Charlotte Zolotow (1915–2013)

The Bunny Who Found Easter, illustrated by Helen Craig

All alone in the world, a little bunny wonders where all the other rabbits are, until he is advised by a sleepy old owl that there are always rabbits at Easter. Believing that his avian adviser is speaking of a place, our leporine hero sets out to find Easter, traveling through the four seasons until he finds... another rabbit! Finally content, the bunny eventually realizes that Easter is not a place at all, but "a time when everything show more lovely begins once again..."

Originally published in 1959, and illustrated by Betty Peterson, Charlotte Zolotow's sweet tale of a bunny in search of companionship was reprinted in 1998 with new artwork by British illustrator Helen Craig, who has also worked on the popular Angelina Ballerina picture-books. The version I read was published this year (2018) as a special gift edition. I found Zolotow's story immensely appealing, with a poetic text given to beautiful descriptions - black sparrows described as ink drops in the snow - and a conclusion that leaves the reader/listener feeling emotionally satisfied, while also gently leading them to consider the meaning of the season, and the holiday for which the bunny had been searching. Helen Craig's artwork here is incredibly cute, and captures the bunny's changing emotional state quite well. I liked the inclusion of a little mouse companion for the bunny, who is never mentioned in the text, but who (in the illustrations) follows the bunny everywhere, and who finds his own mouse counterpart just as the bunny finds his lady love. Recommended to anyone looking for sweet stories about bunnies, spring, and (tangentially) Easter. show less

How, you may ask, does a grown man justify reviewing so many picture books for children? Especially books that he encountered first as an adult, not a child. Especially when the adult had little or no experience with such picture books himself as a child. That’s a good question, an easy one to answer, but thought-provoking nevertheless.

The easy answer is that, honestly, there have been no more significant experiences with books in my lifetime than reading with our children. At least twice show more a day for many years, we gathered around a book that provided communal experience. In the afternoon, just before naptime or an afternoon quiet hour, their mother read to them. (I was usually away at work.) At bedtime, they gathered around our Lincoln rocker once again, and I read aloud. Or I sat on a small sofa (what’s usually called a loveseat) with two on my lap and the others by our side or peering over my shoulder. We began with picture books, reading many of them over and over again, so that now they are well-worn, some even in fragile condition. Eventually, we proceeded on to chapter books, especially volumes in a series; like Narnia, Lloyd Alexander’s Taran books, the Borrowers, Oz books, Eleanor Estes’ Moffatt family, the Little House books, books by Roald Dahl and Robert Lawson and Carol Kendall, the George MacDonald fantasies, E. Nesbit’s fantasies, and tales illustrated by Arthur Rackham.

“Reading with our children” was my deliberately chosen phrase, for we were never simply reading to the children. (Oh, maybe the thirteenth time through Go, Dog, Go may have induced slumber, but generally speaking we chose books with our children that we all would enjoy.) Because I had had such a spare reading background as a child, most of these titles were new to me. So we read and responded together. That was special.

But that’s the easy answer. I think there are other reasons these picture books make my list of significant reading experiences. Let me illustrate with the book I want to review now, one of the very well-worn ones. It’s Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present (Harper & Row, 1962) by Charlotte Zolotow with pictures by Maurice Sendak. Like most good picture books, it’s simply an example of a well-made book. The full-page illustrations are impressionistic paintings with subtle coloring and bold designs, featuring one of Sendak’s quizzical children. In the simple story, the little girl wants to find the right birthday present for her mother, and Mr. Rabbit is her mentor. Zolotow’s text proceeds by dialogue.

“What does she like?” said Mr. Rabbit.
“Well, she likes yellow,” said the little girl.
“Yellow,” said Mr. Rabbit. “You can’t give her yellow.”
“Something yellow, maybe,” said the little girl.
“Oh, something yellow,” said Mr. Rabbit.
“What is yellow?” said the little girl.

