration. Panel-style illustrations reminiscent of some graphic novels and comic books are also interspersed. Rest assured, while this book is certainly different, the famous Fritz makes an appearance on page 28.

Event at the Observatory, 1974

Opinion and Conclusion
In reviewing Van Allsburg's artwork, the various illustrations connect with the text of each story by way of being supportive. Emotion, expression, and movement are transmitted to the reader via the illustrations. By hypothetically removing the narration and text from each book in the Van Allsburg collection, an illustrated wordless book is created; however, by hypothetically removing the illustrations and leaving the text, the stories, while engaging and interesting, are rendered quite bland in comparison. With the exception of A Bad Day in Riverbend, a line-style work reminiscent of a coloring book complete with scribbles, this reviewer thoroughly enjoys all of the artwork produced by Chris Van Allsburg including the hodge-podge of posters and advertisements generated for organizations, but especially enjoys The Mysteries of Harris Burdick (1984), The Stranger (1986), and three sculptures: Event at the Observatory, Ball Coming to a Skidding Stop, and Cottage of the Horticulturalist.

Sources

• Biography. (2004). Retrieved from http://www.chrisvanallsburg.com/biography.html

• Bird, E. (2011). Review of the day: Queen of the falls by Chris Van Allsburg. Retrieved from http://blog.schoollibraryjournal.com/afuse8production/2011/01/15/review-of-the-day- queen-of-the-falls-by-chris-van-allsburg/

• Chris Van Allsburg interview transcript. (2004). Retrieved from http://www2.scholastic.com/browse/collateral.jsp?id=1486_type=Contributor_typeId=3697

• The chronicles of Harris Burdick: Fourteen amazing authors tell the tales. (2011, July). Publisher’s Weekly, 258(30), 54.

• Huetteman, S. (1999). Chris Van Allsburg. Retrieved from http://www.ncteamericancollection.org/litmap/amcollectlitmap.htm

• Pelletier, J. (2011). Chris Van Allsburg talks about his new book. Retrieved from http://www.projo.com/books/content/Rhode_Van_Allsburg_0605_06-05-11_UQODLN7_v31.dec46b.html

• University of Michigan (Producer). (2011). Chris Van Allsburg: Whose little dog is that? Retrieved from http://www.lsa.umich.edu/english/grad/mfa/recReadMedia.asp

• Whelan, D. L. (2011). Carried away with Chris Van Allsburg. Retrieved from http://www.slj.com/slj/home/889584-312/carried_away_with_chris_van.html.csp

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Side note: The Room of Requirement by Nicholas Hooper makes me think of Van Allsburg and his books.

The Stranger: A Classic Reviewed

Wagons loaded with pumpkins, soybean crops yellowing, tillage work in the already harvested wheat fields, and of course, the availability of fresh apple cider traditionally signals the advent of autumn for those living in an agricultural community. Not having ever read The Stranger by Chris Van Allsburg, but being familiar with his beautifully rendered illustrations in other works such as Jumanji and The Polar Express, this piece was selected for review due to its agricultural and autumnal themes.

Prior to Reading
While not a wordless book, The Stranger can be classified as a children's illustrated story book, or in other words, a picture book with narration. Prior to reading the story, based on mere observation of the book, a reader is likely to anticipate from the title a mystery or an adventure involving a stranger with the dust jacket illustration further cementing that notion. The dust jacket features a darker illustration of a young man, seated at a table, being served soup from a tureen by a woman with a soft smile on her face. It is a curious illustration because the young man has a somewhat shocked look about him with eyebrows raised and eyes quite open -- the cover certainly adds to the mystery or adventure-feeling that the title incites.

Because this is an illustrated children's book geared for those in early to mid-elementary school, it is not a chapter-style book with headings -- if it were, Van Allsburg would certainly include an illustration on each chapter page. As it is, Van Allsburg's illustrations are placed throughout the book -- from the dust jacket, to the title page, and the verso-side opposite the story's narration. The font size selected for this work is quite comparable to the size of subheadings found in Charlotte Huck's Children's Literature textbook or around 14 - 16 points. For ease of reading, works targeted at younger age groups typically select a larger font size. Older children reading a book with a larger font are sometimes quick to label it as a "baby book" or classify it as remedial reading; however, in the case of this piece, the font size was found to be appropriate for a wide range of readers.

