Esmé Raji Codell: First Lady of Read-Aloud
By Jessica Rae Patton, Associate Editor

"For me, a classroom isn't an office. A classroom is an artist studio where the teacher is trying to paint a piccture of this perfect year, the best year she can."

Having 12,000 books in a two-bedroom apartment can pose a host of problems. First, there's the issue of storage. The sheer weight of Esmé Raji Codell's children's literature collection was shifting the apartment's architecture. Shelves sagged, and the walls had begun to separate from the ceiling; Esmé envisioned her whole apartment dropping into the home below and bringing a "literary ending" to her downstairs neighbor. Then there's the delicate matter of housekeeping. The classroom teacher and librarian turned author and read-aloud expert ran literacy programming out of her house, "which meant I had to keep it clean, and that just wasn't going to happen!" she laughed.

The final straw, however, was when the collection actually caused injury. Instead of a straw that broke the camel's back, it was a book – or stack of books – that broke the husband's foot. Towers of titles doubled as tables and stools…and Esmé's husband had a bone-crushing encounter with one of them. The home library's lease was up, and the Planet Esmé Book Room was born.

A book room of one's own - Esmé still has a teacher's desk, complete with a "Madame Esmé" nameplate; above the front door is a confection collage of pinwheel lollipops and other sugary specimens trapped in Plexiglass; the "glonkenshponkel," seen behind her, is a rowdy-sounding instrument invented by her uncle.

A read-aloud refuge. The storefront on Chicago's north side that formerly housed a washing-machine repair shop has been thoroughly transformed into a cozy kid-lit salon. It's a surrogate living room in which neighborhood kids belly flop on the couch with a book in front of the makeshift fireplace. (It crackles and flickers like the real McCoy, but the source of the flame is a can of Sterno® – the stuff used to keep buffet-table food warm.)

If you've read Educating Esmé: Diary of a Teacher's First Year (Algonquin, 1999), the Book Room resembles the art-fueled classroom of Madame Esmé (as she likes to be addressed by students). There are murals, globes, castles and all the fixins for a puppet show. There's a lollipop tree – a ficus plant with pops in the branches. When she's out of sweets, Esmé tells kids the tree isn't in bloom. And, of course, there are books of every imaginable genre, subject and level. They are for enjoyment onsite but may not be borrowed or purchased. The collection began when Esmé worked as a bookseller for eight years prior to teaching. It grows by the day as she receives books that publishers hope she'll review for her website (www.planetesme.com) or blog (planetesme.blogspot.com), which she updates weekly, if not daily.

First things first. When Teaching K-8 visited the Book Room last spring, the woman who answered the door looked for all the world like a literary fairy godmother, with her sparkly eye makeup and shimmery, twirly skirt.

"Welcome, welcome!" Esmé exclaimed, clasping our hands and leading us inside. She served tea and a tower of home-baked red velvet cupcakes, and we settled in for a faux-fireside chat.

The Book Room hours fluctuate depending upon Esmé's writing, teaching and touring schedules, but she tries to host at least three programs a month: family story time, an author reading and a book talk. "It's important to me to make sure teachers and parents are educated children's book consumers, to present them with the best literature available," she said. It was to that end that she authored How to Get Your Child to Love Reading (Algonquin, 2003), a meaty tome of over 3,000 read-aloud recommendations for parents and teachers of "ravenous and reluctant readers alike."

Esmé has become a well-regarded children's author in her own right, with three middle-grade novels, a nonfiction story collection and a picture book under her glittery belt. Her books all share a soulful humor and capture so well the voices, joys and concerns of contemporary kids. But first and foremost, her passion is promoting literacy. "There's no sense writing books in a country where people don't read," she said. "When I make sure I'm trying to create enthusiastic readers in my own community, then I feel like it's worthwhile to put something down on paper."

A journal's journey. Esmé was a classroom teacher for one year, then a school librarian for four. She didn't know when she went on a book tour for Educating Esmé that she wouldn't return to the library. "My publisher told me I was going on a 10-city tour; after 50 cities I had to resign my position." The response to the book from teachers, new and seasoned alike, was resounding.

She still seems a bit amazed by this career-shifting event. When Esmé put her experiences as a first-year teacher to paper – her feelings of isolation, "aha!" moments with troubled kids, frustrations with bureaucracy, triumphs against said bureaucracy – she never thought they'd leave her journal. She kept hearing radio news reports about Chicago's failing public school system from everyone's perspective – except the teacher's. Spurred to speak out, she proposed an essay series for the local public radio affiliate.

"The only reason I recorded those programs and tried to get the book published was because I hoped it would create dialogue about urban education," she said. "When I read the diary now, it's so much about feeling alone in those first-year experiences. I'm happy that a book that came from a place of feeling very solitary could help teachers feel more connected to each other."

"Planet Esmé Book Room events open with a ceremonial trumpeting into a length of garden hose, which is about as melodious as one might imagine. What it lacks in musical appeal it more than makes up for in enthusiasm and pure silliness value."

The readiologist is in. On Esmé's desk is a prescription pad on which is printed, "Certified Readiologist™" above a large Rx symbol. We asked how she coined her title.

"With libraries under increasing pressure to become automated, computerized centers for research, I wanted to differentiate a little bit between the role of a librarian and someone who connects kids to books, since the definition seems to be changing within the profession," she said.

She noted that children's literature isn't a required course in all programs for certification. "That's like going through a plumbing program and never learning to use a wrench," she exclaimed. "You can't properly individualize instruction if you don't know what tools are available to you. But at the same time, it's overwhelming for teachers with between 5,000 and 12,000 new books published yearly. So, I try to make it easier for teachers to find what they need so they can connect kids with great books. That's what I think a readiologist has to do."

A grand exit. Madame Esmé insisted on ushering us out in style. She turned on the "glonkenshponkel," an instrument that's played at story time. A joyful racket – like a player piano accompanied by a toddler with two pot lids – poured forth. Esmé's creative exuberance followed us onto the street, and has stayed with us since.