Mr. Rabbit and the little girl are walking through the woods, with the apples that they have just found for the something red. Of course, the child/reader focuses on them, but the adult sees an impressionistic painting of the trunks of trees stretching back toward infinity. One sees only hints of yellow in the grass, the foliage, the very air. Featured prominently in the foreground is a fallen log and a stone with the sprout of an evergreen springing up between them. There’s the end of what remains of a wooden fence, and the large tree just behind the two of them (it looks like the trunk of an oak) is leaning as if one day it, too, may come crashing down, but no time soon. That’s the joy of a good picture book: a story, a picture of a child and a rabbit taller than she with apples, lots of color; and for the adult, a text and a painting with “hints and guesses” that go well beyond the page.

On another page, the child is sitting beside a small pond or prong of a lake. Mr. Rabbit is pointing. But the blue lake, with sycamores reflected in the water, is almost lost in a field of daisies. Impressionism worthy of Monet, expressive of infinite beauty and serenity and grace. “She likes blue,” the little girl said.

The dialogue repeats itself with variations for each of four basic colors. In the repetition there is a rite that children relate to, learning to repeat the words themselves. In the variations there is parallelism, which is simply a subtler repetition, an exercise in finding likeness in unlikeness.

In the end, the child has a present for her mother—a basket of colors, but I’ll let you experience the book itself to see how she managed this and how Mr. Rabbit played a part. On the last page, at the end of the day with stars shining in the distance, Mr. Rabbit heads off into the darkness—as Mr. Rabbit should. For the child, it’s a story well told and it ends happily. For the adult, simple values have been reinforced: the beauty of simplicity, and the omnipresence of Something infinitely gracious.

And that leads me to the last answer your question provoked. Reading with one’s family is a ritual. A ritual that can be repeated but is never quite the same. It is the ritual as much as the text or the illustrations that will be remembered and cherished. The voice, the family circle, the togetherness, the repetitions, expectations fulfilled with just a bit of a surprise.

For one of her birthdays, our children presented their mother with the same basket of colors that Mr. Rabbit helped the little girl find. The ritual played itself out in our lives.

Maurice Sendak is one of the best known of USAmerican book illustrators. He was a favorite of our children: Where the Wild Things Are, In the Night Kitchen, the Nutshell Library, Higgledy-Piggledy-Pop, stories featuring Rosie, but to me his other texts are not quite as simply sophisticated as Charlotte Zolotow’s and his illustrations not quite as aesthetically pleasing and memorable as in Mr. Rabbit and the Lovely Present. Now that was a significant reading experience.

“Good-by, now,” said the little girl.
“Good-by,” said Mr. Rabbit.

And we all know what they mean: good-by for now. show less

Oh goodness. I would have loved this when I was a child. Some experiences, like being outside very late during a heat wave, can be magical. Finding a tiny treasure can be magical. Letting yourself be feral and free without worrying about what your regular friends think can be magical.

Some readers may see first tentative explorations of romance, but that's purely optional.

Too bad that the parents are too tired to enjoy the night, but lovely that the children are able to. And too bad, almost, show more that air-conditioning is so ubiquitous that not many children now will ever discover this kind of innocent adventure.

I especially love that the child does feel 'alone' and has independence and yet is completely loved, not conveniently an orphan or even semi- or quasi-orphan.

*Reread. Just as magical the second read.

I am so glad my library has retained a lot of Zolotow's works.
Btw, I read this with the newer illustrations, but from what I can see the original look fine, too.

Compare to [b:The Moon Jumpers|47974|The Moon Jumpers|Janice May Udry|https://i.gr-assets.com/images/S/compressed.photo.goodreads.com/books/1420731880i/47974._SX50_.jpg|46956]. show less

It's a golden, windy autumn day, and a mother and daughter set out walking among the swirling leaves. As they wend their way, they share little adventures--spying a kitten, seeing the trees zigzag with streaks of color, catching some floating milkweed, watching the setting sun color the clouds. Throughout their walk, the girl keeps urging her mother to "say it" with more and more persistence. What could "it" be? A quiet story that shows the many ways love is expressed in the small moments show more shared between mother and child. show less