Best (Poetic) How-To: HOW TO MAKE A BIRD

Candlewick Press, 2020

I'm taking a side-step from my intensive reading of nonfiction elementary and middle grade books as a CYBILS AWARDS Round One panelist to share a remarkable, ethereal, immersive picture book. 

HOW TO MAKE A BIRD is written by Meg McKinlay and illustrated by Matt Ottley. One glance at the cover art should reveal why I chose those adjectives. 

I'm an unapologetic fan of birds and bird books. Just type BIRD in the search box (>>>over there in the side bar) and you'll find links to many prior posts featuring bird-related books, both fiction and nonfiction. 

In this case, I found the book to be breathtaking, literally. The text is direct but lyrical, light, and minimalist. It's distinctly poetic and fictional, but framed around facts that incorporate magical realism into the narrative. Yes, birds' bones are their foundation, and yes, they are so light and small that you barely feel them in your hand. Then there are feathers. Oh, those feathers. Whisper light but serving heavy-duty purposes of warmth and flight and waterproofing. The eye, the beak, every element of a bird is another magical ingredient that contributes to the eventual outcome- flight. (Yes, we know some birds do not fly, but even they have these remarkably adaptable and curious components.)

The text assumes a reader who will follow directions carefully, beginning, "To make a bird..."  Illustration spreads alternate between DaVinci-like anatomical sketches of bones and assemblages on parchment-like backgrounds to luminous sand-and seascapes using colors that both soothe and swell the spirit. Set on an island-like isolated sprawl of sand, a child lives in a lofty perch that appears to be assembled by an experienced nest-builder. Toward the end, the narration adopts direct address.  That tone and the sprawling skycapes invite the reader to join this magical transition to flight, to imagine fully the air currents, swirls of cloud, sun, and sky that could infuse a carefully constructed bird with life.

I'm tempted to get a bit magical in my own thinking here. The time I spent reading and immersing myself in these elevating illustrations and reverent, minimalist text felt like a spiritual experience. Perhaps that's a result of youthful appreciation of blue-sky religious art and later experiences as a licensed wildlife rehabilitator. I've held a bird (many birds) in my palm and felt the moment when a stopped or feeble heart recovered, bounding against a delicate rib cage, and transforming a lifeless bundle of parts to the miracle of flight. Those were miraculous moments. Readers can experience some of that magic in this book.