Awards presented to artists are intended to introduce good
works to the larger public. Awards declare – Hey! Look at this! – to suggest
outstanding merit for artwork worth checking out. Awards are intended to help
enlarge the artist’s audience. Awards are most often the best method that an
artist’s peers can commend one of their own for their hard work, talent, and
sacrifice. Awards celebrate artists to help finance, encourage and give them
confidence that they may continue on their path, because it is to everyone’s
benefit. The greatest benefit of awards is that they help to produce a culture
worth celebrating; after all, the culture of a country, simply put, is what its
people celebrate. And it starts with saying, Hey! Look at this!
At the American Library Association’s conference in
Philadelphia in 2008 I walked the crowded floors promoting my books, randomly
hassling librarians. One of them turned out to be the Librarian of Congress,
Dr. Billington. He was happy to order my book, The Boy from the Sun. I was
elated by our quick meet. Later that day I watched as various children’s book
awards were announced on big screens to a huge audience eagerly awaiting the
results for the biggest prize of them all.
At the announcement of the winner of the Caldecot award
thousands of librarians who came from across the United States stood up and
cheered. It was an amazing sight. You couldn’t help but get excited by their
enthusiasm. And Brian Selznick’s book is a great children’s book, well
deserving the accolades and promotion.
Winners of the Caldecott Award in the United States for
picture books receive national attention with radio, television, and newspaper
coverage – fantastic coverage that sell enough books allowing the author to
live off the proceeds for years. And the recognition allows them to continue working
in their field for the rest of their lives. This is of great benefit to the
public, especially children, as the books will grow in quality. Awards, with
this kind of backing are key in making children’s book culture viable in the
United States.
The coverage where I currently reside, Thunder Bay, has been
great. Reporters call to ask what I’m working on. My Alma Mater, Lakehead
University graced me with an alumni award and plugged me as one of three local
talents in a successful campaign to promote itself. I was awarded grant money
from the Ontario Arts Council, which has kept me working on new books. I’ve
sold a few paintings – one that paid my way through Europe. I’ve done readings,
workshops, held art shows and helped a few local artists with their careers.
Elsewhere it’s a different story, but before I get to the
meat of this story I need to relate a relatively minor incident that occurred
at the National Library of Ottawa after the 2007 Governor General’s Award
winners gave readings to the public.
The authors had piles of books on their tables and boxes of
books stuffed beneath, ready to be sold and signed for eager buyers. I had
twelve copies of my book, The Boy from the Sun. I should have given my twelve
copies away for free because the Canada Council purchased these twelve copies
from the local Chapters down the street when they discovered beforehand that
there were none available for my table. I know this because I happened to be in
Chapters before the readings when a woman from the CC bought the twelve
remaining copies. I spotted the books sitting in a box behind the counter ready
to be picked up.
After the reading and selling my twelve copies I had to
disappoint maybe thirty eager buyers before Michael Ondaatje came to my table.
Smiling, he asked for a copy of my book.
“I’m sold out,” I said. “I had only twelve copies.”
Michael, downcast, stated gruffly, “That’s disgraceful!” I
smirked and shrugged. I made sure to get a copy of his GG award winning novel
(his fourth GG!), Divisidero.
“That’s disgraceful!” I hear Ondaatje’s voice over and over,
every time I think of the lost opportunities and the failures of others to
simply do the job they were obligated to perform – with contracts – made as
valuable as a piece of paper, by breach, inaction and neglect. I thought
winning two of Canada’s top awards for children’s books might change things for
me. It has, but not as I had hoped.
The Toronto Public Library has 99 branches in the Toronto
district serving 2.7million people. It is the largest library system in North
America with a budget of over $180 million. A committee (I’m told) at the
library decided not to order a single copy of my children’s picture book after
the book had won the Governor General’s Award in 2007. In 2008 they did not
order a single copy of my book when it won the Ruth and Sylvia Schwartz
Children’s Book Award. Regarding the GG, this is the first time the Toronto
Public Library did not order a single copy since the category (in which I won
the award) was created in 1978. The Schwartz award was selected by grade 3 and
4 child jurors from Ryerson Community Public School, founded in 1877 in the
heart of Toronto.
