EBOOK
About
"This lively, interactive...heartfelt memoir is truly eye-opening and will encourage readers to seek out his other works."-Booklist, starred review
An accessible and immersive account of growing up with strabismus, a condition of eye misalignment...Robinson presents a sincere reflection on childhood experiences of growing up in a world not built with him in mind."-Publishers Weekly, starred review
From Emmy Award–winning documentary filmmaker James Robinson comes a breathtaking illustrated memoir for middle-grade readers (and adults, too)-inspired by the viral, Emmy-nominated short film Whale Eyes.
Told through an experimental mix of intimate anecdotes and interactive visuals, this book immerses readers in James's point of view, allowing them to see the world through his disabling eye conditions.
Readers will get lost as they chase words. They'll stare into this book while taking a vision test. They'll hold it upside down as they practice "pretend-reading"…and they'll follow an unlikely trail toward discovering the power of words.
With poignant illustrations by Eisner Award–nominated artist Brian Rea, James's story equips readers of all ages with the tools to confront their discomfort with disability and turn confused, blank stares into powerful connections. "An accessible and immersive account of growing up with strabismus, a condition of eye misalignment...Robinson presents a sincere reflection on childhood experiences of growing up in a world not built with him in mind."-Publishers Weekly, starred review
"This lively, interactive...heartfelt memoir is truly eye-opening and will encourage readers to seek out his other works."-Booklist, starred review
"A beautiful, important, creative, and insightful look at overcoming adversity, finding one's path, and ultimately creating better-genuine-human connections. I absolutely loved it."-Rob Harrell, author of Wink
"Affirming visually disabled people and enabling nondisabled people to better understand Robinson-and themselves. Robinson...candidly explores numerous topics, including disability tropes, privilege, and ways to turn 'out-trigue'-the discomfort we feel with the unfamiliar-into empathetic connections...Frank, unusual, and insightful."-Kirkus Dear Time
It's Tuesday at ten a.m.
Pencils down.
It's time to practice lying.
But first, you'll have to do some digging.
You lift the lid of your desk and rest it on the top of your head. In goes the Spider-Man eraser. It's time to find the book that Mrs. Surface gave to you last week. She was excited that it would be a "challenge book."
Searching for it requires a deep desk dive, but you are bound to hear it, because it's a library book-meaning it crinkles. That glossy cellophane that they put over hardcovers-the one that makes every new book look old-always announces its presence. It also collects the fingerprints and splotches of every first grader who has ever checked it out. Now it's your turn to add to the collage.
When D.E.A.R. indoctrination began last September, you didn't mind the alone time. At assembly, they had made it sound abrupt and interesting, almost naughty.
Drop
Everything
And
Read
The same teachers who drew a star on the board next to your name when you helped out by picking up a classmate's dropped pencil-and would erase one if you had slammed the kneeling benches in chapel-were now encouraging you to drop all of your belongings out of a sudden enthusiasm for reading.
Back in September, you were allowed to pick any book off the shelf-like Bats! or Nobody Listens to Andrew. These books were friendly. Their meaning could be derived as much from the illustrations as the words on the page, so nobody would notice if you spent a half hour admiring the art, like a guest in a museum.
But by late March, you weren't allowed to look at those books during D.E.A.R. And at best
An accessible and immersive account of growing up with strabismus, a condition of eye misalignment...Robinson presents a sincere reflection on childhood experiences of growing up in a world not built with him in mind."-Publishers Weekly, starred review
From Emmy Award–winning documentary filmmaker James Robinson comes a breathtaking illustrated memoir for middle-grade readers (and adults, too)-inspired by the viral, Emmy-nominated short film Whale Eyes.
Told through an experimental mix of intimate anecdotes and interactive visuals, this book immerses readers in James's point of view, allowing them to see the world through his disabling eye conditions.
Readers will get lost as they chase words. They'll stare into this book while taking a vision test. They'll hold it upside down as they practice "pretend-reading"…and they'll follow an unlikely trail toward discovering the power of words.
With poignant illustrations by Eisner Award–nominated artist Brian Rea, James's story equips readers of all ages with the tools to confront their discomfort with disability and turn confused, blank stares into powerful connections. "An accessible and immersive account of growing up with strabismus, a condition of eye misalignment...Robinson presents a sincere reflection on childhood experiences of growing up in a world not built with him in mind."-Publishers Weekly, starred review
"This lively, interactive...heartfelt memoir is truly eye-opening and will encourage readers to seek out his other works."-Booklist, starred review
"A beautiful, important, creative, and insightful look at overcoming adversity, finding one's path, and ultimately creating better-genuine-human connections. I absolutely loved it."-Rob Harrell, author of Wink
"Affirming visually disabled people and enabling nondisabled people to better understand Robinson-and themselves. Robinson...candidly explores numerous topics, including disability tropes, privilege, and ways to turn 'out-trigue'-the discomfort we feel with the unfamiliar-into empathetic connections...Frank, unusual, and insightful."-Kirkus Dear Time
It's Tuesday at ten a.m.
Pencils down.
It's time to practice lying.
But first, you'll have to do some digging.
You lift the lid of your desk and rest it on the top of your head. In goes the Spider-Man eraser. It's time to find the book that Mrs. Surface gave to you last week. She was excited that it would be a "challenge book."
Searching for it requires a deep desk dive, but you are bound to hear it, because it's a library book-meaning it crinkles. That glossy cellophane that they put over hardcovers-the one that makes every new book look old-always announces its presence. It also collects the fingerprints and splotches of every first grader who has ever checked it out. Now it's your turn to add to the collage.
When D.E.A.R. indoctrination began last September, you didn't mind the alone time. At assembly, they had made it sound abrupt and interesting, almost naughty.
Drop
Everything
And
Read
The same teachers who drew a star on the board next to your name when you helped out by picking up a classmate's dropped pencil-and would erase one if you had slammed the kneeling benches in chapel-were now encouraging you to drop all of your belongings out of a sudden enthusiasm for reading.
Back in September, you were allowed to pick any book off the shelf-like Bats! or Nobody Listens to Andrew. These books were friendly. Their meaning could be derived as much from the illustrations as the words on the page, so nobody would notice if you spent a half hour admiring the art, like a guest in a museum.
But by late March, you weren't allowed to look at those books during D.E.A.R. And at best