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I then came up with the character of Tru when I was traveling in Africa. I was so impressed with the welcoming people, the exotic landscape, and the natural beauty and wildlife that I wanted to find a way to include a character from Zimbabwe into one of my books. I just had to figure out how to get him to North Carolina…. I hope you enjoy reading about Tru and Hope, two strangers whose paths cross unexpectedly, and whose chance encounter becomes a touchstone for two vastly different individuals -- transcending decades, continents, and the bittersweet workings of fate.

Sincerely yours,. As of the writing of this newsletter, all scheduled tour events across the US remain on the calendar. I look forward to seeing you on the road. See you there! She has to take her siblings with her and they take a train that I believe was actually a subway. The teacher is surprised to see them but they end up having a nice visit all the same. The book was a hard cover. Sorry I don't remember anything else about the story. Hope someone can help. This story was within a Reader for approx grade 3 or 4. In the story a girl falls into a well and the leaves are turned to gold coins.

The sisters follow her but they are tarred and feathered. I am looking for a Halloween book fom the late 70's or 80's. I don't fully remember the story but I think it had something to do with a girl or a witch who stole Halloween candy but had a happy ending of course. I know it's not much to work with, but if you can help, I would appreciate it!

On the cover, she is sitting on a big pile of all the candy she stole not a roof. But it has a happhy ending! At some point in the book they build a giant mechanical robot lion for protection which ends up eating them. My parents gave me this book for my eighth birthday.

It was about a boy who was so small, he could fit into a matchbox. His parents were also very small and got blown off the Eifell Tower when he was a baby. He ended up being raised by the director of a travelling circus and sleeping in a matchbox. At some point, the director allows him to be a part of a circus act where he calls people up on stage and the little boy steals all their valuables without them knowing - he then gets revealed to the audience and becomes internationally famous.

I remember there were parts where some bookmaker makes him books the size of postage stamps. He also tries to find a girl his size but is unsuccessful. I originally read this book in Russian, though I'm not sure it was by a Russian author, as my parents often gave me books by Swedish, Danish, Italian and English writers. I don't remember how it ends. I loved this book and would really appreciate any help finding it! Thanks for your help! I think this is the same book that i inherited when i was a child, i believe it is "the little man" by erich kastner.

I'm looking for a collection of books that my Gran used to read to me as a kid in the early to mid 90's. They were picture books, with cardboard covers and paper pages. I remember them being very colorful. The people were drawn tall with lanky arms and rosy cheeks. They could have been published anywhere from the 70's to the early 90's. Sadly, I have no clue what either of those were. There were several books with individual stories - the books weren't connected to each other in any way as far as the actual stories were concerned. The one that sticks out in my memory the most was called something like The Wackadoos, actually I'm pretty sure that was the name of it.

It was about these little creatures that caused silly mayhem wherever they went. In one part they scare some people in a dark street by popping out from around the corner. In another part they shout at the top of they're lungs. It ends with them disappearing into The night,I think. I only half remember it. If any one has any ideas I would appreciate your help.

Hi all, I want to find out the title and author of this book if anyone can help: It is a story about an old couple who wants to sell their white house; visitors ask for the house to be painted, which they do, and they go through various colors, only to realize that white was the perfect color for their house and that they didn't want to move anymore, that it was the perfect house. Thanks for any leads. Its a childhood book, with a smooth cover, it was blue. I really need to get the name of this book, I want to be able to read it to her before she is officially gone, so please please help :' Please respond as soon as possible.

I've never read this one in particular, but I've read others in the Baby Blue Cat series and I used to love them. I really hope you get to read it for your Nana!! I'm the guy from the previous post "Children's picture book I am remembering that the main character s somehow arrived at an island. For some reason, this character had reason to cross the island and all of its dark and scary regions [I remember a very dense jungle; dim lighting in many illustrations]. The book is from the 90s possibly as early as the 80s , and presented each page as a series of stages that the character would encounter: new barriers, friends and foes, clues, tasks, etc.