The prize money for both awards had been dramatically
increased from the previous year with the hopes of helping authors and illustrators
in their careers, and to attract more national attention to good quality books.
Some in the children’s book business consider the Schwartz Award more valuable
for a children’s book author because it is children who choose the winning book
from a selection of books from across the country.
Normally the Toronto Public Library orders 50 to 70 copies
of the book that wins in the category of children’s book writing and
illustration for the GG.
In Toronto in the summer of 2008, I discovered that only one
copy of The Boy from the Sun existed somewhere in one of the 99 branches. I
headed downtown to the Toronto Public Library and the first librarian I spoke
with was Brenda Livingston. Casually, I asked how many copies of my book
existed in the system. She happily turned to her computer, and after a couple
clicks she became quickly embarrassed. She asked me not to get angry as I sat
bemused. She was certain that copies would be ordered.
Months later when no books showed up in the system I spoke
on the phone with Theo Harris, the children’s service specialist. She informed
me that a committee had decided not to order the book. She refused to tell me
why. She refused to tell me who the head of the committee was. She refused to
say whether or not more copies would be ordered.
Eventually eight more copies turned up in the system. One
that went missing earlier had returned making the grand total, ten copies.
When I decided to make a serious query, I checked the
library’s database and discovered that copies of my other two books, Night Wall
and Spacesnake had been removed: 19 copies of Spacesnake and 17 copies of Night
Wall – altogether, 26 copies – leaving 7 and 3 respectively. I wrote to Brenda
Livingston who told me it was likely the books were removed because they had
been damaged, not removed because of lack of circulation as they were
circulating well.
I realized some time later that if the 26 books removed were
damaged it was within a one-month period, the time within which I had last
checked the library’s database – that’s 26 books damaged in one month in many
different libraries. Damaged books are “weeded,” Brenda told me, exclusively by
librarians in individual branches. “Kids can be really rough on books,” Brenda
wrote.
Brenda had forwarded my email regarding the removal of the
26 copies to Leslie Koster, the Senior Collections Specialist, Children’s
Materials. Koster offered no explanation. She informed me that she would be
ordering more copies of The Boy from the Sun, but it was up to individual
librarians of the many libraries to reorder my other two books.
With yet another email I enquired how many copies of The Boy
from the Sun Koster planned to order. The reply: 26 copies – the same number of
my other two books that had been removed, supposedly due to damage.
Mystery unsolved I emailed a list of questions to see if
Koster could explain why The Boy from the Sun wasn’t ordered in the first
place, why so few later, who was the head of the committee, and exactly how it
was that so many of my other books could be removed from the library system in
such a short time period. I am still waiting for a reply to these questions and
a few others.
Margaret Atwood liked The Boy from the Sun. She was on the
jury that chose my book for the GG Award. So was Michael Martchenko,
illustrator for Robert Munch’s books. I wrote to Margaret and she replied in a
letter, “Canadians are dubious about success, which includes prizes. They are
still not sure that it’s ok to be good at something (except hockey).”
To help Americans understand and celebrate awards and
artists, The Horn Book recently printed a special awards issue. Joanna Rudge
Long points out that the Caldecot is judged only by the merits of the book
itself, without external factors of fairness, ethnicity, previous winnings,
history, or audience.
Roger Sutton adds in the next article; “Children’s book
awards are not given to confirm the public’s taste but to reward those authors
who most richly demonstrate what a book for children can be.”
The Horn Book also featured articles by the award winners in
which they shed light on their books and careers. I hope one day to have this
opportunity.
Dr. Shiyali Ramamrita Ranganathan, the luminary and father
of library science, proposed five laws for libraries. The first three relate to
my case:
1. Books are for use. 2. Every reader his (or her) book. 3. Every
book its reader.
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