More Margaret Wise Brown

Dear Mr Finch, 

Just sending you another quick letter about Margaret Wise Brown. I've been reading Leonard S Marcus' excellent biography of her, Awakened by the Moon, and it's becoming more and more apparent that her greatest curse is that she innovated so much we now take for granted. There's a theme running through it that, as an ex librarian yourself and as an ex librarian myself, I thought you would find particularly fascinating of how much control over American children's fiction tastes was held by innovative - but quite traditional and conservative - librarian Anne Carroll Moore. A vital figure in highlighting the importance of books to the development of children, especially through the New York Public Library's lists of important books and her reviews for the Horn Book, she also had very traditional views of what made for "proper" literature for children and Brown was not one of those.

Brown came through the Bank Street College of Education which gave her writing for children a sense of novelty and focus that picture books didn't have at the time. She and her collaborators, who went on to create their own books, seemed to be innovating all the time but as is often the way with innovators we now don't see those moments of brilliance in quite the same way because we take them for granted. It's the ultimate irony really, that hotbed of creativity and new ways of talking to children and their parents is now the norm, so none of it has quite the same sense of shock that it must have had at the time.

Her most famous book, Goodnight Moon, is particularly easy to underestimate. It seems so simple and almost basic in art and writing that you have to come at it fresh to see quite how quietly revolutionary it must have been. Because I didn't grown up with this book - it seems far more iconic in America, so my wife immediately knew it - this was my first proper reading and what impressed me most was how much work has gone into making something that looks so simple and straightforward.

The story is simplicity itself. A bunny is going to sleep. All the details are very subtle though - the bunny is clearly reluctant to sleep and keeps shifting on the pillow (including a lovely moment where it seems to be trying to get out of bed); there's a balloon which suggests there's been an exciting day - and done so lightly it practically begs a child (and parent) to fill in the gaps in the narrative themselves. The old lady is presumably the mum but why not called the mum? Why do the kittens not bother with the small mouse? It's such a simple trick but a beautiful one to engage deeper with the book.

The text itself is also very simple, but Brown's best trick is how the text repeats itself before slowly losing elements, surely mirroring how the brain close to the inevitability of sleep starts forgetting crucial steps in the thought process before sleep overwhelms you. Together with the image of the bunny wriggling and reluctant to sleep - and maybe even that balloon - you start to fill in your own backstory without even realising it.

As with so many artistic pioneers, it's hard to imagine how revolutionary it must have been at the time. The innovations of Hitchcock or Orson Welles, and even Buster Keaton and Eisenstein, are so second nature to us now you have to try and remove yourself from the decades of art that have refined and revived those inspired moments of novelty before you can see the genius of the original work.

Morr and Pippin, Booksellers

 Morr and Pippin, booksellers, have been a Swemmit institution since 1653. Owned by the Morr and Pippin families since 1785 - and found in the cobbled area of shops just outside St Tossock - it has provided reading material for the whole island for many years. It sells both new and second hand books, and is a vast shop. Some say it is four storeys high while others insist there's a basement and even an attic on top of that. Some have even found a courtyard deep within the cavernous rooms of books, but nobody has seen that place since at least 1963. 

There's a certain tradition in Morr and Pippin. They'll have what you're looking for and more besides. Traditionally you'll always find one treasure you never knew existed, and then find one even more miraculous volume that you will - always - accidentally lose sight of for a brief second and then never see again. Every time. Like something from a dream, you'll slowly forget what it was but only have the memory that it would have been the greatest thing you had ever seen remaining like steam after a great cup of tea.

The current owners are Sebastian Morr (bear, interested in gardens, history and hats) and Osiris Pippin (otter, interested in crime fiction, mysteries and the history of teapots) and are the latest in a long, long line of Morrs and Pippins to run the shop. For the first hundred years or so, the shop was owned by the mysterious Lady Ottilie Scubbard, a masked figure who weaves throughout the seventeenth century on Swemmit. She is linked to smuggling, hidden treasures, the disappearance and reappearance of St Robards abbey and the infamous theft of the then Swemmit royal family (the Blonwynns) most treasured possession, The Macpelah Scabbard. Over three hundred years later it has still not been found.

What is most mysterious that for the fifty years it was run by Lady Scubbard, and then her immediate acolytes, it was still called Morr and Pippin. It was as if she knew whose safe hands the shop would be in. And indeed the current owners have protected the vast collection - and the shop's many mysteries - with joy and wisdom.

Letter Number One

My Dear Mr Finch!

