Tag Archives: Every Thing On It

The Year in Stuff We Liked: Quality Design

This week, in lieu of a BEST OF 2011 series, we’re running five stories focused on Stuff We Liked in 2011.

Book design: You’re not going to get much of an Inside Baseball discussion from us. We don’t know much about it. We can’t offer much in the way of judgment other than that looks cool, yuh-huh, yuh-huh. Still, we know what we like — and what we don’t like.

The Publisher’s Weekly blog PWxyz offered their favorite covers of the year. It was something of a puzzling list, as the explanations were lacking (for Helen DeWitt’s Lightning Rods, they said: “The bright blue background conveys the off-the-wall aspects of the book, and the repetition of the eyes hints at a maddening condition.” Hm.) and their number one choice — Colson Whitehead’s Zone One — baffling. Another weird explanation:

The best book cover of the year offers a glimpse of an empire, mostly obstructed, put through a filter so desaturated it’s almost black and white, making the book’s dread insidious rather than explicit. It looks like an old, important photograph, but with something unsettling, though you can’t quite put your finger on it. The zombie apocalypse has never looked so subtle or refined.

What is an “important photograph”? Jackie O. with blood on her dress?

Anyways, we’re being too critical, due in large part to how much we adored certain designs this year. Here’s a few, in no particular or-der.

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Shel Silverstein’s “Every Thing On It”

After the snowmelt and after the rain,
Out of the ground a hand came
And drew me a picture
And wrote me a poem
And touched my face gently
And pointed me home.

If you read my previous post on the poetic works of Shel Silverstein, then you’ll know that I vowed to read the newest collection, Every Thing On It, “with the same attention to, and admiration for, the surprising level of detail I’m sure it contains.” I don’t think it’s ever been so easy to keep a promise in my life.

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Shel Silverstein: A Life in Doodles

Shel Silversteins newest poetry collection, Every Thing On It, was released last week, featuring pieces selected from his archives by his surviving family members.

If I may, a quick story from’90s Chicagoland:

When I was a tot and the Midwestern heatwaves threatened to melt us in our un-air-conditioned house, we had a single window unit humming along in the 8×8 sunroom where we could hole up all day with the door shut tight and wait for the discomfort to pass. I’d sit there for hours on the hottest days with a stockpile of books, and always, always at the top of the pillar were the Big Three: Where the Sidewalk Ends, A Light in the Attic, and the then-still-recently-released Falling Up.

These details are important. It’s not just any book that can sustain a less-than-ten-year-old for several hours a day, several hot days a year, every season and every bedtime. Shel Silverstein was a rare master of making books that felt, for lack of a better term, like toys, perpetually new, shining, and exciting. Reading poems like “Recipe for a Hippopotamus Sandwich” and seeing its accompanying cartoon was never short of hysterical, especially since Silverstein mastered the art of hiding or extending the joke in the illustrations. It was a real scavenger hunt, and a point of personal pride to memorize as many poems as I could, like nursery rhymes for an age set that’s presumably outgrown the unhip tales of Little Jack Horner and Mary of lamb-owning fame. Even as a kid, I knew Shel was giving me more credit than so many of his children’s author counterparts.

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