Summary: Warning:
The stories contained in this book may go together. They may not. It appears that there are four stories, each
taking up a quarter of each double page
spread. In one story are cows, another
has parents, another one has commuters, etc. Impression: What an intriguing premise for a book! It was a strange way to tell a story, but I
liked it. Everything is linked, but
reading the story is like putting together a puzzle. Is the train real or a toy? What’s the deal with the bandit? Suggestions
for a library setting: This is a
perfect book to teach inference. The
story isn’t told in a conventional way, so the reader has to put things
together on his own. It’s great to show
students the importance of rereading. It
could also be used to talk about making a stance and supporting it with text
evidence.
Macaulay, David. (1990). Black and white. Boston:
Houghton Mifflin.
March,
1990: I'm children's editor at Kirkus; I decide what gets reviewed and who
reviews it. Here comes David Macaulay's Black and White, too late to assign to
anyone but myself. The revered Macaulay can't be ignored, and anyway I've
always admired his books. But what is this?
Knowing that some books only begin to make sense on a second reading (or a fifth), I leaf hopefully through, again and again. I make more connections among the four narratives, but I've run out of time. The review is due. I summarize as best I can, laud Macaulay as "endlessly inventive," hut write that "even the most persistent puzzlers may conclude that he's been too clever by half. The journey here holds some interest, but the story concealed within the stories is hardly worth the effort." No pointer (then Kirkus's version of a star). Despite a queasy feeling that I'm missing more than I'm getting, the review is published -- rather ironically, on April 1.
However, that's not the end of it. Since I'm on ALSC's Notable Children's Books committee, I'll need to discuss this conundrum of a book in public. So, seeking elucidation, I bundle up four picture books, all more or less problematic, and, breaking the storyteller's first rule -- never share a story you don't like -- inflict them on an unsuspecting fourth grade class.
It has rained all week. It's still raining. There's a substitute teacher, and by two in the afternoon the kids have obviously had a long, dull day; they're wriggly, fractious, and bored. I read them the other books first. They don't like any of them, and grow even more inattentive. By the time we get to Black and White, circumstances could hardly be less propitious for a fair hearing.
I explain the setup, the four simultaneous stories. "We could take them one at a time, or we could follow them all at once," I offer. They're unanimous. "AT at once!" Then, instantly engaged, miraculously transformed, they huddle up close on the library rug, eagerly pointing things out to one another, focused on shared discoveries, gulping it all down. They linger over every spread, making connections. Time flies. Understanding blossoms.
Mine, too.
Long, J. (2009). “Black and White”. Horn
Book Magazine, 85(1), 71. Knowing that some books only begin to make sense on a second reading (or a fifth), I leaf hopefully through, again and again. I make more connections among the four narratives, but I've run out of time. The review is due. I summarize as best I can, laud Macaulay as "endlessly inventive," hut write that "even the most persistent puzzlers may conclude that he's been too clever by half. The journey here holds some interest, but the story concealed within the stories is hardly worth the effort." No pointer (then Kirkus's version of a star). Despite a queasy feeling that I'm missing more than I'm getting, the review is published -- rather ironically, on April 1.
However, that's not the end of it. Since I'm on ALSC's Notable Children's Books committee, I'll need to discuss this conundrum of a book in public. So, seeking elucidation, I bundle up four picture books, all more or less problematic, and, breaking the storyteller's first rule -- never share a story you don't like -- inflict them on an unsuspecting fourth grade class.
It has rained all week. It's still raining. There's a substitute teacher, and by two in the afternoon the kids have obviously had a long, dull day; they're wriggly, fractious, and bored. I read them the other books first. They don't like any of them, and grow even more inattentive. By the time we get to Black and White, circumstances could hardly be less propitious for a fair hearing.
I explain the setup, the four simultaneous stories. "We could take them one at a time, or we could follow them all at once," I offer. They're unanimous. "AT at once!" Then, instantly engaged, miraculously transformed, they huddle up close on the library rug, eagerly pointing things out to one another, focused on shared discoveries, gulping it all down. They linger over every spread, making connections. Time flies. Understanding blossoms.
Mine, too.
Warning
that the stories here "do not necessarily occur at the same time" and
that they may prove to be "only one story," the endlessly inventive
Macaulay challenges readers to unravel an intricate puzzle in the form of four
stories--simultaneously presented in the four quadrants of each double spread.
Even the type styles, as well as the illustrative styles, are different; but
alert readers will note common elements--a masked burglar, escaping cows,
newspapers, trains--that serve different functions in different stories but
that also serve to link them. They are linked, of course, and Macaulay slips in
plenty of visual jokes and asides along the way; but even the most persistent
puzzlers may conclude that he's been too clever by half. The journey here holds
some interest, but the story concealed within the stories is hardly worth the
effort.
Black
and white. (April 1, 1990). Kirkus
Reviews. Retrieved from:http://www.kirkusreviews.com/book-reviews/david-macaulay/black-and-white-4
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