Many thanks for your last letter. Life on Swemmit sounds positively idyllic, as does the array of strange and unusual cakes made by Aloysius. Maybe one day I can visit and try one for myself!

Anyway - as you know, I’ve long wanted to write and draw picture books for children because they combine everything I love about storytelling and using pictures to tell stories. I had an accident about two years ago where I broke my wrist and couldn’t draw comfortably for a long time (before that I rarely stopped), but have recently started to create again and with a focus on picture books. Thanks to your great idea, I’m going to review a few favourites in letters to you to try and see why they work so well and hopefully will learn things so I can work towards making them myself.

Today’s choice is… When The Wind Blew by Margaret Wise Brown and illustrated by Geoffrey Hayes. It was originally illustrated by Rosalie Slocum but Hayes redid the art in the seventies which is a shame because the original art is lovely - it’s very Wanda Gag in places, and full of character and some particularly gorgeous use of colour. But Hayes art is I have to say particularly beautiful and full of character - each of the “seventeen cats and one little blue grey kitten” is drawn with genuine care and love which helps the story because clearly that’s the position of the hero of the story, the old, old lady.

Margaret Wise Brown’s most famous book is obviously Goodnight Moon, a boom I’m familiar with but don’t know very well (I mean to rectify that soon - plus she sounds a fascinating woman, I have a biography on the way any day now!), and this seems a more minor work compared to that and her lovely Little Golden Books. Nothing much seems to happen beyond the old, old lady taking her seventeen cats and one little blue grey kitten out for a walk and then feeding them.

And then the wind blows. It’s not the wind itself that’s the problem - although Hayes manages one wonderful picture of terrified cats who look for the world that they’re going to be thrown skywards any moment (my wife used to worry our cat Cluedo would blow away when she was only a few months old). Instead the old, old lady gets a toothache and because she really just lives to look after her beloved cats she begins to worry.

Hayes beautifully shows the old, old lady is more anxious than anything else. He goes to great lengths to stress her role as a care giver for the cats, clearly worrying most about who will look after them rather than herself. A lesser artist would make her cross or irritable or even just in significant levels of pain. But Hayes shows her as just someone who worries because of her responsibilities.

The solution to her tooth pain is simple and lovely and, frankly, one of the most relatable things I’ve ever seen in a picture book. The little blue grey kitten (I particularly love how Brown keeps repeating certain phrases here, giving the book a sort of emotional foundation through repetition) simply snuggles up to old, old lady’s face and in lieu of a hot water bottle (she no longer has one) provides her with the warmth, comfort and relief she so desperately needs.

My cats do this, although mostly to my wife i have to admit. I’m forever waking up to find Spooky and Cluedo sprawled on her in the night, sometimes for their comfort and sometimes for their own. But Cluedo - heading towards fifteen now, and fast shrinking back to kitten size - is particularly the one who clearly sees adoration of her human mum as the reciprocal be all and end all. She snuggles up to her at all hours, warm and safe and secure. My wife nearly teared up at the image of the kitten doing the same, it’s so well observed.

The book tells us the old, old lady simply forgets she ever had a toothache, which I’m not sure is entirely accurate, but given the loveliness of that image of the kitten providing warmth I’m very much willing to go with it. Kittens and cats provide so much solace in our moments of worry and concern and it’s lovely to see Brown and, many years later, Hayes recognise that.

(Incidentally, if you have any access to the original version of this by Rosalie Slocum, I’d love to see it and especially how the kitten’s snuggling is illustrated. I can only find scraps online sadly!)

Anyway, that’s it from me for today. Another letter and another book soon!

Chris Browning,
Todmorden, West Yorkshire, April 2026

Of Photos, Cakes and Boxes

 Mr Finch used to be a librarian at the University of Swemmit, a not very big university but just large enough to get lost in and just large enough to have the sort of library you could get even more lost in, peculiarly bigger than the architects ever intended it to be. Regularly people wander in to find something to read, end up forgetting what level they're in and eventually having to camp out overnight somewhere around the theology section (there's a tent) until someone sends a search party to find you the next morning. 

In fact Mr Finch's current home came about because of one such search party. His landlady, the mysterious Mrs Ivers, was one such lost soul. She was lost in the library for two weeks, and was so traumatised by the incident that she spent most of the time in a large cardboard box. She has never come out of the box since, so Mr Finch has never in fact met her properly or indeed knows what kind of animal she is, but because he politely returned her in the box to her home in Trosset and finding out she needed a couple of lodgers, suggested himself and Aloysius. Life in Wegware was lovely, but as the main town on the island it could also be a bit noisy. Trosset is sleepier and Mr Finch and his best parrot friend have been very happy there for the last ten years. And they are happy to leave Mrs Ivers to shuffle around in her box, if it keeps her happy.

