Caldecott Medal Contender: Bear Island

by Sam Juliano

    In a melancholic pictorial prologue initiated by a worn, stationary baseball and continued with a dreamy depiction of a short-haired girl playing catch with the family canine, Bear Island’s soulful flashback introduction concludes with a tearful goodbye to the pet known as Charlie in brown tinted sketch drawings that are imbued with the aura of memory.  Wall pictures of the departed family member and the gathering up of its food bowl and toys bring wrenching closure to a period of time Dad, Mom and Louise would do anything to relive.  Then a double page title spread of a butterfly perched on a rock protruding from the sea, done in watercolor, pen and ink achieves widescreen aquatic resplendence, and the story moves to the present.

Picture books about death and the ensuing grief have slowly appeared more frequently in recent years as children, with parental support have come to terms with the difficulty in losing a loved one, and how to make good on the positive energy offered by other family members and especially devoted friends.  Most famously, E.B. White’s 1953 Charlotte’s Web opened more tear ducts than any children’s book up till the time of its publication, and decades later for many it remained the quintessential example of overcoming intense grief, depicting death as a necessary part of life.  Mo Willems’ and Jon Muth’s City Dog, Country Frog examined the cycle of life in similar terms, one where rebirth displaces sadness with the forging of a new friendship.  The same formula was powerfully employed in two recent Caldecott Honor winners, The Rough Patch by Brian Lies and Big Cat Little Cat by Elisha Cooper.

Bear Island, written and illustrated by Caldecott Medal winner Matthew Cordell  is a story about the fancies of childhood, its loneliness, its wonder, its despair and its simple joys.  This was also the subject of the ill-titled Curse of the Cat People, a lyrical 1940’s film, produced and inspired by Val Lewton,  which transformed its intended horror genre game plan into the story of an imaginary friend who is conjured up by a young a child yearning for companionship.  In Cordell’s subdued brown hues, etched in his trademark sketch drawings, we learn on the first double page spread that an island is set in the lake a short distance from the waterside house where Louise and her parents – and previously, the canine Charlie – reside.  The girl resolves to row over to , wanting so badly to re-live the bliss she experienced with the water-loving companion who adored feeling the breeze on his face and exploring the islet.  Upon arrival the girl anchors the boat and proceeds to investigate.  Failing to discover man nor beast she bangs a stick on a tree and announces she is leaving.

A swarm of multi-colored butterflies circle around Louise, metaphorically serving as a welcome mat.  A chipmunk and two deer spring and positive energy takes serves an eviction notice to the initial melancholia.  But there is something amiss after a bear is heard snapping tree branches and emitting a breathy noise.  Cordell, ever the master of onomatopoeia depicts a roaring bear in bold jumbo font, as the book’s central protagonist cautiously ambles up the hill, armed with no more than a thin V shaped stick, as the deer and butterflies scatter. Fueled by the anger of loss and the very idea that she could be unnerved by consternation  she does one better in the “ROOAARR!!” contest, emitting her own version of aural intimidation, flooring one of the most ferocious mammals in the wild.  Satisfied with her bravery Louise heads back to the boat, but not before turning around to again document her new friend.  Subsequent visits depict a growing friendship, one replete with sick and well role reversals and the strengthening of their bond, one that fondly evokes Johnny Orchard and the bear cub that grows full-size in the 1953 Caldecott Medal-winning The Biggest Bear by Lyn Ward.

Employing irresistible activity vignettes, portraying a germinating camaraderie Cordell defines “change” as Louise’s metamorphosis from a child mired in grief to one now upbeat in all her activities, as a result of her new friendship.  At the dinner table, frolicking through leaves with her Dad, and then bagging them with her Mom, helping with the dishes, attentively engaging in a late night storybook and walking through the woods, the girl has turned the corner on the grief process.  Though the harsh Winter season approached and with it shorter days, Louise continued her island visits.  As flakes fell one morning she didn’t immediately find her new friend, but when she did he was preparing to hibernate.  “Don’t go!” she urges him, but the cycle of life could never be compromised.  In an illustrative sense “bigger is better” is not always a factual conclusion, but in Bear Island Cordell’s double-page canvas of a teary-eyed Louise looking into the sullen creature’s eyes is premium look at coming separation in the most wrenching of terms, and it is surely one of the book’s most powerful tapestries.

Louise feels there isn’t much justice in the world as she departs the scene in sepia-toned minimalist depictions, and even readers not prone to emotional meltdowns will be challenged to escape the page showing Louise brushing snow off a rock to read the inscription “Rest in Peace Charlie” under the prose “…when the things we love must end” in Bear Island’s emotional centerpiece.  Then a new puppy named Milly, who unlike her predecessor was not one for water or breezes, is nonetheless intrepid and hot to trot to explore, but the old furry friend is nowhere to be found.  The final question is raised, but in this multi-interpretation story, everything makes sense, and in the end smiles reign supreme.

Bear Island suggests that the power of the mind can transform despondency into a new beginning.  Dwelling on the sadness of the past and the realities of life is a stage all most work they way through, but, says Cordell, in evoking one of the most universal of adages, “time will heal.”  And when the grieving process has run its course regeneration will rekindle a positive mindset and reinstate life’s most reassuring pleasures.  The emotional maturity on display in the artist’s Caldecott Medal winning Wolf in the Snow is lovingly sustained in this expansive delineation of the proverb “when there’s a will there’s a way.”  Watercolor and gouache sketch-board art is the ideal form to undercut the sober reality of this most austere of subjects, and Cordell, a proven master of anarchy and unbridled merriment have rightly strove for intimacy and one-on-ones in outdoor tapestries, a thrust he announced at the very beginning when he launched the book with a the illustration of the baseball.  2021 is yet again a competitive year for potential Caldecott contenders, and the author-artist has a gold medal to his credit, but there are several repeat winners, and Bear Island, with its showcase jumbo cover of what the mind has created in striking detail, is a prime candidate for encore acknowledgement.  No list of the very best picture books of the year could possibly leave off this soulful and sublime work, one of its acclaimed creator’s finest.  It is hoped the Caldecott committee will have it front and center when they convene in January.  The element of snow may too be Cordell’s good luck charm.

Note:  This is the fourth entry in the 2021 Caldecott Medal Contender series.  The series does not purport to predict what the committee will or should choose, rather it attempts to gauge what the writer feels should be in the running.  In most instances the books that are featured in the series have been touted as contenders in various online round-ups, but for the ones that are not, the inclusions are a humble plea to the committee for consideration.  I am not certain how many reviews will be written in a year maligned by pandemic issues and other commitments.  But I do hope to showcase the picture books I really think should be talked about when determining year-end awards for illustration.