During Mother's Day (I like to put the apostrophe there but I never know. It is a very singular mother for most people) the kids and I talked about favourite children's books. I don't know how Noah thought of Monster Mama because we lost it, like many of our best loved book, many years ago. He admitted that he had been frightened of the Mama. I remember loving Stephen Gammell's dripping illustrations. So I did what I usually do when tracking down an American book, I went to Amazon.co.uk and there was no trace of it. I am sad to say that I can't remember, eventhough it was just a few weeks ago, but I trawled through the internet and found a copy. Two weeks later, right before Noah's birthday the San Diego County Library hardcover copy arrived. We read it out loud all together. No one remembered it but Noah. After all, it has been a long time since we sat around reading picture books. Age 14, 12 and 10, they poured over it. The pictures are wild, paint spattering everywhere, Monster Mama peering out of her cave at the back of the house. I would give anything to create such movement in my paintings.
I came across Liz Rosenberg when I was an English Lit and Creative Writing major. She is a poet. She was married to the John Gardner who died in a motorcycle accident a few years before I was a student at Binghamton. Now it all seems sad. Then the whole story seemed glamorous and suited to a writer. By the time I had left she had married David and gave birth to Eli.
So when, a handful of years later, the publishers sent me Eli and Uncle Dawn, a magical book, I kept my eyes open for more of her work. Monster Mama was worth the search. The book is about bullying but in a quirky and satisfying way. No one wants their mothers to shout at their tormentors but when you mother is a monster, it turns out to be very gratifying.
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