by Sam Juliano
As I sit down to pen my review of John Rocco’s wildly popular picture book Blizzard, a swirling snowstorm is setting in on the northeastern New Jersey outside of Manhattan, where my family and I reside. While the projected numbers may not quite equal the 1978 super storm Rocco chronicles, this is a major event that will have people digging out for days, not to mention all the severe travel restrictions that lie ahead. Nightmare scenarios that include late-arriving plows, the inability to drive to a store for food and supplies, and the effects of cabin fever are part of the blizzard experience. Always a fun time for the kids, who see the arrival of snowflakes as a passport to scholastic absence, it is that relatively rare time to ride sleds, throw snowballs and build snowmen and igloos with reckless abandon. It is a time when nature plays the role of the great equalizer, neutralizing parental authority, as a result of the communal task at hand. The arrival of a blizzard brings on a divergent but amenable mix: excitement, consternation, uncertainty and claustrophobia, though the perceptions of kids widely differ from that of the more responsible adults. One thing is certain: whatever plans one had in place are all left on the back burner when a blizzard strikes. The priorities are down to one.
Rocco’s child’s eye view of how a blizzard affects a family and a small town is an intimate account that examines juvenile resourcefulness and endurance in the wake of parental frustration at the nature-imposed impasse. Rocco knows how to craft stories of resilience under duress as he confirmed with the fabulous Caldecott Honor book Blackout, and he has taken his illustrative prowess a step further with his pencil, watercolor and digital art that mainly paints the aftermath of a monster snowfall that impacts all aspects of life. The book’s dust jacket differs from the actual inside cover, which is great news for those who delight in an extra snowscape. The former showcases the boy with arm’s upraised in jubilation over the snowfall on a street covered with several feet of show. Houses on both sides of the now indecipherable street and covered with the white stuff and icicles, while a street lamp -covered almost to the top, reveals the staggering height of the accumulation. On the back the difficulty of traveling in deep snow with a sled is underscored with a fair measure of frustration. The inner cover is aerial shot of a town during a blizzard; homes, bare and spruce trees, swing sets, and power line poles all obscured by an ocean of white. The raging storm on the front light blue end papers, and tracks in the snow on the back help to bring this all-encompassing event into acute focus. Just stopped to look out the front door; the snow is blowing, the streets are covered, and plows can be heard crunching against the tar a block or two away.
Blizzard is autobiographical, as it is clear enough that the once young boy is the author-illustrator. He is seen in a marvelous pre-title page display standing with a yardstick that progressively gets covered until both boy and ruler are almost fully in the white. Then we see two paintings of the same school room window; one displays a single flake falling, the next shows the storm launch to the delight of the class. Early dismissal and the arrival home are marked by considerable accumulation. The boy later eyes the blizzard from his bed room window with the help of a street light and the stark measuring stick of a stop sign. The boy had been reading a book on “arctic survival” and on his wall a poster of snowy Mount Everest is exhibited. Across is a close-up of the stop sign being enveloped by the furiously falling flakes in what looks like a wave of cotton. The second day under powdery siege necessitates egress through a window, after it is discovered that snowdrifts blocked the front door. In a delightful touch, Rocco announces the new day (Tuesday) by having the letters seemingly furrowed in the snow by a squirrel. The next series of vignettes documents the near-impossibility of walking in deep snow that was felt to have an undertow. The kind of sled dogs from Call of the Wild are wished for. Cold, wet and exhausted after their adventure they thaw out at the woodstove to enjoy milk-based hot cocoa. Our fearless snow marauder pores over his arctic survival book again. In cozy warmth boy cuddles with dog and brother with mom.
You’d almost think Charlotte the Spider were around to snow engrave “Wednesday” but spiders wouldn’t last a half minute in this kind of weather. Dad is busy trying to dig out his car from multi-feet snowdrifts, while the boys dig tunnels under the snow and broach the subject of igloos maintaining warmth when temperatures dip below zero, in a sublime and colorful tapestry. It then appears that a bluebird has pecked the word “Thursday” in the snow on a still plow less day that has day still digging out and boy signaling his friend from a tree. The grim reality of the situation then sets in when milk runs out, they are forced to drink cocoa with hot water, and food supplies have nearly been depleted. Friday arrives (according to scattered raisins from a box) and the boy decides to embark on a trip to the store, after preparing the sled, and a supply list (milk, bread, eggs and a candy bar with an asterisk!) Our boy magnanimously stops off at the neighbors, and secures requests for candles, cat food, coffee and peanut butter.
The book’s spectacular centerpiece is a gatefold, four panel view of the town, the path the boy took, and the activities he engaged in en route to Bill’s Market. This incredibly detailed and exquisitely crafted snow scene alone would have Rocco in the Caldecott race. After the aforementioned visit with the neighbors the boy helps builds a snowman, climbs a lookout, constructs a snow angel, explores an igloo and joins a snowball fight. All the groceries and requested items are brought back on the sled, first off to the appreciative neighbors. The family recoils to again enjoy cocoa made with milk, after a jubilant arrival. The boy boasts that “It was a perilous journey.” The snow plow arrives, a return to school is imminent, and the boy and his brother sled down a hill near their home in unbridled ebullience.
Several years ago Jim Murphy published a book also titled Blizzard. It was a non-fiction account of a crippling snowstorm that ravaged the east coast from Maine to Virginia, causing the most damage to New York City. In those days forecasting was at its infancy stage, and the storm came out of the blue. Rocco’s storm, while pummeling his Rhode Island hometown with 4o inches of snow did not arrive like a demon in the night, rather the reports had it figured. Either way Blizzard is a microcosm of any and all American towns that have been stopped dead in their tracks by nature’s big white phenomenon. Beautifully illustrated with a wonderful undercurrent of humor, this intimate slice of Americana deserves the most serious attention from the Caldecott committee. Ah yes, the blizzard. Things are getting real nasty out there now. I think we’ll be heading to the comfort of our blankets and pillows….
Note: This is the thirty-ninth entry in the 2014 Caldecott Medal Contender series. The series does not purport to predict what the committee will choose, rather it attempts to gauge what the writer feels should be in the running. In most instances the books that are featured in the series have been touted as contenders in various online round-ups, but for the ones that are not, the inclusions are a humble plea to the committee for consideration. It is anticipated the series will include at least 40 titles; the order which they are being presented in is arbitrary, as every book in this series is a contender. Some of my top favorites of the lot will be done near the end. The awards will be announced on February 2nd, hence the reviews will continue to the end of January.
John Rocco
