Lisa Chellman's Blog

When I was a kid, I never fully forgave James Howe for writing, in Morgan's Zoo, that one of the animals was to be shipped to the zoo in Kalamazoo. There was no zoo in Kalamazoo, as I knew darn well; the nearest zoo was in Battle Creek. My parents explained poetic license, but to me it was just wrong.

In contrast, I never got bent out of shape about John Bellairs making up a whole new Michigan town, which he called New Zebedee, in The House with a Clock in Its Walls.

Why the difference? I guess it was perceived intent. I knew John Bellairs hadn't made up a whole new town by accident, but there was nothing to suggest James Howe hadn't just made a mistake when it came to the (lack of) zoo in Kalamazoo.

The story's in the details, as I tell my little creative writing charges at the library. But where's the line between making up the details (John Bellairs) and getting the details wrong (James Howe)?

As readers, we don't blink at Ray Bradbury's invented Green Town, Illinois; M. E. Kerr's Seaville, New York; William Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha County; Sinclair Lewis's whole freaking state of Winnemac. We accept them as surely as the Land of Oz or Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They're simply part of the fantastic landscape created in the pages.

But Audrey Niffenegger has her characters in The Time Traveler's Wife get off at the Western Avenue Brown Line el stop instead of the more logical Rockwell stop, and readers are all over it like wolves on a wounded deer.

This question of geography and accuracy is a thorn in my side when it comes to my own writing. I feel like if I set my books in real-life locations, I have to be meticulous about getting every, single solitary detail right, from names of streets to schools to restaurants and beyond. Or I could avoid the whole dilemma by carving out a bit of literary space-time and plunking in my imaginary city where no one else can tell me what's what.

Is there middle ground? I've been arguing with myself about that—whether I could set my stories in a real-life city but invent specifics within that city. Obviously fiction writers constantly do this with characters, putting them in real-life cities though they'll never be found by Directory Assistance. How many geographic specifics can a writer change and have the setting still feel authentic?

Okay to add/change (in my current line of thought):
- Streets
- Restaurants and stores

Not okay to change:
- Colleges and universities
- Landmarks or geological features

Not sure about:
- Schools

In 95% or more of the books I read, it probably doesn't matter. They're set in towns so bland I can't be bothered to check whether they're real. And even if they are, what are the chances I'll ever go there for myself to fact-check? So maybe I'm overthinking this—but I'm sure that no one readers a book set in a real-life city more closely than the residents of that city. (Poor Audrey Niffenegger!)

What do you think: where is the line between an author making stuff up and an author getting things wrong?

I'm often asked by non-librarians how my library decides what materials to buy. Great question. Here's a brief overview on how that works for me in my current position.

My personal collection development areas are children's and junior high music, picture books, and children's and junior high paperbacks. I like the variety because I just plain like variety, plus it gives me a pretty good overview of what's new/hot in various areas, so I can sound more intelligent when patrons ask for reading suggestions, books they can't remember the name of, etc. How I decide what to purchase varies for those three areas.

Music is the hardest area for me. Children's music doesn't get the widespread professional review coverage that "adult" music does. I browse new music on Amazon, look for award winners, and keep my ears open, but it's not a very, um, methodical method.

Junior high music gives me even more grief, because most of the kids are listening to "adult" music they hear on the radio. These albums may get professionally reviewed, but they aren't reviewed with the "Are these 'appropriate' for 11-13 year old kids?" question in mind. Common Sense Media is a helpful source of age-sensitive reviews by kids and parents, but, given its volunteer-reviewer nature, it's not nearly exhaustive. We have a suggestion box which gives me an idea of what's popular, but I still have to study the song titles and user comments to try and gauge whether they're PG. I've gotten dozens of requests for 50 Cent and Kanye West, but it ain't gonna happen. Fortunately, I can pass those request on to our adult department.

With paperbacks, I keep an eye on upcoming releases of trade books that weren't necessarily fly-off-the-shelf popular but got good reviews and could use some more exposure in our face-out paperback carrels. I buy trades of popular and classic hardcovers and popular series. Our school liaison also buys multiple copies of books on school reading lists and Illinois' Caudill Award nominees.

The toughest part of ordering paperbacks is trying to gauge the popularity of new series fiction. A few months back, I went to Borders and jotted down the titles of dozens of series. Back at the library I ordered a bunch. Some fly off the shelves, others barely circulate. Series books are an area where it's imperative to keep your ears open to kids' suggestions. If they heard about a new series from a friend, you can guarantee there's a whole crowd of kids who'll be demanding it in no time.