The Plot Thickens
The Stranger features a very unique plot that moves while playing with both fantasy and reality -- certainly a draw to children and for those reading the story aloud. Action begins on the very first page of the story:

It was the time of year that Farmer Bailey liked best, when summer turned to fall. He whistled as he drove along. A cool breeze blew across his face through the truck's open window. Then it happened. There was a loud "thump." Mr. Bailey jammed on his brakes. "Oh no!" he thought. "I've hit a deer."

The story continues to unfold when Mr. Bailey learns that he has hit and injured a young man. The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data, included on the verso, concisely captures the overview of the plot: "The enigmatic origins of the stranger Farmer Bailey hits with his truck and brings home to recuperate seem to have a mysterious relation to weather." In a well developed plot, Van Allsburg has the young man stay with the Bailey family for several weeks and as the story progresses they begin to notice idiosyncrasies and eccentricities such as his clothing, inability to speak, behaviors and mannerisms, relationship with animals, and as the cataloging summary hints, a curious change in the weather. Events in the story are presented in logical order, cause and effect, with appropriate preparation leading into the various situations. For example, as a direct result of Bailey hitting and injuring the young man, he drives him back to the farm and calls for a doctor. The story climaxes when the stranger realizes that the trees surrounding the Bailey's property have changed colors yet the trees on the farm have remained green and summer-like.

The Setting
While Van Allsburg does not give an indication as to a specific location or part of the world, The Stranger takes place in a rural agricultural setting in a climate that is supportive of growing wheat and pumpkins, as indicated by the illustrations on pages 14 and 18. Furthermore, the opening page of the story notes seasonal change and the story wraps up with illustrations depicting trees changing color. The story's setting has the universal implication that it could occur anywhere these conditions may exist such as the Mid-Western United States, the United Kingdom, and even Michigan, for that matter.

Throughout the story, the characters visit other locations which are presented to the reader with obvious affect on action of the characters. For example, when the characters are inside of the Bailey's house, they are eating at the table and enjoying musical entertainment in what looked to be the family room. When the various characters are outside, they are taking in their surroundings, such as when Katy and the stranger are watching the migrating birds, and working on the farm by loading pumpkins and pitching wheat shocks onto a wagon. Van Allsburg's illustrations support the narration by giving the reader a visualization of the characters' location and the overall setting.

Like the setting, Van Allsburg does not openly declare a time in which the story took place; however, by noting the actions of the characters, such as calling a doctor to the home and loading horse drawn wagons, as well as the illustrations, such as the wheat shocks stacked in the field drying in the sun, the reader is lead to believe that the story takes place in the late 1920s to early 1930s. In other words, this story could easily be labeled as a Depression-era tale. From the late 1930s until the advent of the self-propelled combine in the late 1950s, farmers threshed wheat by way of a pull-type combine behind a tractor. Earlier yet, as indicated in this story, farmers such as Mr. Bailey and the stranger, manually pitched cut and dried wheat onto wagons pulled by teams of horses. The farmer then fed the wheat from the wagon into a stationary threshing machine that separated the grain from the stalk which resulted in the residual grain being dumped into burlap or cloth sacks. However, the mere existence of Farmer Bailey's truck (think: if a farmer had a truck -- where is the tractor and/or combine?) and stylization which sings of the 1940s-era conflicts with time as indicated by the rest of the agricultural practices. To this reviewer, when drawing conclusions as to when this story took place, it is safe to say that the inclusion of the truck was an error, but rather a very necessary error for the story to have taken flight as the believability factor would be challenged if it had been a team of horses that hit the stranger.

Theme
This story calls to mind several themes and concepts that are certainly worth transmitting to children: (a) never judge a book by its cover; (b) extraordinary things can happen to ordinary people; (c) family and compassion, as well as, (d) making amends when mistakes are made. As the story progresses and the stranger recuperates, the themes unfolded naturally without creating an overtly "educational" piece by moralizing the story. The theme of family and compassion is transmitted to readers by way of the narration and several of the illustrations rendered by Van Allsburg. For example, in two instances the narration indicates that the family is seated at the table eating dinner together with the stranger -- although, in the latter situation, while the stranger is present at the table, he is not eating. On the book's dust jacket, and within the story, an illustration shows Mrs. Bailey caring for the stranger by serving him soup. Midway through the story, a scene is depicted in which the characters are together and entertaining themselves with musical instruments and dance. At the story's close, the family is shown together outside looking for the stranger with Mrs. Bailey comforting her daughter Katy.

