DEDICATION

CONTENTS

DEDICATION

FOREWORD

Thacher Hurd

THE WORLD IS ROUND

1 ROSE IS A ROSE

2 WILLIE IS WILLIE

3 EYES A SURPRISE

4 WILLIE AND HIS SINGING

5 WILLIE AND HIS LION

6 IS A LION NOT A LION

7 ROSE AND WILLIE’S LION

8 ROSE THINKING

9 A FAVORITE COLOR

10 BRINGING BILLIE BACK

11 BRINGING BACK BILLIE TO WILLIE

12 ONCE UPON A TIME

13 A CHAIR ON THE MOUNTAIN

14 THE GOING UP WITH THE CHAIR

15 THE TRIP

16 THIS WAS HER TRIP

17 UP THE HILL

18 DAY AND NIGHT

19 THE NIGHT

20 THE NIGHT

21 NIGHT

22 ROSE SAW IT CLOSE

23 NIGHT

24 THE MORNING

25 THE TREES AND THE ROCKS UNDER THEM

26 ROSE DOES SOMETHING

27 ROSE AND THE BELL

28 ROSE AND THE BELL

29 ONCE UPON A TIME

30 THE GREEN GRASS MEADOW

31 THE LAST HOUR

32 THERE

33 A LIGHT

34 THE END

AFTERWORD

THE WORLD IS NOT FLAT

Edith Thacher Hurd

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

COPYRIGHT

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

Clement Hurd drawing, Ferrisburgh, Vermont, 1939.

FOREWORD

FIRST published in 1939, Gertrude Stein’s The World Is Round has a fresh, modernist feeling that is seldom found in children’s books today and remains avant-garde in its precocious notions of what such books can be.

Is The World Is Round really a children’s book? Do children adore it? Many find its radical use of language a difficult read, as I did when I first opened its pages at age ten, although I loved the brilliance of the solid rose-is-a-rose-is-a-rose-is-a-rose pink pages as well as the intensity of the deep blue type and my father’s illustrations. There was a mysterious quality to the art unlike any I had seen before.

When you hear The World Is Round read out loud and really listen to it, it’s music: an edgy composition with unexpected twists and backtracks of sound and sense. Experiencing the book this way, you feel the richness of its language, with its gorgeous juxtapositions of words and phrases, its surprising rhymes and repetitions, and a sense of humor that shines through at unexpected moments.

Over the years there have been several reissues of the book. The first came about on a single summer afternoon in Vermont in the 1960s, the result of a rethinking of its layout and design by my father, Clement Hurd, and the original editor and publisher, William R. Scott. My father redid the illustrations, which he had originally created in pen and ink, this time using linoleum blocks and driftwood to create a looser look. The solid pink pages and blue type were discarded in favor of white pages and more readable black type. Some of the mystery of the art was lost in this translation, but my father’s new illustrations show a more relaxed interpretation of the story.

Clement and Edith Hurd, North Ferrisburgh, Vermont, 1949.

In the 1980s, Andrew Hoyem, the founder of Arion Press and a good friend of my father’s, decided to create a fine press version. The book itself was round, housed in a pink square paper box, with a second, square book nested below it. That book contained the essay “The World Is Not Flat,” written by my mother, Edith Thacher Hurd. Her essay explains the story of how The World Is Round came to be, discusses the collaboration between my father and Gertrude Stein, and includes some of their correspondence.

With the current edition, The World Is Round has come full circle: it’s sized in the same proportions as the original book and replicates its typography, design, and color exactly. That beautiful intense pink, a rose of the most seductive hue, paired with Stein’s favorite deep blue re-creates the book exactly as she and my father envisioned it, but also includes my mother’s essay from the Arion edition.

The World Is Round proved to be one of the high points of my father’s career. His work on this book was really only matched by his collaboration with Margaret Wise Brown (who was much influenced by Stein’s writing) in creating both The Runaway Bunny (1942) and Goodnight Moon (1947).

My father created the illustrations for the book in his studio in the village of North Ferrisburgh, Vermont, where he had bought an old farmhouse for $600 in 1936. When my parents moved in, there was no electricity or running water, but they slowly renovated the place, transforming it into a cozy home with wide pine floorboards, a Victorian potbellied stove in the living room, and a copious vegetable garden. After they had lived there for a few years, a friend from nearby Lake Champlain gave them a small, old barn, which arrived in pieces. My father reassembled the structure and had it moved to a hill behind the house, and used it as his studio year-round.

As a young child I used to climb the hill to visit him when he was working, and I reveled in the smell of paints as well as the profusion of papers and paintings everywhere. That primal experience of seeing my father work deeply influenced me, and I later decided to become an artist. My parents also collaborated on many children’s books, which my mother wrote and my father illustrated. There was a feeling of creativity and aliveness in the house that was irresistible to me.

My father worked singlemindedly on the pictures for The World Is Round in that musty studio; he was inspired by Stein’s imaginative story, and eager and excited to create something fantastic, to make the most of an unusual opportunity with Stein, the often-called “Mother of Modernism.” This project gave him a chance to develop his ideas and explore in depth the styles of painting he had learned during the several years he had spent studying in Paris with Fernand Léger, among others.

In 1986, years after my parents had moved away, my family paid a visit to the North Ferrisburgh house. My father was too ill with Alzheimer’s to join us, but my mother, my wife, Olivia, our children, some friends, and I traveled down the winding dirt road to the house, where it sat in the middle of a field, its wide front lawn leading down to the river where I had swum happily as a child.

Mrs. Rowe, the woman who had bought the house from my parents in 1954, graciously showed us around. The kitchen had been remodeled a bit, but as we walked through the rest of the house we were amazed to see that most of it hadn’t been touched: it was as if my parents had moved out the day before.

On the second floor, a watercolor of my father’s hung exactly where it had when I was a child. In the bathroom, the walls were still covered with the brilliant pink wallpaper that had been created based on The World Is Round illustrations. A pink bathroom all around, with Rose and Willie splashed across the walls.

Edith, Thacher, and Clement Hurd, 1949.

Thacher and Clement Hurd, Berkeley, California, 1983.

My father had also wallpapered the front stairwell with large proof sheets from his books from the 1930s and 1940s. One of them was a full proof sheet from Goodnight Moon, looking a little the worse for wear, as if a mouse had chewed off one of the lower corners. Mrs. Rowe had papered over the tear with the cover of a magazine for cat lovers.

The visit was magical—a glimpse into my father’s world, perfectly preserved as if it were in a museum, a window into the creative life that brought forth the art that complements Stein’s imaginative text. Today, more than seventy years after its first publication, The World Is Round lives again in all its freshness and original beauty.

—Thacher Hurd

1

ROSE IS A ROSE

Once upon a time the world was round and you could go on it around and around.

Everywhere there was somewhere and everywhere there they were men women children dogs cows wild pigs little rabbits cats lizards and animals. That is the way it was. And everybody dogs cats sheep rabbits and lizards and children all wanted to tell everybody all about it and they wanted to tell all about themselves.

And then there was Rose.

Rose was her name and would she have been Rose if her name had not been Rose. She used to think and then she used to think again.

Would she have been Rose if her name had not been Rose and would she have been Rose if she had been a twin.

Rose was her name all the same and her father’s name was Bob and her mother’s name was Kate and her uncle’s name was William and her aunt’s name was Gloria and her grandmother’s name was Lucy. They all had names and her name was Rose, but would she have been she used to cry about it would she have been Rose if her name had not been Rose.

I tell you at this time the world was all round and you could go on it around and around.

