A tribute to Katherine Paterson.

Crowe, Chris

Award-winning author Chris Crowe, who nominated Paterson for the NSK Prize, reflects on the significance of her career and why he chose her as his nominee.

During the first Gulf War, the daily war news so worried one of my daughters that many nights she couldn't sleep. When she'd wake, troubled and afraid, I'd go into her room to soothe her, to calm her down, to convince her that we were safe because the bombings were far, far away from our home. Some nights, I could coax her back to sleep. Other nights, her restless fears eventually drove her into the master bedroom, seeking the security of her parents.

My daughter didn't understand war, and, frankly, neither did I. During that period, I often wished someone would offer a solution that might put an end to the cruelties humans inflict on one another. It was during this time that I read a short essay that Katherine Paterson had published in the fall 1991 issue of the USBBY Newsletter. Paterson suggested that books might be the answer I was looking for:

 It seems to me that one thing books can do is give a human face to
 the enemy.... Maybe, just maybe, since the fate of our small planet
 lies in the balance, maybe we could seek to help our children and
 ourselves to understand our enemies who are, in fact, very close
 neighbors in this shrinking world, and, on closer examination,
 members with us in the human family.

The essay was typical Paterson: wise, warm, and humane, and it reminded me that she understands human nature as well as she understands the power of a good book.

Two years ago, when I was invited to serve as a juror for the NSK Neustadt Prize for Children's Literature and read that the award is intended to recognize a writer whose "work must have demonstrated an ongoing, positive impact on the quality of children's literature" and that "nominated authors must have proven to be influential in the field of children's literature in some decisive way," I knew that I would nominate Katherine Paterson. Since the publication of her first novel, Sign of the Chrysanthemum (1973), Paterson has published thirty-five more books that have made an ongoing and positive impact on the quality of children's literature.

The winner of two National Book Awards (1977 and 1979), two Newbery Medals (1978 and 1981), and a plethora of other awards for individual works, Paterson has already been recognized for her lasting contributions to children's literature with three notable honors: the Hans Christian Andersen Award from the International Board on Books for Young People in 1998; a Living Legend designation by the Library of Congress in 2000; and the Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award from the Swedish National Council for Cultural Affairs in 2006. Some might have argued that Paterson, already richly awarded and widely recognized for her fine work, was not a suitable candidate for the NSK Prize; I believed that the consistent recognition she has received in the last three decades was prima facie evidence of her ongoing impact on the quality of children's literature around the world.

Paterson is a citizen of the world. Born in China to missionary parents, she later returned to Japan where she lived for four years as a missionary herself. Her Asian experience provided material for her first three novels, but her training as a missionary prepared her for a career as a novelist. As a missionary, Paterson was keenly aware of the qualities of humanity that unite all races and all kinds of people, and that awareness permeates her writing. In each of her novels, she finds a way to put a human face on the "other." Her early historical novels, The Sign of the Chrysanthemum (1973), Of Nightingales That Weep (1974), The Master Puppeteer (1975), and Rebels of a Heavenly Kingdom (1983) humanized two cultures, Japanese and Chinese, that in the 1970s had been limited to crass stereotypes. In addition to educating readers about the rich history of China and Japan, these novels showed that young people in Asia are no different from young people in America. The Great Gilly Hopkins (1978), Park's Quest (1988), and Paterson's other books about abandoned or neglected children put a face on young people who live on the margins of society. Who can read about Gilly and not see through her bravado to her very human and vulnerable heart? Paterson's best-known novel, The Bridge to Terabithia (1977), brought young readers face to face with death and left them not with despair but with hope. Her ability to put a human face on a wide range of characters has won Paterson many readers and awards.

