Winning the Caldecott Medal is a pinnacle achievement for an artist, but Elizabeth Orton Jones's best artwork may have been for Big Susan, published two years after her winning book. Adding to the tradition of doll stories from around the world, Ms. Jones brings us this Christmas tale of a household of dolls who find themselves unexpectedly neglected by the girl who owns them, but temporarily gain the freedom to move by themselves before dawn one Christmas morning. Big Susan, as the Doll family calls their owner, is a benevolent overseer. She gently carries them from room to room of the dollhouse, providing their voices and reactions to the stories she acts out through them. The dolls love and trust her, but one day she stops coming to play with them. Six weeks go by with no sign of Susan, and the dolls are helpless to move without her. What has happened?
After midnight at the start of Christmas day, the dolls suddenly can move on their own. Without Susan to bring presents, they have nothing to open for the occasion, but Mr. Doll assures the children it can still be a wonderful time. Just sitting and conversing after a month and a half of motionlessness is a blessing. But a gift awaits the family after all. Exploring the house, they find a baby doll that Susan had planned to give them. What more joyful yuletide discovery could one make than a new family member? The dolls spiff up the house as their gift to Susan, if she returns. It's been a pleasant holiday, but a big surprise is yet to come, and everyone will find happiness by the end of the day.
"Christmas is a big thing...a very big thing. It takes in the whole world and leaves nobody out."
—Mr. Doll, Big Susan, P. 31
Susan was always a consistent caregiver to her dolls. The question of what changed is left open, but the affection the dolls have for her is easy to grasp. They can't do anything without Susan, and her sure, soft hands always steer them right and never do harm. When you're forced to act by someone who doesn't have your best interests at heart, it's uncomfortable and frightening, but when it's someone you love, you aren't afraid to allow them power over your heart and mind. As Big Susan puts it, "They were used to Susan's hands reaching in to help them. They knew whenever they spoke that it was really Susan speaking for them. They understood how this was a part of being who they were. And they didn't mind a bit, for they loved Susan." It's nice to be in the hands of someone you adore and who reciprocates those feelings. It can make you happy to be a doll, and everything that comes with it.
I knew Elizabeth Orton Jones was talented before reading Big Susan. The art and story in Twig, her best-known novel, are phenomenal. I think it deserved a 1943 Newbery Honor. Purely as an artist, she may have attained her peak in 1947 with Big Susan. The illustrations are incredibly vivid and nuanced: the cutaway of the dollhouse opposite the title page, showing its six rooms in amazing detail; the closeups of the interior later on, rendered so richly it feels as though I could reach through the page and touch the furniture; the scene around the Dolls' Christmas tree, so lush, bright, and homey; and Susan herself when we finally see more than just her face, guardian of the dolls but only a young girl herself, excited about the holiday. These are but a few examples of Elizabeth Orton Jones's stunning artwork in this book. The story is nowhere near as unpredictable or profound as Twig, but it's nice, and I'd round my one-and-a-half-star rating up to two. Big Susan is a short but pleasant family read for Christmas. I hope you enjoy.