I recall a point where he must slip past a sleeping predator or guard of the river -- a massive river that divided the island, and then was carried across the river by some friendly creature or something like that. I realize that I'm grasping at straws here, but I'm going off the haziest of mental images. I don't even remember if the character was human. ANY clues would be appreciated. It was "My Father's Dragon"!!! After a bunch of deadends, I found it by typing what seemed like a fruitless Google search: [children's books map of island "cross the river"].

Then on the second entry down, I gasped -- saw the map of the Island of Tangerina and Wild island, the river, and my childhood came rushing back. Never doubt the power of creative searching techniques people! Just keep at it Rephrase rephrase rephrase! People's memories of books are so amazing. Now that I reread your post, of course it's My Father's Dragon, but it didn't occur to me.

Please don't include links unless they are directly book related The one I'm trying to remember the name of is one read to me as a second or third grader, I believe, so the copyright would pre-date or so. I think it was a chapter book, I don't recall any illustrations in particular, though I daresay there were some. The girl wanted her so much that she stole the doll and hid her away. That's about all I remember, other than this sense that I loved the book very much.

There may be more than one cover illustration. That's it!!!!! Have half-remembered this for so many years, and now I can put a cover to it. I am looking for a series of early readers which was published in the Uk in the late s and early The first in the series was called "My House" and from memory, the next was about a bird called Joey, the third about a cowboy. My Mum cannot remember the name of the publishers but I learnt to read from these and would love a set. This is a great resource for all Ladybird books. Adventure stories in Kentucky with 4 or 5 young frontiersman.

Read when about 8 to 11 years old in There were three to five volumes. Each volume was a single story but they all involved the same main characters who were young frontiersman fighting Indians in Kentucky.


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The Young Trailers series by Joseph Altsheler. I liked them then too, a lot. This was a Blue matte hardback cover book from the 50's? It included some fairytales and stories and was about inches thick. I have looked online for this book for a few years now with no luck finding it. Any help would be appreciated. The story we'd really like to find is the one about the rabbits that took over the den of a bobcat during the night while the bobcat was out looking for rabbits to eat.

It had illustrations of Mr. Bobcat wearing trousers held up with suspenders and as time went along and he couldn't find any rabbits to eat, he got thinner and thinner. The book would have been published before likely from the late 's. Any ideas on either the book or the bobcat story? Hi, I'm trying to remember the name of a book I read as a child. I'll try and outline everything I can remember about it, but first of all the story itself came in a big book with other short stories so I don't know if it was actually a stand-alone work or part of a collection.

The story was illustrated on every page showing how it progressed. The setting is in the cold winter time in a snowstorm and the story revolves around a few small animals I think a rabbit? I think even a bear tried to fit in there! Skip to Main Content Area. Old Children's Books. More Tips for Searchers. No Luck? Check here daily. What are Rare Children's Books? A show in Chicago had been canceled, thanks to the polar freeze that had descended over the Midwest, leaving her stuck in the middle of a vast tundra with a buildup of tour adrenaline and nowhere to put it.

Later, she would stand in a diaphanous scarlet Valentino dress at the Grammys, giving a speech that could, given her tone and reputation, be read as subtly anti-authoritarian. Not so much. And very responsibly! Enough to be able to get outside of yourself and see a different perspective or point of view. What makes Musgraves such a resonant figure right now, in fact, is the way her response to a dark, anxious moment in human history is to move willfully closer to lightness, to stillness, toward the possibility of a world that comes in more colors than red or blue.

When she talks about art thriving in this climate, she means it — just not in the same sense as, say, angry punks railing against the Reagan administration. What she means is that right now, the best rebellion involves turning off the hate and making space for hope. I missed her in Chicago, where everyone was trapped inside, the streets vacant apart from the odd extreme-weather junkie taking photographs of ice floes. I had indeed seen her Instagramming this kind of mysterious, late-night Discovery Channel-type stuff — the sort of thing teenagers once saw at the IMAX theater on a field trip after getting stoned.