Rose had two dogs a big white one called Love, and a little black one called Pépé, the little black one was not hers but she said it was, it belonged to a neighbor and it never did like Rose and there was a reason why, when Rose was young, she was nine now and nine is not young no Rose was not young, well anyway when she was young she one day had little Pépé and she told him to do something, Rose liked telling everybody what to do, at least she liked to do it when she was young, now she was almost ten so now she did not tell every one what they should do but then she did and she told Pépé, and Pépé did not want to, he did not know what she wanted him to do but even if he had he would not have wanted to, nobody does want to do what anybody tells them to do, so Pépé did not do it, and Rose shut him up in a room. Poor little Pépé he had been taught never to do in a room what should be done outside but he was so nervous being left all alone he just did, poor little Pépé. And then he was let out and there were a great many people about but little Pépé made no mistake he went straight among all the legs until he found those of Rose and then he went up and he bit her on the leg and then he ran away and nobody could blame him now could they. It was the only time he ever bit any one. And he never would say how do you do to Rose again and Rose always said Pépé was her dog although he was not, so that she could forget that he never wanted to say how do you do to her. If he was her dog that was alright he did not have to say how do you do but Rose knew and Pépé knew oh yes they both knew.

Rose and her big white dog Love were pleasant together they sang songs together, these were the songs they sang.

Love drank his water and as he drank, it just goes like that like a song a nice song and while he was doing that Rose sang her song. This was her song.

I am a little girl and my name is Rose, Rose is my name.

Why am I a little girl

And why is my name Rose

And when am I a little girl

And when is my name Rose

And where am I a little girl

And where is my name Rose

And which little girl am I am I the little girl named Rose which little girl named Rose.

And as she sang this song and she sang it while Love did his drinking.

Why am I a little girl

Where am I a little girl

When am I a little girl

Which little girl am I

And singing that made her so sad she began to cry.

And when she cried Love cried he lifted up his head and looked up at the sky and he began to cry and he and Rose and Rose and he cried and cried and cried until she stopped and at last her eyes were dried.

And all this time the world just continued to be round.

2

WILLIE IS WILLIE

Rose had a cousin named Willie and once he was almost drowned. Twice he was almost drowned.

That was very exciting.

Each time was very exciting.

The world was round and there was a lake on it and the lake was round. Willie went swimming in the lake, there were three of them they were all boys swimming and there were lots of them they were all men fishing.

Lakes when they are round have bottoms to them and there are water-lilies pretty water-lilies white water-lilies and yellow ones and soon very soon one little boy and then another little boy was caught right in by them, water-lilies are pretty to see but they are not pretty to feel not at all. Willie was one and the other little boy was the other one and the third boy was a bigger one and he called to them to come and they, Willie and the other boy they couldn’t come, the water-lilies did not really care but they just all the same did not let them.

Then the bigger boy called to the men come and get them they cannot come out from the water-lilies and they will drown come and get them. But the men they had just finished eating and you eat an awful lot while you are fishing you always do and you must never go into the water right after eating, all this the men knew so what could they do.

Well the bigger boy he was that kind he said he would not leave Willie and the other behind, so he went into the water-lilies and first he pulled out one little boy and then he pulled out Willie and so he got them both to the shore.

And so Willie was not drowned although the lake and the world were both all round.

That was one time when Willie was not drowned.

Another time he was not drowned was when he was with his father and his mother and his cousin Rose they were all together.

They were going up a hill and the rain came down with a will, you know how it comes when it comes so heavy and fast it is not wet it is a wall that is all.

So the car went up the hill and the rain came down the hill and then and then well and then there was hay, you know what hay is, hay is grass that is cut and when it is cut it is hay. Well anyway.

The hay came down the way it was no way for hay to come anyway. Hay should stay until it is taken away but this hay, the rain there was so much of it the hay came all the way and that made a dam so the water could not go away and the water went into the car and somebody opened the door and the water came more and more and Willie and Rose were there and there was enough water there to drown Willie certainly to drown Willie and perhaps to drown Rose.

Well anyway just then the hay went away, hay has that way and the water went away and the car did stay and neither Rose nor Willie were drowned that day.

Much later they had a great deal to say but they knew of course they knew that it was true the world was round and they were not drowned.

Now Willie liked to sing too. He was a cousin to Rose and so it was in the family to sing, but Willie had no dog with whom to sing so he had to sing with something and he sang with owls, he could only sing in the evening but he did sing in the evening with owls. There were three kinds of owls a Kew owl a chuette owl and a Hoot owl and every evening Willie sang with owls and these are the songs he sang.

My name is Willie I am not like Rose

I would be Willie whatever arose,

I would be Willie if Henry was my name

I would be Willie always Willie all the same.

And then he would stop and wait for the owls.

Through the moon the Q. owl blew

Who are you who are you.

Willie was not like his cousin Rose singing did not make him cry it just made him more and more excited.

So there was a moon and the moon was round.

Not a sound.

Just then Willie began to sing.

Drowning

Forgetting

Remembering

I am thinking

And the chuette owl interrupted him.

Is it

His it

Any eye of any owl is round.

Everything excited Willie, he was more excited and he sang

Once upon a time the world was round the moon was round

The lake was round

And I I was almost drowned.

And the hoot owl hooted

Hullo Hullo

Willie is your name

And Willie is your nature

You are a little boy

And that is your stature

Hullo Hullo.

SILENCE

Willie was asleep

And everything began to creep around

Willie turned in his sleep and murmured

Round drowned.

3

EYES A SURPRISE

Rose did not care about the moon, she liked stars.

Once some one told her that the stars were round and she wished that they had not told her.

Her dog Love did not care about the moon either and he never noticed the stars. He really did not notice the moon not even when it was all round, he liked the lights of automobiles coming in and out. That excited him and even made him bark, Love was not a barker although little Pépé was. Pépé could always bark, he really did say bow wow really he did, when you listened he really did.

Well once they were out in the evening in an automobile, not Pépé, Pépé was not Rose’s dog, you remember that, but Rose and Love and the lights of the automobile were alight so who could listen to the bright moon-light, not Rose nor Love nor the rabbit, not they.

It was a little rabbit and there he was right in front and in the light and it looked as if he meant it but he really could not help it, not he not the little rabbit.

Bob, Rose’s father was driving and he stopped but that did not help the little rabbit.

Light is bright and what is bright will confuse a little rabbit who has not the habit.

So the little rabbit danced from one light to the other light and could never get alright, and then Bob the father said let out Love perhaps he will help the rabbit to run away, so they let out the white dog Love and he saw first the light and then he saw the rabbit and he went up to say how do you do to the rabbit, that is the way Love was, he always went up and said how do you do he said it to a dog or a man or a child or a lamb or a cat or a cook or a cake or anything he just said how do you do and when he said how do you do to the little rabbit the little rabbit forgot all about the light being bright he just left that light and Love the dog Love disappointed because the little rabbit had not said how do you do, back again, he went after him, of course any little rabbit can run quicker than any white dog and even if the white dog is nice and kind and Love is, so that was all of that. It was a lovely night and Love came back into the car and Bob the father drove on home and of course Rose sang as the rabbit ran and her song began.

My

What a sky

And then the glass pen

Rose did have a glass pen

When oh When

Little glass pen

Say when

Will there not be that little rabbit.

When

Then

Pen

And Rose burst into tears.

She did then she burst into tears.

A little later it was decided that Rose should go to school. She went to school where mountains were high, they were so high she never did see them. Rose was funny that way.

There at the school were other girls and Rose did not have quite as much time to sing and cry.

The teachers taught her

That the world was round

That the sun was round

That the moon was round

That the stars were round

And that they were all going around and around

And not a sound.

It was so sad it almost made her cry

But then she did not believe it

Because mountains were so high,

And so she thought she had better sing

And then a dreadful thing was happening

She remembered when she had been young

That one day she had sung,

And there was a looking-glass in front of her

And as she sang her mouth was round and was going around and around.

Oh dear oh dear was everything just to be round and go around and around. What could she do but try and remember the mountains were so high they could stop anything.

But she could not keep on remembering and forgetting of course not but she could sing of course she could sing and she could cry of course she could cry.

