Available:*
Library | Call Number | Status |
|---|---|---|
Searching... Stillwater Public Library | E 155.937 ROS | Searching... Unknown |
Bound With These Titles
On Order
Summary
Summary
With unmitigated honesty, a touch of humor, and sensitive illustrations by Quentin Blake, Michael Rosen explores the experience of sadness in a way that resonates with us all.
Sometimes I'm sad and I don't know why.
It's just a cloud that comes along and covers me up.
Sad things happen to everyone, and sometimes people feel sad for no reason at all. What makes Michael Rosen sad is thinking about his son, Eddie, who died suddenly at the age of eighteen. In this book the author writes about his sadness, how it affects him, and some of the things he does to cope with it -- like telling himself that everyone has sad stuff (not just him) and trying every day to do something he can be proud of. Expressively illustrated by the extraordinary Quentin Blake, this is a very personal story that speaks to everyone, from children to parents to grandparents, teachers to grief counselors. Whether or not you have known what it's like to feel deeply sad, the truth of this book will surely touch you.
Author Notes
Michael Rosen started writing as a teenager, when his mother needed some poems for Radio programs she was making. While at college, he wrote a play which was staged at the Royal Court theatre in London. Rosen's first book was published in 1974, and he is one of Britain's leading children's poets.
Michael Rosen launched the National Year of Literacy project, which encouraged children to help produce an Anthology to be used during the Literacy Hour in primary schools. Children ages 4-11 were invited to submit poems and illustrations featuring their favorite tree. Rosen also led the final judging sessions to decide which submissions would be included.
(Bowker Author Biography)
Reviews (5)
Publisher's Weekly Review
The candor and personal nature of Rosen's heartrending exploration of sadness, rooted in the death of his son Eddie, are evident from the opening page. The caption under a sunny, smiling portrait reveals, "This is me being sad. Maybe you think I'm happy in this picture. Really I'm sad but pretending I'm happy." A second, gloomy portrait appears as the narrator notes that what makes him most sad is thinking about Eddie. The palette of Blake's (Clown) versatile, evocative pen-and-watercolor art brightens again as an octet of cheerful scenes in window-like panels depict snapshots from Eddie's life. Yet in the accompanying text, the narrator admits that thinking of Eddie's death makes him "really angry" ("How dare he go and die like that? How dare he make me sad"); the eighth panel is empty. This contrast between art and text amplifies the bittersweet experience of losing someone dear; the joy they brought in life, and the pain that comes from the hole they have left behind. The author shares the ways he deals with his sadness: he finds someone to talk to; does "crazy" things like shouting in the shower; tells himself, "everyone has sad stuff"; tries to do one thing daily he can be proud of-and he finds solace in his memories of Eddie. In the book's poignant visual denouement, Blake's buoyant renditions of candlelit birthday celebrations give way to a final wordless spread, in which the narrator is seen, pen in hand, gazing at a sole burning candle and a framed picture. Rosen's poetic revelation of his conflicting emotions and coping strategies will resonate with-and help-anyone mourning a loss or dealing with an indefinable sadness. All ages. (Mar.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Horn Book Review
(Intermediate) The narrator/author shares his profound depression following his eighteen-year-old son's death: ""I loved him very, very much but he died anyway."" Rosen is angry, or crazy, or withdrawn; or sadder still because he wants to talk ""to someone. Like my mum. But she's not here anymore, either."" The incomparable Quentin Blake captures these moods in spreads that alternate dark times, in thunderhead-bleak watercolors and empathic, masterfully scribbled line, with more colorful scenes of good memories and attempts to deal with grief (such as ""pretending I'm happy""; working on ""ways of being sad that don't hurt so much,"" like doing ""one thing I can be proud of""; remembering that sad isn't the same as bad; or doing ""one thing that means I have a good time"" every day). Rosen's sadness comes to signify far more than his own troubles: ""sad"" can be ""anywhere,"" ""any time,"" ""anyone. It comes along and finds you."" Thus, people of all ages frequent the illustrations, while the text, simply phrased yet never simplistic, is appropriate for all those who are, or know someone, who's seriously depressed or grieving. The conclusion is upbeat but not jarringly so: a blaze of birthday candles suggests that time itself may help; then, a glowing last candle casts its hopeful light on the bereaved father, pen in hand in the retreating gloom. A beautiful, solacing book. j.r.l. (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted. All rights reserved.