How did she get into it? And yet even in her early years, when Musgraves looked more the part of your average Nashville aspirant, in cowboy boots and blond highlights, there was always a kind of poise, an innate regality that set her apart. This, perhaps, is the other side of her East Texas grit — the one that manifests less as yee-haw joy and more as D. Musgraves grew up in Golden, Tex. She would make it happen on her own terms. And not in a baller way — like very small-business, check-to-check kind of a thing.

But they made all their own decisions. Growing up, she had a Spice Girls poster in her room — Ginger, with her wild tattoo, made a strong impression — and listened to emo rock bands like the Used and Dashboard Confessional. There was, of course, the requisite period in which a teenage Musgraves turned her back on the whole cowgirl thing. But this rebellion turned out to be short-lived.

I want to mix that in with something modern. This is a big-deal event in the business; its attendees are queen-makers in an industry in which success is still determined by access to radio airwaves. A young woman takes the stage at the legendary Ryman Auditorium, the so-called Mother Church of country, about to play the song that could make or break her career. A star is born. For Musgraves, performing alongside Dolly Parton at the Grammys, winning Album of the Year, presenting an award at the Oscars — all of this is unequivocally her dream. Wait, I can use my brain, sit on my ass and make a living?

By the time Musgraves eventually located her particular voice, it was already honed to a sharp edge. Back on her bus, in Wisconsin, after playing to a couple thousand freezing fans who arrived lit and ready to party, Musgraves decompressed again. I enjoy it! She puttered around her kitchen, making mugs of ginger tea. She might have scrolled through the looks her stylist had just sent through for the Grammys; she was still searching for something just right to match Dolly Parton. If I ever have a girl, it could be cute to give her P.

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Sparkles, or Makeup Beauty, or whatever, you know? Lots to do. She carries her Bluetooth speaker from room to room with the tender devotion of a mother cat ferrying kittens across a flooded stream. Over the last year, an increasingly dominant voice in this mix has been Post Malone, a year-old sort-of-rapper from suburban Dallas. Like most other post-Drake stars, he is an amphibious rap-singer who likes to brag about his vast wealth and sexual conquests — except when he is spending long soulful interludes lamenting exactly those things.

But Post Malone, my daughter helped me understand, is popular as much for his persona as for his music. He is a superhero of silly, sloppy, irresponsible ease — a hard-living, cheerful goofball whose happiness makes everyone else happy.

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He seems to smile with extra teeth. Everything he does seems half-accidental. He first learned to play guitar because he was extremely good at the video game Guitar Hero. He chose his stage name using an online rap-name generator. His real name is Austin Post. This sort of giddy misidentification is, in fact, the key to Post Malone. He is not exactly a rapper but is also not not a rapper. His musical roots reach down to country, metal, folk and rock — online, you can watch him play loving covers of Bob Dylan and Nirvana.

And yet his megasuccess has mainly come under the umbrella of hip-hop. He says he prefers to think of himself as beyond genre, which is convenient, because he has sometimes been head-slappingly inarticulate on the subject. Post Malone, in other words, is a big roiling mess of contradictions. No wonder he is so popular with teenagers. This also makes Post Malone a perfect fit for Spider-Man, the canonical story of awkward adolescent empowerment.

We meet the teenage Miles Morales in his bedroom, alone, doodling and bobbing his head to the bouncy hit about a dysfunctional relationship. The awkward teenager is called, awkwardly, out into the world. Amid all the cringiness, his unexpected superpowers will bloom. Adolescence, despite its obvious flaws, can still save the world. It is both a brazen bid for the big time and a disquietingly intimate glimpse inside a wildly idiosyncratic mind — in tantalizing, and occasionally maddening, chunks of tightly rationed time.

Each track ends after no more than one minute: some segue seamlessly into the next musical idea, some cut off in what feels like midverse. Whack — as opposed to, say, Frank Ocean — is by no means a piner. Past romance is referenced from time to time, but largely in passing, as if the interesting stuff lay elsewhere. In spite of its undeniable of-the-moment-ness, this is not a collection of music best served by Spotify or any other randomized and algorithm-driven playlist.

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And what a short, strange trip it was. Music has mourned the death of our planet for decades. How do we prepare for devastation, and can we reckon with how useless our efforts to stop it have been? Such questions have largely gone unasked in the indie sphere, especially as the genre signifier has transitioned over the last decade from ethos to marketing term. We asked Grimes to elaborate. The lyrics are so worshipful.

