100 Books Like If Picasso Painted a Snowman

My memories of childhood are of white winters and deep snowfalls. Like anyone in a perfect snowstorm, I have often looked at the flakes on the shoulders and sleeves of my coat and wished I could preserve that perfect crystal. I also wondered if the saying was true—that no two snowflakes are alike—and how anyone could possibly know.

I had no idea as a child that a Vermont farmer, Wilson Bentley, studied and photographed snowflakes for years, leading to discoveries about these six-sided, fleeting jewels. In Snowflake Bentley (another Caldecott recipient), Jacqueline Martin introduces us to a time “In the days when farmers worked with ox and sled,” and a boy “who loved snow more than anything else in the world.” A fascinating, educational,  and true story to explore.

I love snow! I love this book. The simple collage illustrations support a simple childhood experience that captures my childhood winter as much as it does the delight my grandchildren take in snow. I love that this is nature experienced in a city setting. It was a quiet day for making footprints in the snow, feet pointing out, and feet pointing in. The crunch, crunch, crunch, a stick just right for smacking snow-covered trees.

I want to climb into this book and be that child. And oh, the memories of a snow day, not a holiday but a day filled with magic like no other, a day to fully explore and enjoy the season, the natural world. The excitement I feel even now when snow falls at night, promising another snow day.

Both the poetry and prose of this beautiful book speaks to my heart; these are words I would have liked to have written myself: Softly, gently in the secret light/Down from the North came the quiet white./Drifting, sifting, silent flight,/Softly, gently in the secret night. After the first poetic introduction, the book moves into a perfect description of a neighborhood before, during and after a big snow, beginning with the first flakes of snow the children catch on their tongues, to the postman pulling on his boots; the snowfall so deep that the farmer must dig his way to the barn. In the night the stars come out when the snow stops. The next morning, bright light fills the barn where the farmer milks his cow, and children build a snowman, a snow fort, and have a snowball fight. The melting snow drips into icicles, as the neighborhood warms… show more.

I was in second grade when I first read this Robert Frost poem in our classroom textbook. There was one magnificent illustration of a horse in a dark, snowy forest, with big snowflakes falling that captured my imagination. I was entranced by the language and images and remember memorizing the poem to recite. In 1978 Susan Jeffers illustrated the poem as a picture book, with evocative gray and white drawings. A later edition added some color. In this case, the beauty of the text is such that no illustrations are needed, but it is lovely to see the snowy village, the narrator stopping to make a snow angel, and the snow-laden tree branches. A great introduction to the poems of Robert Frost, who called this poem “my best bid for remembrance.” (Just FYI, you can listen to a recording of Robert Frost reading this poem on YouTube.) 

In this wondrous book on Caravaggio, the world of Naples unfolds from the inside through an electrifying reading experience. Written with grace, almost every sentence imparts an epiphany. The author challenges us to undertake soul-work, even if one is a secular reader. Reading becomes an act of empathy and passion. In the words of Wallace Stevens, potential readers will become ‘necessary angels’.

I’ve been intrigued all my life by the women on my mother’s side of my family who were artists and writers. How did I fit into that familial line, and what could I learn from them?

Honor Moore’s investigation into her artist grandmother’s life drew me into her own examination of that question, and I was deeply moved by her mission of reviving her beautiful, brilliant grandmother’s reputation as an artist while offering an honest assessment of how societal pressures affected her mental health and problems with alcohol abuse. 

When I first saw the previews of this book, I had to read it the first day it was published.

Though friends had highly recommended Kostova’s more popular book, The Historian, this book spoke to me.

With the point of view shifting from current time to 19th century France, it checked all my boxes: painting, art museum, impressionists - all tied together into a fabulous mystery bow.

While reading, I wanted to peacefully wander an art museum and dabble with a paintbrush on canvas.

To me, the best books evoke a unique artistic mist or glow that I can still feel years later.

I love books that validate spiritual creativity and ‘realign’  misconceptions in the annals of history. This inspiring biography documents the life of a 19th-century female artist, who not only dedicated her life to unique spiritual creativity, but also, is currently upending art history. It turns out that her art predates the establishment of the Modern Art Movement, which academia has attributed to men who painted several decades later. Hilma af Klint was a woman before her time. I also love the book’s color plates displaying her mastery of geometry and biology. This book is a well-researched jewel and a gift to art history. 

I was hungry for a great piece of comic writing when a friend handed me this book, and it delivered so much more than laughter.

Once I’d tuned in to the language, I ended up shambling through 30s London alongside impecunious painter Gulley Jimson. A humble man, driven by a holy need to make the sort of art which, it turns out, nobody wants, he encounters a world of squalor and beauty, both physical and moral.

I grew to love him and his daily observations on the play of weather and light on the Thames, which form a sort of sketchbook. As Jimson’s physical health declines, he grips beauty wherever he finds it. Theroux, Lessing, and Updike all rated this author.

The brand of possession is fairly standard: a Drakhaoul possesses a man, enabling him to transform into a dragon—but the man must replenish his strength vampirically.

I like the interplay of personal responsibility and victimization, the use of supernatural powers to protect one’s friends at the cost of innocent suffering.

The Drakhaoul has a name and personality; it’s definitely a discrete being, but it’s also a part of the hero. But then the hero successfully exorcises his demon. But the demon’s memories are left behind, and the hero starts to wonder if he’s going mad.

The demon’s absence, not its presence, drives the hero to madness and despair (even though he hates the demon). The hero simultaneously hates and longs for a dark power, which is and is not uniquely his.