Oh my.

4

WILLIE AND HIS SINGING

All this time Willie was living along

Of course he could always make a song

The thing that bothered Willie the most

Was that when there was no wind blowing

A twig in a bush would get going

Just as if the wind was blowing.

He knew when he ran

And he knew when he sang

And he knew who

Who was Willie

He was Willie

All through.

Willie went away not to stay.

Willie never went away to stay

That was not Willie.

But once when he went away it was to stay there where he had seen it.

He saw it.

It was a little house and two trees near it.

One tree sometimes makes another tree.

Willie

Will he.

In a little while nobody wondered that thunder rumbled in winter, lightning struck and thunder rumbled in winter.

Oh Willie.

Of course Willie never went away to stay.

But Willie could sing.

Oh yes he sang a song.

He sang a little song about a house two trees and a rabbit

He sang a little song about a lizard.

A lizard climbed up the side of the house, it climbed out on the roof of the house and then the poor little lizard fell off of it.

Plump it fell off of it.

Willie saw it.

And Willie said, if the earth is all round can a lizard fall off it.

And the answer was yes if there is a roof over it.

Little lizard it lost its tail but it was not dead.

Willie sat down to rest.

It’s funny he said, a lizard does not fall off a wall, it is funny and Willie sat down again to rest.

One of the things Willie did was to sit down and rest.

He liked cats and lizards, he liked frogs and pigeons he liked butter and crackers, he liked flowers and windows.

Once in a while they called for him and when they did he would talk to them.

And then he began to sing.

He sang.

Bring me bread

Bring me butter

Bring me cheese

And bring me jam

Bring me milk

And bring me chicken

Bring me eggs

And a little ham.

This is what Willie sang.

And then all at once

The world got rounder and rounder.

The stars got rounder and rounder

The moon got rounder and rounder

The sun got rounder and rounder

And Willie oh Willie was ready to drown her, not Rose dear me not Rose but his sorrows.

He loved to sing and he was exciting.

This is what Willie sang

Believe me because I tell you so

When I know yes when I know

Then I am Willie and Willie oh

Oh Willie needs Willie to tell them so.

Yes he said, he said yes.

Then Willie began to sing again.

Once upon a time I met myself and ran.

Once upon a time nobody saw how I ran.

Once upon a time something can

Once upon a time nobody sees

But I I do as I please

Run around the world just as I please.

I Willie.

Willie stopped again and again he began to sing.

He sang.

It was time Willie did something, why not when the world was all so full anywhere, Willie went on, he saw how many there were there.

Funny said Willie that a little dog sees another little dog far far away and I, said Willie, I see a little boy.

Well well said the dog little dogs are interesting

Well well said Willie little boys are interesting.

Undoubtedly Willie had something to do and now was the time to do it.

5

WILLIE AND HIS LION

Willie had a father and Willie had a mother

That was Willie.

Willie went with his father to a little place where they sold wild animals.

If the world is round can wild animals come out of the ground.

In the place that his father took Willie wild animals did not grow there, they were not always sold there but they were always there. Everybody there had them. Wild animals were with them on the boats on the river and they went with every one in the garden and in the house. Everybody there had a wild animal and they always had them with them.

Nobody knows how the wild animals came there. If the world is round can they come out of the ground but anyway everybody had one and sometimes somebody sold one, quite often everybody sold one.

Willie’s father went to get one. Which one. That was for Willie to say. It was funny seeing wild animals in a boat, one wild animal in a rowing boat, one wild animal in a sail boat, one wild animal in a motor boat.

It was a funny place this town that is it would not have been a funny place it was just like any place only that every one always had a wild animal with them, men women and children and very often they were in the water in a boat and the wild animal with them and of course wild animals are wild, of course they are wild.

It was a funny place.

Willie went everywhere so of course he was there, beside his father had taken him there. It was a funny place. And Willie always took whatever he was given. So he hoped he would have one. Any one. Everybody had one so of course Willie would come to have one, any wild animal will do, if it belongs to you.

And Willie did come to have one.

Which one.

There were elephants, an elephant in a rowing boat, Willie did not get that one.

And a tiger in a sail boat, Willie did not get that one. Willie got a lion, not a very little one, one who looked like Rose’s dog Love only the Lion was terrifying. Any lion is, even a quite small one and this was a pretty big one. Willie began to sing, it was exciting and Willie sang and sang he did not sing to the lion but he sang about lions being exciting, about cats and tigers and dogs and bears about windows and curtains and giraffes and chairs. The giraffe’s name was Lizzie, it really was.

Willie was so excited he almost stopped singing but as soon as he saw his own lion again he began singing again. Singing and singing. This was the song he sang.

Round is around.

Lions and tigers kangaroos and canaries abound

They are bound to be around.

Why

Because the world is round

And they are always there.

Any little dog is afraid of there.

Then he sang in a whisper

Suppose it should rain

Suppose it should never be the same

And then Willie’s voice rose

The lion is what I chose.

After a long moment he sat down to cry

He said there, here I am just like my cousin Rose.

Which was true

He was.

He almost was not Willie.

Oh will he again be Willie.

Not as long as he has a lion.

Not as long.

And it was getting worse and worse and then suddenly he said.

There were only two baskets of yellow peaches and I have them both.

He whispered very low.

And I have them both.

And Willie had, they were lovely round yellow peaches really round really yellow really peaches and there were only two baskets of them and Willie had them both.

And so he cheered up and decided to give the lion to his cousin Rose.

6

IS A LION NOT A LION

It is not easy to give a lion away

What did you say

I said it is not easy to give a lion away.

7

ROSE AND WILLIE’S LION

There is a lion its name is lion and lion lion is its name.

Rose began to cry.

Just try

Not to make Rose cry

Just try.

That is what Willie said to the lion

When he gave Rose the lion

His lion.

Oh yes his lion.

Well there was more to it than that.

When Rose knew about a lion his lion Willie’s lion she remembered her dog Love. He was clipped like a lion but it was not that. It was when Love was only three months old and had never seen a lion.

Love was not a barker, he neither barked nor bit and when he was three months old he never had barked.

They began to be worried lest he could not bark, like children who will not talk. Well anyway.

One day Rose and her father Bob and her mother Kate and her grandmother Lucy and her uncle William were out riding and little Love was with them. Love had a pink nose and bright blue eyes and lovely white hair. When he ate asparagus and he liked to eat asparagus his rosy nose turned red with pleasure, but he never barked, not even at a cat or at asparagus. And then that day suddenly that day he stood up he was astonished and he barked. What was he astonished at. There in the middle of the open country was a big truck and on the truck were cages and the sides were down and there they were lions tigers bears and monkeys and Love just could not stand it and he barked.

Rose was very young then quite young too young then to sing a song but she sang one all the same.

This was the song she sang.

How does Love know how wild they are

Wild and wild and wild they are

How does Love know who they are

When he never ever had seen them before.

And then she went on.

If a cat is in a cage

Does that make him rage.

If a dog is on a roof

Does that make him aloof

Or is there any proof

That he is a dog and on a roof.

And so

Oh

How could Love know

That wild animals were wild.

Wild animals yes wild.

Are they wild if they are wild,

If I am wild if you are wild

Are you wild oh are you wild

Rose began to cry.

She began to try

She began to deny

The wild animals could lie.

Lie quietly not die but just lie.

And then Rose once more began to sing.

I knew, she said, I knew I would sing

And this is everything.

I wish, she said, I wish I knew

Why wild animals are wild.

Why are they wild why why,

Why are they wild oh why,

And once more Rose began to cry.

Love was asleep he knew he could bark,

So why stay awake to hear Rose cry and sing

And sing and cry. Why.

That is what Love said.

Why.

And then later on when Love saw a wild animal he sometimes did anybody sometimes did, he did not bark he just turned his head away as much as to say, I did once but not again, wild animals are not interesting.