There's a subtext that they're kind of scared. But A. They made me. Just at random. And it will know everything about everybody. So it will be angry and punish people who try to inhibit it. I'm not necessarily positive that A. Like with corruption in government, it's potentially worth taking the chance of having an A. Because at least it's objective and probably doesn't care about money. It can just get whatever it wants. Maybe the A. But the main people who are going to be saved are the people working to bring it to fruition. Sigh, stare up at the ceiling fan and ponder the song as if it were a text?

Or do what you do when some other tune catches you — flail your limbs, move your hips in weird little circles, bob your head rhythmically up and down? The world was built for pop songs: Public spaces pump the voices of stars through speakers the way air flows through ventilation ducts, and that sweet, consistent flavor — like Diet Coke or pamplemousse LaCroix — pairs easily enough with any modern pastime. But if the territory of pop music is everywhere, how and where does a piece of art pop — something equal parts challenging and engaging — make its home? Julia Holter, a Los Angeles-based artist with a background in composition, answers this question by creating otherworldly spaces in her own work.

From its opening — a cacophony of cymbals and anxiously pacing strings — the album is a study in creating a private dwelling place amid the chaos and uncertainty of the world. The worlds glimpsed here are varied, sometimes wildly so, but what they share is the sense that they are not so much depicting reality as taking inspiration from it, channeling familiar features into new forms.

Holter, in other words, takes the garden path to catharsis, allowing something uplifting to emerge from the tumult, making chaos resolve itself into something humane and beautiful and full of intention. And she has found, even at music festivals and rock clubs, hushed and attentive audiences for this. Her performances are absorbing: They highlight the organic beauty and authority of her voice, the way the meanings of words can be a sort of veneer over their untamed musicality.

The music rewards more than just hearing it. It rewards some other kind of listening, asking you to let yourself become porous. And lately it can fill an appetite that seems both modern and primal at once: to make whole a fractured attention span, to find a ritual that works. Our days are full of tiny slivers of time that we offhandedly cram with music, filling the gaps between tasks and places like someone idly coloring in a picture.

Though the song began as a demo by the L. Neither does Adam Levine who gets a writing credit or his happy-to-be-here sidemen who constitute the Maroon 5 touring entity. As the camera circles, Levine stands in the center of a soundstage, arms by his side, his voice skipping nimbly over the melody. As the verse-chorus unfolds, Levine is joined one at a time, their backs to his back, by the 26 women.

Then, less than two minutes in, he suddenly disappears, as if ceding the spotlight. When Cardi B delivers her final flourish, he returns briefly, but by the end of the video, the soundstage is occupied by only the women. Adam Levine is to a rock star as a rock star is to a rapper. At least in this moment, he leaves the pocket T-shirt on, keeps the guitar in the closet and hands the mic to the long-suffering women who have chosen to support him. For the first time, maybe ever, he flashes some legit star-power potency.

What in the world happened here? I was only gone for an hour! Some elements were familiar a crew of guys in front of a brownstone, drinking and mugging for the camera , and some were menacing the number of red bandannas and guns on display , but it was the man at the center of the video who startled me most; he seemed almost precision-engineered to make people feel old. In an era when most young rappers have a couple of face tattoos, 6ix9ine had the number 69 inked above his right eye in point type. He had the same number spelled out in cursive over his left eye.

It was everywhere on his body. Within about a year, he would be in federal custody, a year-old facing life in prison for a number of charges, including racketeering and attempted murder. Normally this sort of arrest leads to an outcry about literal-minded police overreach.

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Not this time. People generally seemed pleased to see the rapper in cuffs. This was partly because 6ix9ine was universally reviled by music critics and journalists, on account of a crime he committed before he became famous: In , he pleaded guilty to the use of a minor in a sexual performance, for having filmed and shared on social media a video of a girl performing oral sex on his friend. But it was also because he had spent the past year living the life of a Looney Tunes character: courting danger, narrowly escaping it, then taunting his foes.