Mr Finch and Mr Mitton arrived at the house - an end terrace overlooking the sea and with a nice view of St Tessop's church beyond McAvoy Spinney - to the delicious odours of Aloysius' cooking. Aloysius had been a ship's parrot, taking over the catering on many trips out to Swemmit Slough over the years, but had always longed to cook on the mainland because "I really want to be able to make something that doesn't collapse every time the ship lurches". He now tinkers around the kitchen, exploring and innovating new recipes and doing a weekly radio show on Radio Swemmit where he shares his latest mad cookery ideas.

"Oh that's a nice smell," said the dog Mr Benny Minton, "what kind of cake is that?"

"A delicious one!" said the parrot, hopping into the hall way as the front door closed, "Hello Mr Minton! Nice to see you again! Are you here for my cakes?"

"Aloysius," said Mr Minton (the parrot had long forgotten his own surname), "I am always here for your cakes. What have you made today?"

"Coconut, potato and Mystery Pudding," said the parrot excitedly. Nobody knew what Aloysius' Mystery Pudding was, and most people believe it changed on a weekly basis, but everybody who smelled or tasted it declared their undying love for it.

"Lovely!" said Mr Finch, as he walked into the front room. Every room in the house was stuffed with Mr Finch's books. He had thousands of them, getting them from all over the island and also from his many friends across the world. He also used to take home any unloved books from the library before he retired, and even now the head librarian - the armadillo Mr Gossett - boxes up any interesting books and sends them to his old friend and assistant. "I shall let Mrs Ivers know we're having cake in the front room."

"Mrs Ivers! Cake!!" he shouted.

There was suddenly a loud bang, followed by a clatter, a sort of zuzz-zuzz-zuzz noise that went on for a few seconds, followed by another clatter, a distant bell ringing and then something very close to a CLUMPH noise. And in the doorway stood a large cardboard box, with eyeholes cut out somewhere in the middle. This was Mrs Ivers.

"OOOH! CAKE!" came a voice, a somewhat strange and clearly disguised voice - deep and echoey. Mrs Ivers always claimed to be very shy, especially after her two weeks lost in the library, but Mr Finch suspected there was a stranger mystery about who his landlady was. She did not have a family, she lived in the walls, cellar and attic, and sometimes there was a strange clanking noise in the middle of the night that sometimes sounded like a voice. "I LOVE CAKE! BUT WE MUST DO THE PHOTO FIRST!"

One of Mrs Ivers' most peculiar habits was taking photographs of any guests who came to visit. She would photograph it, disappear for a few hours, and come back with it beautifully framed and added to the wall of faces that went throughout the house.

"We can always do the cake first and then the photo?" said Mr Minton, hopefully sniffing the air.

"NO! PHOTO FIRST! THEN CAKE!" barked Mrs Iver. "ALL THREE OF YOU! AND THEN LETTER!!"

Mr Minton looked at Mr Finch, "Oh she knows about the letter too?"

"Oh yes, she enjoys hearing about Mr Browning's books - so let's do the photo, get the cake and then tuck into whatever my friend has to say", said Mr Finch.

And so here is the photo.

And, also, here is the letter...

A Friendly Walk

 It was a lovely April morning on the Isle of Swemmit, and Mr Ibsen Finch - scholar, gentleman, retired librarian, bear - was on his way to deliver his post just outside the village of Trosset. He had nothing on his mind except good food, good friends and good books which is always the best thing for anyone to have on their mind. He was also humming a little song to himself, one his housemate Aloysius, a parrot of no fixed breed or manners, was probably singing to himself as he prepared his lunch. Aloysius was always singing something or chatting to himself, always a bit suspicious of a bit of peace and quiet which Mr Finch always enjoyed, as it was the perfect way to enjoy a good book.

And as we shall see, Mr Ibsen Finch always loves enjoying a good book.

Anyway, on this April morning Mr Finch was half way through his song when he heard a friendly voice pipe up behind him.

"Hallo there Mr Finch!" said the voice, "wait up and I'll walk with you!"

"Why hello Mr Minton," said Mr Finch, smiling to see the small dog in the bright red hat scampering up the coastal road behind him. Mr Minton was a fisher man and gardener, but most importantly something of a dreamer and Mr Finch loved nothing more than people who were dreamers. They were his kind of people.