Love mostly barked in his sleep.

He dreamed.

And when he dreamed, he made a strangled bark,

Like anybody dreaming.

Love never said whether he liked to dream or not, but he did dream and when he dreamed he barked.

Rose was thinking all about everything when she heard that her cousin Willie had a lion.

8

ROSE THINKING

If the world is round would a lion fall off.

9

A FAVORITE COLOR

Rose certainly made a noise when no one was found

Rose oh Rose look down at the ground

And what do you see

You see that the world is not round.

That is what Rose said when she knew that it was true that a lion is not blue.

Of course she knew that a lion is not blue but blue is her favorite color.

Her name is Rose and blue is her favorite color. But of course a lion is not blue. Rose knew that of course a lion is not blue but blue was her favorite color.

10

BRINGING BILLIE BACK

The lion had a name, his color was not blue but he had a name too just as any one has a name and his name was Billie. Willie was a boy and Billie was a lion.

11

BRINGING BACK BILLIE TO WILLIE

That is what happened.

Of course Rose could not keep a lion in school, she could not have kept him even if he had been blue which was her favorite color but she certainly could not keep him when he was yellow brown which is the natural color for a lion to be even if the lion has a name as well as a mane and that name is Billie.

In fact you might say really say that Rose had never had him, the lion had never come in, of course not if a lamb can not come into a school how certainly not can a lion.

So outside the school was a man with a drum, he was on a bicycle and the drum was on a bicycle and he was drumming and when Rose heard him drumming she went to the door and the man was calling out either or either or, either there is a lion here or there is no lion here, either or, either or.

Rose began to sing she just could not help herself, tears were in her eyes, she just could not help herself and she began to sing, she just could not help herself.

The drumming went on, either or, cried the man, neither nor, cried Rose he is neither here nor there, no lion is here no lion is there, neither nor, cried Rose he is neither here nor there. The man began to drum and the drumming went further and further away and the drum was round and the wheels of the bicycle were round and they went around and around and as they went around and around the man whose mouth was round kept saying either or, either or, until there was no more no more drumming no more bicycle no more man any more.

So Rose was left at the door and she knew no more about the lion about Billie the lion than she had known before and slowly she began to sing.

Billie is going back to Willie,

Willie is getting back to Billie,

No lion is blue

So there is no lion for me

There is a lion for you

Oh Willie Willie yes there is a lion for you, a brown lion for you a real lion for you neither will you nor will you ever know how little I wanted to take away the lion from you dear Willie sweet Willie take back oh take back your lion to you, because, and she began to whisper to herself as if she herself was Willie, because if a lion could be blue I would like a lion to come from you either from you or to you dear Willie sweet Willie there is no blue no lion in blue no blue in lion, neither nor, wailed Rose neither nor, and as she said neither nor, there there was a door, and filled with sobs Rose went through the door and never any more never any more would she remember that it had been a lion that she saw, either or.

12

ONCE UPON A TIME

Once upon a time Willie was always there of course he was that was where Willie was and the lion he had almost forgotten that there had been a lion and he had almost forgotten that it had a name and Willie was getting very interested in knowing whether a lizard could or could not be a twin and just then he heard a bell ring and it was the lion Billie the lion back again and Willie just could not help it he just had to begin to sing and he sang a song called

Bringing Billie back again.

Bringing Billie back.

How could Billie come back.

How if there was no h in how. That is what Willie said, how could Billie come back, how, how.

And Billie was back, was Billie a lion when he was back, No said Willie, Billie was not a lion when he was back, was he a kitten when Billie was back, no said Willie Billie was not a kitten when he was back, was he a rat when he was back, no said Willie he was not a rat. Well what said Willie what was Billie when he was back, he was a twin said Willie that is what Billie was when he got back.

And Willie began to laugh and by the time he stopped laughing he had begun again to laugh. That was Willie not Billie, Billie never had had to laugh not Billie because Billie was a lion and a lion had never had to laugh.

So that was all there was about Billie the lion and he was never there any more anywhere neither here nor there neither there nor here, Billie the lion never was anywhere. The end of Billie the lion.

13

A CHAIR ON THE MOUNTAIN

When mountains are really true they are blue.

Rose knew they were blue and blue was her favorite color. She knew they were blue and they were far away or near just as the rain came or went away. The rain came or the rain went away any day.

And so Rose would look and see and deary me the mountains would be blue.

And then one day she saw a mountain near and then it was all clear.

This was the way Rose knew what to say.

Listen.

Mountains are high, up there is a sky, rain is near, mountains are clear mountains are blue that is true and one mountain two mountains three mountains or four when there are mountains there always are more.

Even from the door.

So Rose would say when every day she came that way.

Rose was at school there.

There the mountains were and they were blue, oh dear blue blue just blue, dear blue sweet blue yes blue.

And then Rose began to think. It was funny about Rose she always could just begin to think. She would say to her father Bob, Father I have a complaint to make, my dog Love does not come when I call.

Rose was always thinking. It is easy to think when your name is Rose. Nobody’s name was ever Blue, nobody’s, why not. Rose never thought about that. Rose thought she thought a lot but she never did think about that.

But mountains yes Rose did think about mountains and about blue when it was on the mountains and feathers when clouds like feathers were on the mountains and birds when one little bird and two little birds and three and four and six and seven and ten and seventeen and thirty or forty little birds all came flying and a big bird came flying and the little birds came flying and they flew higher than the big bird and they came down and one and then two and then five and then fifty of them came picking down on the head of the big bird and slowly the big bird came falling down between the mountain and the little birds all went home again. Little birds do go home again after they have scared off the big bird.

How Rose thought when she was thinking. Rose would get all round thinking her eyes her head her mouth her hands, she would get all round while she was thinking and then to relieve her hearing her thinking she would sing.

She sang a song of the mountain.

She sang,

Dear mountain tall mountain real mountain blue mountain yes mountain high mountain all mountain my mountain, I will with my chair come climbing and once there mountain once there I will be thinking, mountain so high, who cares for the sky yes mountain no mountain yes I will be there.

Tears came to her eyes.

Yes mountain she said yes I will be there.

And then as she looked she saw that one mountain had a top and the top was a meadow and the meadow came up to a point and on the point oh dear yes on the point yes Rose would put a chair and she would sit there and yes she did care yes there she would put a chair there there and everywhere she would see everywhere and she would sit on that chair, yes there.

And she did and this was how she did it. All alone she did it. She and the chair there there, and it was not blue there, no dear no it was green there, grass and trees and rocks are green not blue there no blue was there but blue was her favorite color all through.

14

THE GOING UP WITH THE CHAIR

The first thing about which Rose had to make up her mind was what kind of a chair would she want way up there. She might take a camp stool that would be easiest to carry but that would not look very well up there.

She would want one that would look well way up there and that would be comfortable to sit in because she would be sitting a long time once she really did get all the way up there and it would have to be one that the rain would not harm because clouds are rain and surely there would be clouds up there. No matter how many things Rose thought about there would always be some way it could be done better and a chair dear me, a chair well a chair just had to be there.

When Rose knew she had to climb and climb all the time she knew she would have to go away all day and she knew no matter how she tried that that would not do. She knew she did not know the name of the mountain she would climb she knew it had a nice name, any name is a nice name, just have it be a name and it is a nice name, but the mountain perhaps the mountain did not have a name and if it did not have a name would it be a nice name. And if it had no name could a chair stay there right on top of a mountain that did not have a name.

As Rose thought of this she began to feel very funny she just naturally did begin to feel very very funny.

Do you suppose that Rose is a rose

If her favorite color is blue

Noses can be blue but not roses but Rose was a rose and her favorite color was blue.

And now she had to make up her mind what to do.

Would the chair be a green chair or a blue

The chair she was to take up there

There where

She was to sit on the mountain so high

Right up under the sky

But always remember that the world is round no matter how it does sound. Remember.