But, for me, at least, the best example of Paterson's insight into human nature, her keen understanding of the complexity of human relations, and her remarkable ability to articulate that knowledge appears in Jacob Have I Loved (1980). In this novel, Paterson's narrator, Louise, plays the role of the Old Testament Esau, the second-rate sibling who loses his birthright. All her life, Louise has convinced herself that her twin sister, Caroline, is selfish and spoiled and that she is obviously her parents' favorite child. Throughout the novel, Louise's interpretation of family events feed her jealousy and confirm that her parents and sister despise her almost as much as she resents Caroline.

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Louise is, of course, absolutely wrong about her sister and parents. Like many teenagers I've known--and like the teenager I was--Louise is blinded by her own insecurities and immaturity. What she needs, what she yearns for, isn't a material birthright but an emotional one. She longs to have what she believes she has never had: her parents' unconditional love. Until she knows she's loved, Louise will never be able to put a human face on her sister or her parents, never be able to forgive them for a lifetime of perceived injustices.

In a scene near the end of the novel, Louise finally confronts her mother. Her pent-up frustrations explode in a series of accusations: her mother sold her own life short when she married and settled on tiny Rass Island in Chesapeake Bay. She favored and spoiled Caroline. And worst of all, she trapped Louise on Rass Island in order to turn her into a no-account woman like herself. When she's done venting, Louise demands to be allowed to leave the island.

What happens next shows that in addition to understanding a mother's feelings as well as a teenage daughter's emotional confusion, Paterson also knows how important and powerful a mother's love can be. Instead of arguing or defending herself, Louise's mother gently replies, "Of course you may leave. You never said before that you wanted to leave," and her response triggers in Louise an epiphany: even though she'd always claimed she wanted to leave the island, she was in reality afraid to let go of home and family.

While Louise is still reeling from this revelation, her mother delivers what will finally heal her "neglected" daughter: "'I chose the island,' she said. 'I chose to leave my own people and build a life for myself somewhere else. I certainly wouldn't deny you that same choice. But,' and her eyes held me if her arms did not, 'oh, Louise, we will miss you, your father and I.'"

Louise, the needy, jealous child who has spent her life demonizing her parents and sister, cannot believe what she's just heard. She dares to press for more: "'Will you really?' I asked. 'As much as Caroline?'"

That's when Paterson, with the sensitivity and insight that only a skilled writer who has been both a mother and a daughter can possess, delivers the redemption that Louise and her readers have been aching for: "'More,' she said, reaching up and ever so lightly smoothing my hair with her fingertips."

For Louise, this tender scene puts a human face on her old enemies, allowing her to reconcile with her parents, sister, and her own self-doubts, and it leads Louise's story to a satisfying, heartwarming conclusion.

Fortunately for younger readers and their parents, Paterson's considerable talents haven't been limited to novels. She has also published picture books (e.g., The Tale of the Mandarin Ducks, 1990), retold folktales (e.g., Angel and the Donkey, 1996), chapter books (e.g., Marvin One Too Many, 2001), short-story collections (e.g., A Midnight Clear, 1996), and religious books (e.g., Who Am I?, 1992). Each of these publications bears the same qualities of wit, lyricism, and cultural sensitivity that elevate her novels.

Paterson has also contributed to the quality of children's literature by being a splendid teacher of writing. Her speeches at professional conferences often discuss the art and principles of writing for children, and many of these speeches have been collected into books for aspiring--and practicing--authors: Gates of Excellence: On Reading and Writing Books for Children (1981), The Spying Heart: More Thoughts on Reading and Writing Books for Children (1989), and The Invisible Child: On Reading and Writing Books for Children (2001). These books reveal Paterson as an artist who loves and respects her audience. They are additional evidence, if such evidence is needed, that Paterson believes that stories for young people should educate them about life, its challenges, and its blessings in honest, straightforward terms.

Katherine Paterson's books have blessed children and children's literature by putting human faces on all kinds of characters. She's made marginal children seem less marginal, foreign children less foreign, and hopeless children more hopeful. In addition to elevating children's literature, Paterson's books and stories have also inspired readers to elevate themselves and their world.

Provo, Utah