Rien Poortvliet (1932–1995)

It has become apparent that I have well and truly lost my sense of magic. When I was a teenager I was entranced by Gnomes. My school library stocked it as a reference item, and many a lunchtime was spent poring over it. Eventually I left school and Gnomes behind, but for many years wished I could find another copy and revisit the world of Gnomes. Imagine my excitement then when I discovered a second hand copy at a local bookstore. I eagerly handed over my $3, rushed it home, and show more discovered… the magic had vanished.
No longer was I enchanted by the cute escapades and illustrations of these tiny people. Instead I found myself questioning the sexism of the male gnomes being fully responsible for all the labour, and the confinement of females almost exclusively to the home. I was horrified that daddy gnomes left nearly all of the parenting of daughters to the mother, and wondered if gnomes really were as sickeningly perfect as the book portrayed.
I suppose growing up is one of the sad inevitabilities of life. But for those who are still young, and those successfully fighting the habit of growing up, enjoy Gnomes while you still can. Reading it truly is a delightful experience. show less

When I was little, I used to pore over this book, wishing that, if gnomes were not real and if I couldn't see them for myself, I could at least live for a time like the little people depicted in the book, with elaborate teaparties made of natural foods, and mad handcrafting skills. Perhaps it's because my family was in the SCA. Now that I am grown, I still wish that, from time to time. Such a fun book. I think that, if this is not too much of a stretch - when children read books like this, show more and say, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH, they start to think, what WOULD it be like to be a small and out-of-the-way creature? How much is going on outside right now, that I am missing? This perhaps is the seed from which a lot of environmentalism sprouts - the ability to realize that other creatures might have other worlds of their own, about which you know far less than you think. show less

A lovely and very substantial picture-book, originally from the Netherlands, that builds itself a complex mythology about sleep, centered on the Sandman, who carries the sand that sends people to dreamland.

It is framed as a mysterious manuscript found in an old hut by two men hiking through the mountains (in what is implied by the illustrations to be the 19th century, or possibly just once upon a time). The manuscript consists of an Alphabet of Sleep, pairing each letter with a quatrain show more about something sleep-related, a charming illustration featuring anthropomorphic animals, and then a short bit of text that gives (real, and often very interesting) historical context or advice about the topic.

After finding the manuscript, the two travellers meet an old woman who claims to know the Sandman personally. She offers them shelter and tells them all about him and his duties, making up the second part of the book, the Book of the Sandman.

This is one of those picture books, like Gurney's Dinotopia, that isn't quite sure whether it's a children's picture book, or a curiosity for adults, but it is, at the least, a wondrous fantasy for adults who are young at heart, and excellent comfort-reading for insomniacs. show less

Poortvliet is a naturalist and an artist, a bit like John James Audubon. That much is true, and good. And this coffee-table book does a good job of giving us some interesting details about some interesting wildlife, including information to distinguish related species between N. America & Europe, and to tell the difference between hares and rabbits. It's earthy and honest.

My problems with it are principally two:

The cursive font captioning each sketch was very difficult for me to read, and show more would also be, perhaps, for children (although I wouldn't recommend this to children younger than 8 unless they already know about animals' primary raison d'etre, perhaps because they live on a farm).

And the occasional anthropomorphism was troubling, especially when crows were referred to as evil." Um, they're smart, but I don't think they're smart enough to rub their wings and cackle "Today the rabbit hutch, tomorrow the world!"

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