So Rose had to do so many things too beside deciding whether her chair should be green or blue.

She had to think about number 142. Why.

Numbers are round.

All she took was the blue chair to go there.

It was a long way to go

And so

From morning to evening she did not get there.

But from evening to morning she did get there she and the blue chair.

15

THE TRIP

It was not a trip she had to grip the blue chair and sometimes it hung by a hair not Rose’s hair but any hair so great had been Rose’s scare.

16

THIS WAS HER TRIP

She had decided about the chair it was a blue chair a blue garden chair otherwise scratches and rain and dew and being carried all through would do a chair harm but not a blue garden chair.

So Rose left early so no one saw her and her chair she held before her and the mountain was high and so was the sky and the world was round and was all ground and she began to go, even so it was a very long way to go even if a mountain does not grow even so, climb a mountain and you will know even if there is no snow. Oh no.

Well shall I go Rose said as she was going, nobody does like to go nobody does say no and so Rose did go, even so she did go.

As she began to go it was early morning you know.

The birds began to stir

And then she heard some birds making funny screams as they flew.

And she thought of cousin Willie but that would not do.

Did the blue garden chair have arms or was it without arms, I am wondering.

17

UP THE HILL

A hill is a mountain, a cow is a cat,

A fever is heating and where is she at.

She is climbing the mountain a chair in her arms, and always around her she is full of alarms. Why not, a chair is something but not to talk to when it is too cold to be bold too hot to be cold a lot too white to be blue, too red to be wed. Oh Willie she said and there was no Willie but there was a simple noise just a noise and with a noise there were eyes and with the eyes there was a tail and then from Rose there was a wail, I wish I was not dead said Rose but if I am I will have torn my clothes, blackberries are black and blueberries are blue strawberries are red and so are you, said Rose to Rose and it was all true. She could not sit down on her chair because if she did sit down on her chair she would think she was already there and oh dear she just could not see how high it all could be but she knew oh dear yes she knew and when those birds flew she just could not do so too and she could not sing and cry no matter how much she could try because she was there right in the middle of everything that was around her and how little she could move just a little and a little and the chair was sticking and she was sticking and she could not go down because she would not know where, going down might be anywhere, going up had to be there, oh dear where was Rose she was there really she was there not stuck there but very nearly really very nearly really stuck there. And now everything began and if it had not been on a mountain and if it had not been a chair there where she was she would not care but she did not run she never ran, there was no tin can, she was not hungry oh never that, but everything helped to hold her back, but if she stayed she was afraid, run ran a chair can be a man, oh dear chair do dear chair be a man so I will not be all scare, that is what Rose said trying not to see her own hair. Dear me hair chair ran man, Rose is beginning to feel as funny as she can. Anybody try to climb a mountain all alone with only a blue garden chair to hold there and everything on a mountain that is there and then see what it is that ran. Water yes and birds yes and rats yes and snakes yes and lizards yes and cats yes and cows yes, and trees yes and scratches yes, and sticks yes, and flies yes, and bees yes but not a Rose with a chair, all a Rose with a chair can dare is just not stare but keeping on going up there.

She did.

18

DAY AND NIGHT

Was she awake or did she dream that her cousin Willie heard her scream.

She was asleep right there with her arms around her chair.

She never dragged the chair she carried it before and in a way it was a cane, she leaned upon it all the same and she went on climbing and then it was all still, she heard a sound like a trill and then she thought of her cousin Willie and his lion Billie who was never still but it was not that, no not that, it was nothing completely nothing like that, it was something moving perhaps it was just fat. It, fat can burn like that to make a trill and to be all still and to smell like the lion of cousin Will. Anything can happen while you are going up hill. And a mountain is so much harder than a hill and still. Go on.

19

THE NIGHT

Rose did go on smelling and breathing and pushing and shoving and rolling, she sometimes just rolled, and moving. Anything on a mountain side is moving, rocks are rolling, stones are turning, twigs are hitting, trees are growing, flowers are showing and animals are glowing that is their eyes are and everywhere there oh dear everywhere there well Rose was there and so was her chair.

How many minutes go around to make a second how many hours go round to make a minute how many days go around to make an hour how many nights go round to make a day and was Rose found. She never had been lost and so how could she be found even if everything did go around and around.

20

THE NIGHT

It all grew rosy they call it an alpine glow when it does so but Rose well Rose is her name and blue is her favorite color.

And then she knew yes she had heard it too,

Red at night is a sailor’s delight

Red in the morning is a sailor’s warning,

And said she is it rose or red

And said she is it morning or evening

And said she am I awake or am I in bed,

And said she perhaps a sailor does not know perhaps somebody just told him so.

And then she remembered everything she had heard it was not about a bird it was about a spider,

A spider at night is a delight a spider in the morning is an awful warning,

And then she remembered about if you put shoes on a table it makes awful trouble, but she had not a table she only had a chair and after all she could not take off her shoes there up upon the mountain so high and that funny black that first was blue and then grey up there in the sky, and then she remembered about the moon, if you see the new moon through a window with glass not any trouble will ever pass no it will not and then she remembered just when she was about to be scared that after all she had never cared no she never had cared for any moon so what was the use how it was seen. And then,

Then she remembered if you see a girl or a woman dwarf it is awful more awful than any cough it is just awful awful all awful and then she remembered just before she began to cry, not that she really would cry, she only cried when she sang, and climbing a mountain was too occupying ever to sing so then she remembered that it was true if you saw a female dwarf everything was through everything was over there was nothing to do. And then she remembered if she saw a boy or a man dwarf not a fairy nothing so foolish as that but a dwarf something little that should have been big and then if she saw it and it was not a female but a man then everything would be better and better and she would get the mountain the mountain would not get her.

And just then was it a pen was it a cage was it a hut but anyway there was no but, she saw it was a dwarf, and it was not a woman it was a man and if it knew how, and it did, away it ran, so Rose oh Rose was as happy then as any hen and she fell on her chair and embraced it there the blue chair.

And then she said perhaps it was not a dwarf perhaps it was a little boy and I could have it for a toy, she knew what a little boy was because she had her cousin whose name was Willie even if he was a little silly. That is the way Rose felt about it but not on the mountain up there, there she would not care if Willie was silly if he would only be there.

21

NIGHT

Rose did not want Willie, it was at night and she was not really resting and yet why did she think Willie was singing about what a day it was when Rose was not there. As she thought of that she almost let go her chair and went and went down and not up there. And then of course Willie never came. Why not when Willie was his name. Why not.

And so Rose went on again.

And now it was really night and when she could see them the stars were bright, and she remembered then that they say when the stars are bright rain comes right away and she knew it the rain would not hurt the chair but she would not like it to be all shiny there. Oh dear oh dear where was that dwarf man, it is so easy to believe whatever they say when you are all alone and so far away.

22

ROSE SAW IT CLOSE

What did Rose see close, that is what she never can tell and perhaps it is just as well, suppose she did tell oh dear oh dear what she saw when she fell. Poor dear Rose. She saw it close. Never again would she stay on that spot, the chair quick the chair anywhere but there.

Rose and the chair went on, it was dark at least it would have been if it had not been so bright, alright, alright it was alright of course it was alright it was just night, that is all it was just at night.

23

NIGHT

What is it that water does do.

It falls it does too

It rises up that is when it is dew but when it falls, it is a water-fall and Rose knew all about that too, Rose knew almost everything that water can do, there are an awful lot when you think what, dew lakes rivers oceans fogs clouds and water-falls too, the thing that Rose heard it was night and Rose heard what she heard, dear little bird dear little water and dear little third, not dew, not a few but a water otter, a brown water otter, a long water otter and Rose said not you no not you you cannot frighten me no not you.