"Off anywhere exciting?" asked the pup.

"Just to post a letter to a friend from Yorkshire," explained the bear. "I have a lot of friends I write letters to and this is one of my favourite kinds of letter - all about books and pictures and friendly chatter."

Mr Minton thought for a moment. "I don't get many letters I think, but if I did I think I'd like them mostly to be about food. That's my favourite thing to talk about. I do like my food. Who's your friend?"

"He's one of those human types, a fellow called Mr Browning. Wants to be a writer and an artist and particularly loves books, especially picture books which happen to be some of my favourites as well. He wants to make his own. We talk a lot about them in our letters."

"What on earth is a picture book?" said Mr Minton. "A book full of pictures?"

"Yes, but usually with a story. So you might have a story about a cook or a baker making lots of food, so you'd see the food being prepared and the people about to eat it. I imagine you'd enjoy a book like that!" 

Mr Minton smiled. "Oh Yes, very much. Doesn't need to even be a story. Just looking at food will do me, although I do tend to prefer eating it."

"Well," said Mr Finch as they reached the post box, "let me post this letter and then why not come home and not only look at some food but also eat it. Aloysius has made a cake you know and everybody loves Aloysius' cakes."

Mr Minton smiled. He remembered a large fudge cake the bird had made for the St Tressop church fete a couple of years ago. That was a fine cake. "Oh that sounds lovely, thank you very much."

And as they turned home to Mr Finch's house, the bear added "And I'll show you some picture books while you're there and show you one of Mr Browning's letters."
"Will it be about food?" asked Mr Minton happily.

"I'm sure we can sort something out, yes." smiled the bear. He loved nothing more than good food, good friends and good books and any opportunity to combine all three was always excellent for him.

Swemmit Lighthouse

 One of the most unusual landmarks of Swemmit is the Swemmit Lighthouse. Built in the early 1800s by the Medwain family, it has relocated many times around the coast of the island usually settling for a couple of decades before mysteriously - and always overnight - establishing itself at a new location. Some have said the lighthouse is in some way sentient, and makes its own way to find a new home after getting bored of one view of another.

For the last thirty years, the lighthouse has most been located around the large lake at the centre of the island, Kilvert Water. It’s currently located at the edge of the woods around Temso Hall, and has settled there for the last seven years. Current Lighthouse keeper, Stinky Robards, claims that the lighthouse is in the retirement phase of its life and enjoys the less dramatic waters and more pleasing vistas of that giant lake than the constant worries about where the island will relocate to next. He is of no opinion about whether the lighthouse is sentient or not, just saying “a perambulatory building on a perambulatory island only seems right to me”

Greetings From The Island

The Island of Swemmit is hard to find if you haven’t checked the pages of Old Mantiphe’s Almanac of Swemmit recently. Since 1802 the island has committed itself to taking shifts in being off the coast of every British coastal county at least once a decade to boost tourism. This was instigated after the civil war of 1801, which wasn’t so much as a war as a bit of a scrap that lasted a morning and resulted in the ancient Swemmit royal family of the Blonwynns stepping down in favour of an elected - if somewhat eccentric - parliament. The Blonwynns still live on the island in shabby splendour just on the outskirts of the village of North Hum.

It is not a large island, or a small island, but it is - as described in the words of 18th century geographer and gadabout Dr Ephraim Pudding -  "comfortably snug". It is a mainly agricultural economy, but increasingly has become known as a tourist hotspot. This is mainly because of the notoriety of such mysteries as the wreck of the 17th century ship the Pifkyn, the haunted Medwain Abbey, the mysterious and seasonal lights and sounds over Kilvert Water and the fact the entire island is wholly populated by anthropomorphic animals, and always has been.

Think of Nutwood, but as a whole island. And stranger.

Anyway, if this has whet your appetite for more about the delightful tales of Swemmit, this blog will soon be turned over to one particular inhabitant, retired librarian Mr Ibsen Finch - a bear - who lives in Trosset on the north western side of the island. A fine and erudite gentleman, with a broad series of penpals and friends from across the world whose stories he will soon be sharing. 

In the mean time, if you're interested in reading more about this most lovely of places, I can heartily recommend Trevelyan K Spong's Visitor's Guide to Swemmit. Unavailable anyway other than the island of course, unless you happen to know the right people, but a wonderful introduction to the traditions, history and mysteries of this most enchanting of islands.