Books like West Coast Wild

Recommending kid's books means I'll be doing a bit of reminiscing and this book leads the pack.

As a child I'd float my toy boats down the stream and it was always an adventure to see what animals and plant life I met. This book does the same thing. The parade of animals and the sing-song story is a perfect vehicle for young readers to discover the world as a place to protect, enjoy, and involve yourself in.

As with all good kids books, there is an essential balance between the story and the illustrations. Both creators invite readers into a new world where Bob builds a boat and takes us along for a ride. 

Going to the Vancouver Art Gallery when I was a kid I saw my first Emily Carr painting and it drew me in with its dark beauty.

This book brings to life the story of Emily Carr, a talented painter and (although the word wouldn't have been used then) ecologist. She passionately pursued her art in ways proper young ladies of the time just didn't do. She revered the First Nations people and their cultures. The gift was returned when she received her own honourary name, Klee Wyck (Laughing One) from the Nuu-chah-nulth (Nootka) people.

I love this book because of its honesty, it is about a person and a place, firmly rooted in a love of nature.

I wanted to include a board book in my recommendations because finding books that speak to pre-schoolers is a real gift.

Roy Henry Vickers, a well-known First Nations artist, employs warm colours and clear simple shapes to convey his love for animals, the land, and his culture. Words are used sparingly which makes us enjoy their sound. The story reads like in a poem, it's a sensory experience. Every page is a new setting, often with Indigenous imagery worked in.

Raven Squawk, Orca Squeak feels like an invitation to come and visit.

This might be a bit of a stretch from the others in my list but I wanted to include it because it's inspirational to me as a creator.

It takes place on the West Coast and it champions living with the sea and surroundings. There is a long history of tugboats in BC and it was something I grew up watching (and waving at as they chugged by). Even as a kid I was amazed that such a tiny boat could achieve so much. It was also an inspiration for one of my books (Tug, a Log Booms Journey) about the fascinating world of logging and tugboats.

To be perfectly honest, the title is the best part of this book. None of the text is quite as funny as the concept, but the concept is worth the price of admission.

You can keep your A is for Apple and B is for Ball. I’ll take K is for Knight and D is for Djibouti.

It’s not likely that a toddler is going to need to spell “phlegm” any time soon, but it’s a fun read for the adult — and the grown-ups also need to be entertained by a book that’s going to be aloud 100 times. 

I’m a completionist. I take pleasure in completing a game or task involving many steps that I can tick off as I go.

A to Z lists thrill me like nothing else can! Seeing different minds tackle the same 26 letters each in their own way, never gets old. I was a grown-up when I first discovered Edward Gorey and found him amusing.

But when I discovered this book, the hairs on the back of my neck tingled. He was taking on the A to Z challenge! And he nailed it. Each line is concise and yet tells me everything I need to know.

It’s a short book, but since each line comes with an illustration showing that letter’s victim’s last moments, it’s worth pausing to savor each page.

My family is trying to slowly work our way through visiting all 63 US National Parks. So far, my 2.5-year-old has been to 6!

Because we love the National Parks so much, my husband and I love reading this book to our son. It covers 26 different National Parks, as well as many of their features and native animals, in a fun A to Z format. 

Just as King is a master of fiction, the late, great John McPhee is a nonfiction master. He gained fame as staff writer for The New Yorker, then authored dozens of books on such diverse subjects as fishing, geology, and transportation. (Trust me: His fascinating novel-like prose is more engaging, enlightening, and enrapturing than those topics imply.) In 1999, he finally won a well-deserved General Nonfiction Pulitzer on his fourth try. In this treatise on writing well, McPhee offers insight into his craft, including diagrams of story structure he shared with journalism students at Princeton. The book appeals to my logical side; in my book I say I see writing as like building with Legos, putting together one colorful block at a time to eventually form a 7,541-piece Millennium Falcon. 

This book takes the reader back to another speech world, that of 16th and 17th century English, albeit one on which we have some purchase through the plays of William Shakespeare. Where someone today may hedge their words with I suppose or probably, people in this time peppered their speech with expressions conveying certainty like verily and forsooth. This contrast represents the ethos of truth and faith that reigned at this time before it was replaced by a modern spirit of epistemic detachment ushered in by the British enlightenment. Yet a by my troth was not interchangeable with a by my faith, and each chapter of the book opens the door on the specifics of an epistemic expression in 16th and 17th century English through colourful examples, cultural evidence and a statement of its meaning. I love this book.

This clever and funny book explains that there are specific techniques that make good writing sound good, or a pithy phrase stick in the mind, and tells you the long and difficult Greek (or slightly easier Latin) names for all these rules you kind of knew without actually knowing.

I can hardly retain any of the Greek labels, but I do remember the fun little examples, like why Oscar Wilde’s epigrams are so striking (antithesis) and how Shakespeare totally lifted part of Julius Caesar from a historian, but polished it up (alliteration). And whenever you hear a memorable three-part phrase, it was probably longer but everyone forgot the other bits (tricolon). 

This is not one for fans of utilitarian writing, but as Forsyth says, “To write for mere utility is as foolish as to dress for mere utility.”