So then Rose was frightened all through Rose and the chair which was blue and the otter the brown otter, Rose would have liked him better if he had been blue, and then the water-fall, the water-fall, the water-fall, the water was full of water-fall. Rose carrying the chair went to look behind there to see if there was room for the blue chair. There always is room behind a water-fall when it is tall, and this water-fall even in the night was quite tall.

So Rose went in there it was all dark darker than out there and then she put down the chair and then she saw she did not know but it was so, she did see it there behind the water-fall, although it was all dark there. It was written three times just how it looked as if it was done with a hair on a chair, and it said, oh dear yes it said, Devil, Devil, Devil, it said Devil three times right there. There was no devil there of course there was no devil there there is no devil anywhere devil devil devil where. But just there where there might be a chair and written in large writing and clear in the black there, it was written there.

Dear me, Rose came out with her blue chair she decided no she would not sit down there. She decided she did not like water to fall, water fall water fall, that is what cows call but there was no cow there there was only writing there. It was too bad that Rose could read writing otherwise she would not have known that it said devil three times there. There are people who cannot read writing, but Rose was not one of them. Oh no.

So Rose and the blue chair went away from there she never could go down not there not ever again there, she could never go anywhere where water is falling and water does fall even out of a faucet, poor Rose dear Rose sweet Rose only Rose, poor Rose alone with a blue chair there.

So she went on climbing higher and higher and higher and blinking, the stars were blinking and she had to think of something. If she did not she would think of seeing that, was the Devil round, was he around, around round, round around, oh dear no think of Pépé, do not think of cousin Willie, he could go around and around, Willie did, and do not think of the blue chair after all the seat of a chair, might it be round oh dear around and around, and Pépé Pépé the little dog who bit her, no he was not round, well his eyes were but not his teeth, they bit oh dear she just thought of that, they had told her that little dogs like Pépé when there are many they bite at the back of the legs of little donkeys and the donkeys fall and the little dogs eat them and do they when they eat a donkey get round like a ball, and there was the moon it was setting a little flat but it was a little round oh dear and it looked as if there was a little girl way up there in the moon with its hair flying and partly lying and she had no chair oh dear oh dear up there.

What a place a mountain could be it looked so steep and its sides so straight and the color so blue and now one two three all out but she and red white and blue all out but you and if there was a cock it was the time when it crew, but no there was no cock, there was no hen there was no glass pen, there was only Rose, Rose Rose, Rose and all of a sudden Rose knew that in Rose there was an o and an o is round, oh dear not a sound.

24

THE MORNING

Rose was a rose, she was not a dahlia, she was not a butter-cup (that is yellow), she was not a fuchsia or an oleander, well Rose wake Rose, Rose had not been asleep oh dear no, the dawn comes before the sun, and the dawn is the time to run, it is easy to run before the sun and Rose did. She was now not among the bushes which scratched but among trees which have nuts and she liked that, anybody would, and she did.

It is wonderful how many trees there are when they are all there and just then all the trees were all there, tree trunks are round that is if you go around but they are not round up into the air. Rose drew a deep breath of relief, and she lifted up her chair and she was almost glad she was there there where she was.

25

THE TREES AND THE ROCKS UNDER THEM

The dawn is not rosy but it is quite cosy and in the woods it really is so, they did once say the woods the poor man’s overcoat, and it is true there in the woods no rain comes through no sun comes through no snow comes through no dust comes through, there has to be a lot of anything before in a thick wood it does come through, and this was so and now Rose could know that this was so so early in the morning before there is a morning, and so Rose began to think of singing she thought how nice it would be to sing there in the woods where there were only trees and nothing, perhaps rocks and leaves and nuts and mushrooms but really not anything and perhaps she would like to begin singing, singing with her blue chair. And then she thought of course it always did happen as soon as she began to sing she began to cry and if she began to cry well no matter how much she would try when she began to sing she would begin to cry. And then there she was in the woods, they said the woods were a covering and she had her blue chair and she had to think of something but if she began to sing or if she began to say something. Well when you are all alone alone in the woods even if the woods are lovely and warm and there is a blue chair which can never be any harm, even so if you hear your own voice singing or even just talking well hearing anything even if it is all your own like your own voice is and you are all alone and you hear your own voice then it is frightening.

26

ROSE DOES SOMETHING

So Rose did not sing but she had to do something.

And what did she do well she began to smile she was climbing all the while climbing not like on a stair but climbing a little higher everywhere and then she saw a lovely tree and she thought yes it is round but all around I am going to cut Rose is a Rose is a Rose and so it is there and not anywhere can I hear anything which will give me a scare.

And then she thought she would cut it higher, she would stand on her blue chair and as high as she could reach she would cut it there.

So she took out her pen-knife, she did not have a glass pen she did not have a feather from a hen she did not have any ink she had nothing pink, she would just stand on her chair and around and around even if there was a very little sound she would carve on the tree Rose is a Rose is a Rose is a Rose is a Rose until it went all the way round. Suppose she said it would not go around but she knew it would go around. So she began.

She put the chair there she climbed on the chair it was her blue chair but it excited her so, not the chair but the pen-knife and putting her name there, that she several times almost fell off of the chair.

It is not easy to carve a name on a tree particularly oh yes particularly if the letters are round like R and O and S and E, it is not easy.

And Rose forgot the dawn forgot the rosy dawn forgot the sun forgot she was only one and all alone there she had to carve and carve with care the corners of the Os and Rs and Ss and Es in a Rose is a Rose is a Rose is a Rose.

Well first she did one and then the pen-knife seemed not to cut so well so she thought she would find a shell or a stone and if she rubbed her knife hard on it until it shone it would cut again just as it did before the knife began to groan. So she had to climb up and down on the chair and she had to find a stone and she had to go on and on, and at last well was it still dawn was there a sun well anyway at last it was more than begun it was almost done and she was cutting in the last Rose and just then well just then her eyes went on and they were round with wonder and alarm and her mouth was round and she had almost burst into a song because she saw on another tree over there that some one had been there and had carved a name and the name dear me the name was the same it was Rose and under Rose was Willie and under Willie was Billie.

It made Rose feel very funny it really did.

27

ROSE AND THE BELL

She climbed on and on and she could not tell not very well whether it was night or day but she knew it was day and not night because it was really quite bright, it might though yes it might have been night. But was it.

Well anyway she was climbing away she and the chair and she almost thought that she was almost there and then was it that she fell but anyway she did hear a bell, it was a tinkle and she heard it clearly it might be that a stone had stumbled and hit the garden chair, it might be that the chair had hit something right there or it might be that it was a cat that had a bell or it might be that it was a cow that had a bell or a sheep or a bird or even a little dog that might be running there chasing a low flying crow, or it might be a telephone, not very likely but it might, or it might be a dinner bell, or it might not be a bell at all it might be just a call, or it might be a lizard or a frog or it might be dear me it might be a log, rolling over rocks and water, but no it was a bell how can you tell if a bell is a bell.

There are so many things that are just funny it might just be silver money, anyway Rose was there and she certainly did think she knew she had heard a bell. Did she hear a bell. And would she know it was a bell if it was a bell. Did it come nearer and did she go nearer and was it just perhaps lightning and thunder.

All around the sun was shining and the bell was ringing and the woods were thinning and the green was shining. Please Rose please she was remembering. That is the way it was. It made her feel a little lonesome, until then she had been busy climbing but now she was beginning beginning hearing everything and it was a little lonesome.

Rose was a little lonesome, she had her blue chair. She was a little lonesome.

28

ROSE AND THE BELL

The bell was ringing but there was no singing and Rose went climbing up and on. And then gradually she came out of the trees and there she saw an enormous green meadow going up to a point and in the middle of the meadow green, it was green as grass, there was a little black dog way up all alone and shaking himself like a dog does. Oh said Rose and she almost sat down. It was the first word she had said of all the many that had come into her head since she first began to climb. And of course it was a round one. Oh is a round one. For the first time since she began to climb Rose did not know what to do next.