Booklist Review
When we first received this book, I wanted to review it quickly and get it out of the way. It was so sad. Instead, I pushed it aside and kept pushing it aside--for the same reason. Finally, the book was getting late; it was time to deal with it. As I sat down to write, I realized that my reaction to Rosen and Blake's provocative collaboration was based on the same impulses people have who are faced with real grief: deal with it quickly and say it's done, or sweep it under the rug for a time and then, finally, look at it squarely and begin the struggle. The book begins with a head shot of Rosen: This is me being sad. But the picture shows him smiling, at least until you look more closely. Then you realize that the twist of his lips and teeth forms a grimace. The text goes on to say he's pretending because he thinks people won't like him if he's sad. In a clipped, first-person text, Rosen relates that he's sad because his son, Eddie, has died. Illustrated snaps of Eddie in Blake's signature scrawl show him as a baby, a boy, a teen. The last frame is blank. The extent of Rosen's rage is staggering, but it's quiet, not loud (wouldn't want to scare the children, eh?). It pierces with its honesty: Sometimes because I'm sad I do bad things. I can't tell you what they are. They're too bad. And it's not fair to the cat. (And, yes, kids will understand that this is black humor.) When the book is at its darkest--and Blake's black-and-gray line work wrests every bit of the agony from the understated words--there is despair. The ways in which Rosen tries to comfort himself--by rationalizing that everyone has his or her own pain or by trying to do things he is proud of--only work a little. An adult reader may wonder at this point, Is the book even for young people? Is it too self-indulgent? To think that would be to dismiss the truth we all try to hide from: sadness is part of the human condition. Children know this as well as adults and perhaps feel it even more keenly since they haven't had as much time to develop defenses. This book tells them what they already intuit, and while you might not want to give it to a child who, at the moment is happy, you would most certainly want to give it to one who is sad. It shows children that they are not alone, and it does so brilliantly. And Rosen is not left in total despair. As time passes, he begins to look at things more intently, and those moments push up happier memories, some even about Eddie. Remembrances of birthdays bring to mind candles: There must be candles. This slow evolution allows Blake to lighten his pictures both in color and underlying spirit. The last spread shows Rosen sitting at a table, unshaven, focused intently on one lit candle, which one hopes is bright enough to lead him to a better place. This book's power is in its utter honesty. No couching, no prettying up. It's as if Rosen and Blake are taking readers by the hand and saying, C'mon, let's look at this now. Sadness, yes. Here it is. But they pull you just past the heartbreak, too. The journey from grief to a glimmer of hope is a long, often lonely one, but there's relief in knowing that it's possible. --Ilene Cooper Copyright 2005 Booklist
School Library Journal Review
Gr 3 Up-This is a personal and moving account of the author's experiences with grief over the loss of his son and mother and various ways of dealing with the melancholy that attends it. "Sometimes sad is very big. It's everywhere. All over me." The gentle text assures readers that despair, anger, and hopelessness are common feelings when dealing with death, but that memories of happier times can elicit a spark of joy and optimism for the future. "And then I remember things. My mum in the rain. Eddie walking along the street, laughing and laughing and laughing." Blake's evocative watercolor-and-ink illustrations use shades of gray for the pictures where sadness has taken hold but brighten with color at the memory of happy times. This story is practical and universal and will be of comfort to those who are working through their bereavement. A brilliant and distinguished collaboration.-Maryann H. Owen, Racine Public Library, WI (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Kirkus Review
"Where is sad? Sad is anywhere. It comes along and finds you. When is sad? Sad is any time. It comes along and finds you." Impelled by the sudden death of his teenage son, Rosen offers a personal meditation on living with loss, to which Blake's accompanying watercolors give poignant visual dimension. Addressing readers in simple, unaffected language, the author describes ups and downs; how he sometimes wants to share his feelings, but other times wants be alone; the small acts that make him feel worse or better; how memory can hurt or help. His changeable inner landscape is reflected in the scribbly, emotionally exact art, as subdued color alternates with washes of gray, facial expressions of the author and those around him change--and other signs, from body language to outdoor scenes and the weather itself--evoke each moment's mood. Rosen offers no easy solutions here--but he and Blake close with the image of a candle shedding a small, hopeful light. Readers burdened by similar loss will be touched by the honesty and perception here. (Picture book. 6-10) Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