Characterization
Van Allsburg introduces the characters in this piece via the story's narration, illustrations, and action. The following is a rank order list of characters presented in the piece based on their appearances in the story: The stranger (name unknown), Mr. Bailey, Mrs. Bailey, Katy (the Baileys' daughter), and the Doctor. Based on the various actions throughout this piece, mainly compassion and curiosity, the characters certainly seem convincing and credible in the context; however, if the piece took place in the present day or perhaps even in a more suburban setting, a reader might be more skeptical about the characters. When this piece was introduced to a family member who was unfamiliar with the story, a question was broached after the scene in which Mr. Bailey took the stranger home and subsequently calls for a doctor, "Does something bad happen to this family?" This leads to the next point of stereotypes.

Stereotypes about agricultural communities are still persistent and rampant in our society regardless of era: the notion of a "simple" life, farmers always wearing overalls, and the women spending their days cooking meals and caring for the family. Women played larger roles on the family farm than what is traditionally portrayed in books and stories. It was (and still is) not unusual for the woman of the house to be up before sunrise getting breakfast ready for the family and the kids off to school, while quickly making the transition from the kitchen to the dairy parlor in order to milk cows next to her husband and the hired help. In the afternoon, after lunch is served, she might be stacking bales of hay and straw in the barn's mow (hayloft), hauling grain to the elevator, ordering seed and fertilizer, and doing the farm's bookkeeping. In reality, the woman of the household often works double-duty -- caring for her family as well as carrying out her responsibilities on the farm.

While much specific detail about the characters is not given by Van Allsburg, strengths and weaknesses are revealed as the story unfolds though the action of the characters. At the opening of the story, to the reviewer, Mr. Bailey shows weakness by paying too much attention to the weather and not enough to road when he accidentally hits the young man in the road. The stranger's inability to verbally communicate is initially shown as a weakness; however, by mid-story, the stranger demonstrates that he can communicate in other ways. The Bailey family shows strength of character by allowing the young man, who is inexplicably different, to recuperate in their home while treating him like a family member on holiday.

Development and growth of character is portrayed in this piece when the Bailey family breaks from their routine by opening their home to an injured stranger. With the stranger's arrival, the autumn-like weather around the farm ceases and the days begin to resemble, once again, the summer months. Through opening their hearts and minds, as well as, collective observation as narrated by the Van Allsburg, the Bailey family begins to realize that the change in weather is connected to the stranger's presence on their farm; their suspicion is confirmed at the end of the story when the stranger leaves. On the other hand, if the characters had been stubborn and close-minded, the story would have likely taken a different path.

Style
Van Allsburg's straightforward style of writing is supportive and appropriate for a children's fantasy story. He gives the reader enough detail and information, at the right times, to move the story forward while keeping the reader interested and engaged. For what little dialogue there is in this piece, it was found to be natural and fitting for the characters in their various roles. By writing the collected observations of the characters and not providing probable explanations, the mood created was of inquisitiveness which leaves the reader pondering and yearning to read more of the story. For example, when helping Mr. Bailey in the field, the narration mentions that the stranger did not tire or even break a sweat. A very curious observation! Another example is the scene in which Katy, the daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Bailey, observed the stranger interacting with the rabbits. Katy was completely surprised when the rabbits did not take to the woods, but rather let the stranger hold one of them. An air of mystery is certainly created by the narration and illustration of this scene.

Through the Looking Glass
Throughout the story, the point of view varies from character to character depending on who is in the stranger's presence. Having the point of view centered on the current character's observation does, indeed, limit the reader's horizon; however, it suits the story quite well. Considering alternative methods for delivery, young readers could become confused and the story rendered moot. For example, if the narration took an all-knowing or omniscient point of view, the mystery-element of the story would be eliminated with the readers being aware of the stranger's identity, Jack Frost, before the storyline could be unfolded -- not conducive to holding a child's attention. In reading and reflecting upon the story, it seems that Van Allsburg's point of view centers on the notions of keeping an open mind and not judging which was transmitted to the reader by way of the characters' actions throughout the piece.

Further Considerations
Van Allsburg's beyond satisfying illustrations enhance this piece by drawing the reader into the story's environment -- absolute perfection. Readers can imagine themselves watching the curious events unfold as if they are alongside the characters. The format and overall size of the book makes it easy to hold for teachers, parents, and librarians when sharing this piece in a story time format. With the narration shared on the verso and illustrations on the recto, the story flows very nicely and is conducive to being read and shared aloud. The book used for purposes of this review is a trade binding rather than a library binding. Due to the beautifully rendered illustrations, a trademark of Van Allsburg's work, in which children will enjoy perusing, library binding is recommended for classroom use. The paper selected for this book is slightly glossy, beneficial for wiping away sticky fingerprints, which allows the illustrations to pop without extra glare.