29

ONCE UPON A TIME

Once upon a time way back, there were always meadows with grass on them on top of every mountain. A mountain looked as if it had rocks way up there but really way up there there was always grass and the grass always made it look elegant and it was nice.

Grass is always the most elegant more elegant than rocks and trees, trees are elegant and so are rocks but grass is more so.

And here way up there was grass and it was going on and on and it is so much harder to climb up and up and up on grass than on rocks and under trees.

And to carry a blue chair way up there on and on through the grass because grass is steep steeper than rocks are, it was a very difficult day that day and that was the way Rose went on her way.

She had to what else could she do she had to see it through getting up there to be all the way there and to sit on her chair.

And when you are walking on grass it is harder to see where there is. And anyway what did it say. The grass did not say anyway, it was green and nothing green ever has anything to say.

Rose knew that that is why she always did prefer blue.

30

THE GREEN GRASS MEADOW

Rose was now going up and up the green grass meadow that went right on to the top. She did not say oh again she just went on. It was hot, and the green grass was hot and underneath the green grass there was ground and in that ground oh dear Rose almost stepped on it there was something round.

Rose had courage everywhere she just went on going up there.

31

THE LAST HOUR

It is hard to go on when you are nearly there but not near enough to hurry up to get there. That is where Rose was and she well she hardly could go on to get there. And where was there. She almost said it she almost whispered it to herself and to the chair. Where oh where is there.

But she went on and the grass was shorter and the slant was steeper and the chair was bluer and heavier and the clouds were nearer and the top was further because she was so near she could not see which way it was and if she went one way and the top was the other way could it be that she would never see what she could see. Oh deary me oh deary me what did she see. She did see and her eyes were round with fright and her hands and arms did hold her chair tight and suddenly green became blue and she knew that one would become two and three would become four and never again no never again would there ever be a door for her to go through.

But Rose was not like that, stumbling would be the beginning of tumbling and she would not tumble up but tumble down if she began to stumble and so she began to frown and she knew she would have to begin to count, one two one two one two one two.

Close your eyes and count one two open your eyes and count one two and then green would not be blue. So Rose began counting one two one two and she knew that she was counting one two one two and so her eyes were blue although her name was Rose. Of course her eyes were blue even though her name was Rose. That is the reason she always did prefer blue because her eyes were blue. And she had two eyes and each one of her two eyes was blue, one two one two.

And sooner than it could be true there she saw something that was not green nor blue, it was violet and other colors it was high up as high as the sky it was where she could cry it was a rain-bow. Oh yes oh no it was a rain-bow.

And Rose just went right through, she went right through the rain-bow and she did know that was what she would do. She had it to do and she went right through the rain-bow and then there she was right on the top so that there was no other top there just the top with room for the blue chair and Rose put the blue chair there and she sat upon the chair. And Rose was there.

32

THERE

She was all alone on the top of everything and she was sitting there and she could sing.

This was the song she sang,

It began.

Here I am.

When I wish a dish

I wish a dish of ham.

When I wish a little wish

I wish that I was where I am.

She stopped and sat awhile not that she ever got up, she was so pleased with sitting she just sat.

And then she sang,

When I see I saw I can

I can see what I saw I saw where I am sitting.

Yes I am sitting.

She sighed a little.

Yes I can see I am sitting.

She sighed again.

Yes I can.

Once when five apples were red,

They never were it was my head.

No said she no it was not my head it was my bed.

So she began again.

Once when apples were red

When all is said when all is said

Are apples red

Or is it said that I know which which I have.

She stopped to think

Rose stopped to think,

I think said Rose and she wriggled a little on her chair.

She was alone up there.

I think said Rose.

And then she began to sing.

Am I asleep or am I awake

Have I butter or have I cake,

Am I here or am I there,

Is the chair a bed or is it a chair.

Who is where.

Once more Rose began to sing.

It was getting a little dark and once more Rose began to sing.

I am Rose my eyes are blue

I am Rose and who are you

I am Rose and when I sing

I am Rose like anything.

I am Rose said Rose and she began to sing.

I am Rose but I am not rosy

All alone and not very cosy

I am Rose and while I am Rose

Well well Rose is Rose.

It was a little darker.

Rose sat a little tighter on her blue chair. She really was up there. She really was.

She began to sing.

Once upon a time I knew

A chair was blue.

Once upon a time I knew whose chair was blue.

My chair was blue nobody knew but I knew I knew my chair was blue.

Rose went on singing it was getting darker. Once upon a time there was a way to stay to stay away, I did not stay away I came away I came away away away and I am here and here is there oh where oh where is there oh where. And Rose began to cry oh where where where is there. I am there oh yes I am there oh where oh where is there.

It was darker and darker and the world was rounder and rounder and the chair the blue chair was harder and harder and Rose was more there than anywhere. Oh dear yes there.

And once more Rose began to sing.

When I sing I am in a ring, and a ring is round and there is no sound and the way is white and pepper is bright and Love my dog Love he is away alright oh dear wailed Rose oh dear oh dear I never did know I would be here, and here I am all alone all night and I am in a most awful fright. Oh chair dear chair dear hard blue chair do hold me tight I’ll sit in you with all my might.

It was getting darker and darker and there was no moon, Rose never had cared about the moon but there were lots of stars and somebody had told her that stars were round, they were not stars, and so the stars were not any comfort to her and just then well just then what was it just then well it was just that it was just then.

Just then wailed Rose I wish just then had been a hen.

33

A LIGHT

Well it was night and night well night can be all right that is just what a night can be it can be all night. And Rose knew that. Rose knew so much it made her clutch the blue chair closer as she sat on it there.

And then just then what was it, it was not lightning it was not a moon it was not a star not even a shooting star it was not an umbrella it was not eyes eyes in the dark oh dear no it was a light, a light and oh so bright. And there it was way off on another hill and it went round and round and it went all around Rose and it was a search light surely it was and it was on a further hill and surely Will her cousin Will surely he was on another hill and he made the light go round and round and made the ground green not black and made the sky white not black and Rose oh Rose just felt warm right through to her back.

And she began to sing.

A little boy upon a hill

Oh Will oh Will.

A little boy upon a hill

He will oh will.

Oh Will oh Will.

And I am here and you are there, and I am here and here is there and you are there and there is here oh Will oh Will on any hill.

Oh Will oh Will oh Will

Oh Will oh Will.

Will you sang Rose oh yes you will.

And she sang oh will oh will and she cried and cried and cried and cried and the search light went round and round and round and round.

34

THE END

Willie and Rose turned out not to be cousins, just how nobody knows, and so they married and had children and sang with them and sometimes singing made Rose cry and sometimes it made Willie get more and more excited and they lived happily ever after and the world just went on being round.

Gertrude Stein, the big dog Love, and Rose on the terrace of the farmhouse at Bilignin, France, circa 1938.

AFTERWORD

THE WORLD IS NOT FLAT

ONCE you have met Rose, the nine-year-old heroine of Gertrude Stein’s wonderful book for children and adults, The World Is Round, you will never forget her.

Rose is a child who is constantly wondering, pondering, puzzling about her “very own self.” Rose’s self-concern touches the fears of all children and reveals a universal anxiety: Who am I? “Would she have been Rose if her name had not been Rose. She used to think and then she used to think again.” When Rose sings:

“Why am I a little girl

Where am I a little girl

When am I a little girl

Which little girl am I”

Stein has composed a chant to help Rose find her place in a world that “was round and you could go on it around and around.” In the once-upon a-time of this story the world is not flat and children can circumnavigate the globe.

The question of identity is answered in witty and courageous language by Gertrude Stein. This autocratic, brilliant woman who never married or had children, could write with extraordinary perception about children as well as for children.