The most straightforward ordering I do is picture books. I read several children's book review journals: Kirkus Reviews, School Library Journal, The Horn Book, Booklist, and The Bulletin of the Center for Children's Books. If it gets a positive review, chances are that I'll order it. (I'm lucky, in all areas, to have a generous budget.) If it isn't reviewed in a professional journal, chances are I won't order it. We might have the money but we don't have the space—or, let's face it, desire—to expand/dilute our collection with less-than-good books.

We do welcome patron requests, but a request doesn't obligate us to make the purchase. In fact, what initially got me on this train of thought was the following email I had to write this morning:

Dear [Patron],

However, our library does own dozens of fiction and nonfiction picture books about dinosaurs, which we hope you and your daughter will continue to enjoy. Dinosaurs show no signs of going out of style, so our collection of dinosaur stories will only continue to grow as your daughter does!

I then sent her the link to my library's list of recommended dinosaur picture books, thanked her again for her suggestion, and signed off.

The two biggest red flags were the book's lack of professional reviews and lack of distribution. I Googled the publisher and found that while it isn't a vanity or POD (print on demand) press, it has a pretty dodgy reputation among both writers and readers.

Notice that I was able to rationalize not purchasing the book without making a judgment on its content. For all I knew, the patron was [DEF's] cousin, or even [DEF] him/herself!

Kids finally took a couple of pirate books! But we're so wiped out of spy books now, I decided to refresh both junior high fiction book displays. (Besides, instead of "Spies v. Pirates," I had "Pies v. Spy Rats" in my head all week!)

Books to Make You Cry / Books to Make You Laugh

General as it is, this display was hard to choose books for! What makes you cry or laugh is sooo subjective, right? I especially had trouble with the sad books. It takes a lot for me to cry at a book—basically, a beloved pet or main character must die. Other readers aren't so callous.

(I promised Brenda Ferber I'd include Julia's Kitchen in this display, because she's always having girls tell her it made them cry! But when I went to the shelf, guess what? It was already checked out!)

Kids at War / Kids on the Homefront

This display was more straightforward, though I immediately hit on this problem: what about books taking place on foreign soil, when the main character is a native of that place? They're on the homefront, but that's where the war is. What a fortunate existence we Americans lead, in that so very seldom is the warzone and the homefront one and the same.

For its summer reading club, my department puts no restrictions on what kids may read. They don't have to read particular titles or genres, fiction or nonfiction. They don't have to read library books. They don't even have to read in the traditional manner; read-alouds and audiobooks count. The only thing we ask is that books be "right for them," "at their level," etc., and even that's on the honor system.

The lack of restrictions makes it easier for the kids (fewer rules to follow) and for staff and volunteers (fewer rules to enforce). It also taps into that wonderful, literacy-promoted practice known as free voluntary reading, the premise of which is that if people are free to choose their own reading material, they will enjoy reading more, which encourages them to read more and become better at reading. My opinion is that any assigned reading should stay in school; it's summer, for crying out loud!

So, this story from one of my coworkers irked me. She lives in another library district, and she took her 10-year-old son to the library to sign up for summer reading. The library in question requires that members read a certain number of fiction and a certain number of nonfiction books. Moreover, it requires that members spin a wheel to determine which shelf they can choose a book from.

Mom's eyebrows went up, but Son enjoyed spinning the wheel. They went into the stacks and found the corresponding shelf, and Son chose a book. He carried it back to the librarian's desk for approval. Whereupon the librarian told him it didn't count, even though he'd picked it off the specified shelf, because it was a comic book.

Oooh, it makes me mad just writing about it! Graphic novels and comics are legitimate literature that exercises and promotes literacy. I could not believe that after complying with all those restrictions, the boy's chosen book still didn't fit this library's notion of what constitutes summer reading.

My coworker's planning to write to the library director. My hope is that the librarian who shot down the comic book was acting under misinformation. But at too many libraries—public libraries— comics and graphic novels are still the red-headed stepchildren of "real" books.

Some of the best things in life—the best online resources, anyway— really are free. For example, I don't know what my department would do without Mid-Continent Public Library's amazing Juvenile Series and Sequels resource.

Wondering the order of the Betsy-Tacy books? Getting Anthony Horowitz's series mixed up in your mind? Browse thousands of children's and YA series by author name, series title, book title, and series subject. You'll get a neat list in clean text of series in sequential order!

My department uses this resource just about every day, sometimes several times a day. Very rarely have I found errors or omissions.

Actually, I do know what we'd do without without this resource: we'd go to Amazon.com and deal with long load times and multiple edition/publication date confusion. But we don't have to, because MCPL has put this absolutely fantastic resource out on the web, free for all.

Looks like MCPL also has a weekly radio show, The Library Guys. Each week they interview an author and plug library programs. Many of their author interviews are available for download. I sense a definite bias toward mystery and suspense for adults, but still: cool!