In comparing Van Allsburg's The Stranger to Smoky Night by Eve Bunting (illustrated by David Diaz), both stories are very unique in their own way and have a serious tone. With oil pastel being the medium of choice for Van Allsburg and a blend of acrylic and photography employed by Diaz, both works feature strong and prominent illustrations. Both books have the same formats -- text on the verso and images on the recto; however, differing from Van Allsburg's work, Bunting's text is set over busy backgrounds rendering white space non-existent which creates a loud and busy feeling. In contrast to The Stranger, dialogue used in narration is quite prevalent throughout Bunting's book giving a slightly deeper dimension to the characters.

Other works created by Van Allsburg also fall into the children's fantasy genre with three of his books translated onto the silver screen: Jumanji, The Polar Express, and Zathura. Not all of his illustrations feature the warm and colorful palette as exhibited in The Stranger; several employ monochromatic techniques such as with The Garden of Abdul Gasazi, Ben's Dream, Probuditi, and The Widow's Broom. His other works include: The Garden of Abdul Gasazi (1979, Caldecott Honor), Jumanji (1981, Caldecott Medal), Ben's Dream (1982), The Wreck of the Zephyr (1983), The Mysteries of Harris Burdick (1984), The Polar Express (1985, Caldecott Medal), The Z Was Zapped (1987), Two Bad Ants (1988), Swan Lake (1989, illustrator), Just a Dream (1990), The Wretched Stone (1991), The Widow's Broom (1992), The Sweetest Fig (1993), The Mysteries of Harris Burdick (1994, portfolio edition), Bad Day at Riverbend (1995), A City in Winter (1996, illustrator), The Veil of Snows (1997, illustrator), Zathura (2002), Probuditi (2006), and Queen of the Falls (2011).

Because of Van Allsburg's popularity, a number of reviews and evaluations of his work are available for parents, teachers, and librarians to read. For the purposes of this review, three commentaries from notable sources were selected. For the School Library Journal, Patricia Dooley wrote:

Grades 2 - 4. The Stranger is a down-homey modern myth about the phenomenon of Indian Summer, but the opening owes less to the folktale than to The Twilight Zone. Farmer Bailey, rapt on an end-of summer day in his 1940s pickup, suddenly hits something: the next page shows a young man's body, dramatically foreshortened and stretched out at eye-level in the evening shadows. The terror-stricken victim quickly recovers but has lost both speech and memory. Invited to stay with the farmer, his wife, and little girl, he spends idyllic days with them while autumn's advance is unaccountably delayed. The text scatters clues to the stranger's identity (Jack Frost); but the moment of recognition is cleverly given over to the electrifying illustration alone. Characteristically, the bold simplifications of Van Allsburg's warm pastels look back to the American regionalist paintings of the 1930s and '40s especially to Thomas Hart Benton and Grant Wood. The story is too low-keyed for most children, although several action compositions provide suspense with their unorthodox points-of-view, out-of-frame action, and play with effects of light. Here the interweaving of fantasy and reality is more complex than in Van Allsburg's earlier books, and the effects more subtle; but the surface pleasures of color and form are still enticing.

A review from the Horn Book states, "The author-illustrator has woven a thread of fantasy in and around his realistic illustrations to give the reader, once again, a story that stays in the imagination." And last, but not least, Dr. Phyllis Kennemer of Children's Literature stated the following: "...Van Allsburg's tale of the origins of Indian Summer will continue to both charm and mystify young readers....Each page of the text has a facing picture in full color. Van Allsburg's signature illustrations illuminate the surreal feeling of the story…Ages 7 – 11."

The Stranger, when published in 1986, became an immediate classic. In summing up this piece, Van Allsburg's talent for writing and illustrating is certain to entertain and engage children of the intended audience (4 - 8); however, this reviewer feels that this book is more than appropriate for children of all ages including adults. Parents, teachers, and librarians looking for a magical story to share with children about the coming of autumn should definitely consider this book. This piece is one that I will cherish and share with others for years to come.

Sources

• Bunting, E. & Diaz, D. (1994). Smoky night. San Diego, CA: Harcourt Brace.

• Dooley, P., Jones, T., Gale, D., & Doxsee, E. (1986). The stranger (book review). School Library Journal, 33(3), 84.

• Kennemer, P. (1986). The stranger (review). Retrieved from http://www.childrenslit.com/childrenslit/mai_vanallsburg_chris_qa.html

• Van Allsburg, C. (1986). The stranger. New York, NY: Houghton Mifflin.