Review of Sorts: How Hugo Cabret's Invention Affected My Year

Yesterday morning, the 2008 edition of the Children’s Media awards (honors? I’m not very good at getting technical names correct) took place. While there are probably about 15 different awards given, and honorary winners named, the two that are most well-known are of course those named for John Newbery and whateverhisfirstnamewas Caldecottt. Because of the gravity these two medals carry in the literary community (like being carried specifically in those bookcases at Barnes and Noble dedicated to the winners), they’re “sort of a big deal.”

Oftentimes, there’s a little too much scrutiny on the winners. Last year’s Newbery was a book called “The Higher Power of Lucky,” and hanging right there in the first sentence was a nice big “scrotum” for the young-reading world to see. Some libraries shunned the book, some bookstores became weary of the book, but as a whole, the publishing industry wore it as a badge of honor, and the book’s publisher would later refer to it as “the word,” and use it as a vehicle in an unnamed “look what we’ve overcome” campaign.

This year’s Newbery is a book I’ve never heard of by a smaller publisher (Candlewick Press), making me happy that—even though I’ve never heard of it, and its announcement became inherently anti-climactic because of its lack of popularity (but just give that some time)—there’s some concrete proof that the committee is looking at books flying well below the radar. This year’s Caldecott however, is not only a book I’ve read, but a book I’ve given perhaps a little too much scrutiny to for the better part of the last year.

“The Invention of Hugo Cabret,” made its grand entrance into my life in late March, a book among hundreds of others dwelling in the warehouse-section of my job’s home base. It would be another few weeks before, bored in Hershey, PA, I would finally pick up the book and give it the fair chance it deserved. It was just another few hours until it had earned its place on my shelf of favorites books. Throughout its over 500 pages (undoubtedly making it the longest Caldecott winner we might ever see), author/illustrator Brian Selznick concocts a story that cannot stand alone with just text or illustrations.

After the announcements of the winners, I caught up with one of my coworkers. I doubt he ever has much invested in the awards (whereas I feel like Hugo’s win was almost exclusively my doing because I’ve recommended it to so many, and named it a clear frontrunner for either Newbery or Caldecott in my blog on December 19), but, never wanting to be out of the loop, he agreed that it was a great choice. When I pushed to confirm that he had actually read the book, he said “yes,” but didn’t remember what it was about.

This is not a book that one forgets (not that I’m trying to paint a picture of my coworker as the liar he clearly is). It’s the most unique piece of literature I’ve ever read—not because of its story, but in its format. It looks at the challenge of our “visually based” society and solves it with flying black and white pencil sketches.

But of course, a book is only as good as its content. As Selznick’s first full-length novel (his previous efforts each clocked in at under 70 pages), the story never falters, and never loses the reader. Though its intimidating thickness may scare off the few not brave enough to look between its covers, reluctant readers are sure to speed through it, as not only does the story keep you wanting more, but the pictures make you not want to stop.

What little I know about Selznick allows for the book to become even more real. As a fan of old cinema, Selznick treats each illustrated page as a carefully considered shot in a movie about Hugo’s world. And Hugo’s world is not glamorous: the orphaned son of a watchmaker, he was forced to live with his alcoholic uncle, the clock keeper at a Paris train station. When his uncle disappears, Hugo realizes he must keep the clocks at the station working, or risk being caught, and sent to an orphanage. With his genetic knowledge of watch making, the task of fixing clocks is no tough challenge, but fixing the automaton that his father left behind is much more difficult. On top of all that, he must steal to survive, and his luck eventually runs out, when he is caught by the toy seller. Through a series of physical discoveries and conscious epiphanies, the plot unwinds to show the intertwined fates of the two.

Even though it only took me about three hours to read all 544 pages, it would be in my head for months to come. When I had the opportunity to meet Selznick at a book fair in New York City, I jumped at the chance. Having never been to a signing at a book fair before, I provided my own copy of the book, not knowing that they would have provided one for me. But when one of his publisher’s marketers wouldn’t allow it, and Selznick’s publicist scoffed at the idea, Selznick himself had no problem signing an extra copy for me to give to another diehard fan of the book. He thanked me for my dedication, and I appreciated how nice he was (I would later blog that meeting him was the highlight of my weekend—which also included a presentation by Stephen Colbert).

Last year’s scrotum-bearing Newbery winner was a book that I felt pride for because, in its early stages, I had taken an editorial look at as an intern at the publisher. But this year’s Caldecott winner has given me an entirely new sense of pride—one that I don’t know if I rightfully deserve. I’ve had next to nothing to do with its success (with the exception of the people to whom I’ve recommended the book), but when a piece of art that is truly inspiring receives the attention it deserves (and was not slated to receive), anyone who has ever had contact with it should feel a sense of pride.