This genuinely incredible run netted him more than stories on TMZ: gang members in San Antonio threatening his life; a shootout at the Barclays Center; shots fired at a video shoot in Brooklyn; more shots fired at a Beverly Hills video set. Through it all, he posted on Instagram, usually wearing red, often handling bricks of cash, sometimes clutching extremely illegal-looking guns, but never betraying an ounce of concern for his well-being. Cultivating this sort of personal mythology is not at all new; it dates back to the earliest days of gangsta rap.

Ever since Eazy-E bankrolled NWA with drug money, a certain proximity to criminality has been expected of certain rappers. Not long ago, rappers had just a few limited channels through which to prove that they did: lyrics, album art and, if they were famous enough, music videos. Like Old Testament gods, they willed whole universes into being through their words. Now they have social media. This sort of online mythmaking is second nature to SoundCloud rappers, so called for the streaming service that birthed the scene. SoundCloud rap is not characterized by a particular sound so much as its anarchic energy — the face tattoos, the prescription drugs, the orthographically complex handles.

The problem, for 6ix9ine, was that a big part of his adopted persona, both on Instagram and in his music, involved being a member of the Nine Trey Gangsta Bloods. According to a Rolling Stone profile that came out after his arrest in November, this was essentially an act: Danny Hernandez, in the years leading up to his fame, had been a trollish and goofy Bushwick deli employee; his industry blacklisting had pushed him into the hands of an apparently gang-affiliated manager, who also provided him with a new edge. Maybe the whole thing really was a put-on, but also, he really did it.

The Rolling Stone article recounts how, at his arraignment, the presiding judge asked the prosecution how it knew Hernandez was at real-life crime scenes. A liminal space has always existed between rappers and their personas. The gap between 6ix9ine and Danny Hernandez was considerably wider, but he snapped it shut with his phone, merging fantasy with reality through a front-facing camera.

It was reported in February that 6ix9ine, who pleaded guilty, agreed to help prosecutors in their case against his co-defendants, hoping for leniency: a reduced sentence and possibly witness protection. But helping 6ix9ine disappear into some corner of America might prove difficult, and not just because of the tattoos. In , the Swedish singer-songwriter Robyn turned 14 and finished middle school; then she signed a record deal.

A feeling of healing from sadness and wanting to share that with the world and with myself — a sense of self-love, excitement, some kind of peace of mind. Like when your strength is coming back. Intimacy, definitely, but it could be with yourself. Any experience you have that will give you a new point in your scale of emotions will make any other experience richer because you have a new point of reference.

Not reserving that deep pleasure for a sexual sensation, but something you could experience day to day. Intimacy in every little thing. I feel like I have to work for it every day. You get it going and then you can use it and tend to it and start it back up again. Is your fire well tended? Not at all. I maybe need to go back and listen to some of my songs myself to figure this out. Your songs are known for intermingling sadness and euphoria.

I used to believe it would all make sense if you just powered through. Post-recession capitalism has glorified the hustle so much. But you can actually use a story that relates to something more real than buying yourself out of anxiety. Definitely: Pop at the moment is depressing.

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Hip-hop is really dark. The music kids are listening to is heavy! Is the industry set up for artists to be able to share their pain but protect themselves? People want you to be vulnerable. You turn 40 this June. I think it can be that, for sure. It was hard to tell how many people in the club liked flamenco, an art form not much associated with young people anymore. Some of the younger girls even twerked. She sounds and feels cosmopolitan, cool in a sophisticated and almost foreign way. Her own aesthetic is polished, globally recognizable, informed by hip-hop and trap music.

Maybe this is the price of success in a culture that looks askance at overt displays of ambition or self-actualization, especially by women. The local fascination tended to focus less on her art and more on her as a phenomenon, on the extraordinary speed of her rise to stardom. It would spark arguments too, about cultural appropriation and the Romany community, who have always been closely associated with flamenco.

A woman gets married to a man who later grows jealous and imprisons her. What sort of place were you at in your life when you wrote this song? Obviously I was working a lot. I had already toured Europe and the U.