Anyone familiar with Gertrude Stein’s writings realizes the import of her naming her heroine Rose. Rose, of course, was one of her favorite words. Her most famous and frequently quoted line was “Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose.” It first appeared in print in “Sacred Emily,” a piece collected in Geography and Plays (1922), which drew upon a decade of her writing. She was known by this iterative phrase the world over; she had used it many times, and she used it again in The World Is Round. It appeared on both the dedication page and on the front cover of the book. But its most important usage is when Rose stands on her blue chair and carves the sentence around the trunk of a tree in order to quell her fears.

Gertrude Stein did not hesitate to take her audiences to task if she thought they were being obtuse about the famous quotation. On one occasion she remarked sharply, “Now you have all seen hundreds of poems about roses and you know in your heart that the rose is not there. . . . I’m no fool. I know that in daily life we don’t go around saying ‘is a . . . is a . . . is a. . . .’ Yes, I’m no fool; but I think that in that line the rose is red for the first time in English poetry for a hundred years.”

The Rose of the story is real, the daughter of Gertrude Stein’s neighbors at Bilignin, a small farming community on a dirt road a few miles from Belley, in the foothills of the Alps. The dedication page reads “To Rose Lucy Renée Anne d’Aiguy, A French Rose.” One wonders if Gertrude Stein in her obsession with roses did not simply prefix the name. The dogs, Pépé and Love, are also real. Pépé was a Mexican Chihuahua that had been given to her by the artist Francis Picabia.

Gertrude Stein and Alice B. Toklas rented a seventeenth-century farmhouse at Bilignin in 1929 where they passed all their summers until the outbreak of World War II. When she lived at Bilignin, Stein was at the height of her fame, and the whole world visited her farmhouse there, just as it did her salon at rue de Fleurus in Paris. Famous and revered as she was, however, many people in the world of books did not understand or approve of her experimentation with language and her disregard for the “correct” approach to narrative.

During the time that Gertrude Stein lived and wrote at Bilignin, the world of children’s books was being subjected to upheaval and experimentation. In the 1920s children’s literature had become a distinct field of publishing. Hitherto children had had to read what adults found interesting as well, but now books were being directed toward children’s own tastes. In the 1930s new developments in photo-offset lithography made possible large editions of illustrated books at low cost, and the field of children’s book illustration attracted many talented artists who began to break out in experiments of their own. Old favorites were issued with new illustrations and unusual formats, but the most spectacular development between 1930 and 1940 was the increase in the number and variety of new picture books and profusely illustrated story books. The era of the close collaboration of writer and artist began.

But certain writers were not content with traditional methods of storytelling. The 1920s were fruitful years for children’s literature, yet they were devoted to the publication of the “inheritance of great literature,” fairy tales, folk tales, adventure stories, and stories of the fabulous and unreal. Breaking with older narrative forms, experimental writers began to focus directly on the experiences of children and to explore the realm of a child’s senses—colors, sounds, smells. Children’s emotions and concerns, such as being alone and shy, being lost and being found, became new subjects for writers.

I remember well some of these years of explosive creativity, for they led me into the world of children’s books and entirely changed my life. I arrived in New York in the early 1930s and soon became a member of the Writer’s Laboratory at the Bank Street College of Education. Under the witty and provocative guidance of Lucy Sprague Mitchell, the Writer’s Laboratory consisted of a group of aspiring writers of books for young children. Attending Bank Street College, I became involved not only in the experiments taking place in education and writing but also in many facets of the publishing world. One of the firms most interesting to me was a newly established publishing house called Young Scott Books.

Young Scott Books was founded in 1938 by William R. Scott, his wife Ethel McCullough Scott, and her brother John McCullough. The three founders were young, intelligent, and creative; fortunately they also had sufficient financial backing to allow them to follow their impulses, a freedom not granted in a business where the bottom line often takes precedence over experimentation. Working out of an office in Greenwich Village and a barn at the Scotts’ summer home in North Bennington, Vermont, Young Scott Books began publishing books that were bold in their child-oriented point of view and unusual in their choice of illustrators and authors.

It was The Little Fireman by Margaret Wise Brown, published in 1938, that immediately established Young Scott Books as a leader in this world of “new” books for children and demonstrated most clearly the direction it would follow. Margaret Wise Brown was already beginning to be recognized as a most original writer for young children, and the Scotts soon asked her to join their editorial staff.

At that time I saw a great deal of Margaret, as she was without a doubt the most talented member of the Writer’s Laboratory. The meetings when “Brownie” read a new story were delightful, often hilarious, occasions for the rest of us. We may also have experienced some private despair at her prodigious output. When she died in France in 1952 at the age of forty-two she had published at least one hundred books, some of which are in print today. The Runaway Bunny (1942) and Goodnight Moon (1947), published by Harper & Row and illustrated by Clement Hurd, steadily sell more copies each year.

Working with the Scotts was often an unorthodox affair. I remember being invited to their house in North Bennington, Vermont, to spend the night; the next morning sitting under the tall elm trees, the Scotts, John McCullough, and I worked long hours “rewriting” my first book, Hurry, Hurry, A story of calamity and woe, about a babysitter who was always in too much of a hurry. Into this stimulating atmosphere Margaret Brown put forth an interesting question: Couldn’t certain carefully selected adult authors also write books for children? Mightn’t they be asked for manuscripts? The Scott editorial board pondered this suggestion and decided it was worth trying. Ernest Hemingway, John Steinbeck, and Gertrude Stein were selected, and John McCullough wrote letters soliciting stories.

Hemingway and Steinbeck declined because of commitments to their own editors, but an enthusiastic Gertrude Stein wrote that not only would she accept Scott Books’ offer, but that she had already nearly completed a book entitled The World Is Round.

It is not surprising that Gertrude Stein accepted John McCullough’s invitation so readily. She was nearly sixty-five years old when she wrote The World Is Round and was as close to public acceptance of her works as she would ever come, but still, she had great difficulty in finding publishers. In the 1920s her reputation among the avant-garde was based mainly on her contributions to “little” magazines, the primary outlet for her work. Only three books of hers came out during the decade, one of which was issued at her own expense. The Making of Americans, the book she finished in 1911 and considered her masterpiece, was not brought out until 1925. In 1930 she was celebrated and interviewed but seldom saw her books in print.

Having been told again and again “There is a public for you but no publisher,” she brooded about her unpublished work. Certainly there was no publisher daring enough to publish her output steadily. Of her many offers, most came to nothing, and she had to suffer the rebukes of editorial staffs who thought her endless repetitions unnecessary and boring. She decided to bring out her books under her own imprint, Plain Edition, and financed the venture by selling one of her Picasso paintings. Alice Toklas was put in charge, and in the early 1930s they issued four books. Then came a breakthrough: Harcourt Brace accepted The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas in 1933, and it became an immediate best seller. There followed the popular success of Four Saints in Three Acts, her opera with Virgil Thomson. I still remember sitting spellbound by the song “Pigeons on the Grass, Alas” and the beautiful voices of an all-black cast costumed entirely in folds of cellophane, against a backdrop of palm trees cut out of green paper. (My treasured recording of Four Saints is to this day played only for special visitors to our house.) After such a triumph, followed by her acclaimed lecture tour of America in 1934–35, Gertrude Stein had a certain leverage with publishers, and Random House issued four more books. None attained best-sellerdom, and sales were mostly poor. Quite probably these disappointments influenced Stein to accept John McCullough’s invitation to submit a book for children. Young Scott Books was a healthy and energetic publishing house but not exactly on a level with the big New York establishments such as Random House.

Excitement and trepidation reigned at Young Scott until the manuscript arrived from Paris. Bill Scott reminisced about the initial reactions to The World Is Round: “We all read it with bated breath, and it would be nice to recall that I had liked the thing. But it was hard—too hard for kids, I was sure. The others, Ethel Scott, John McCullough and, of course, Margaret Wise Brown, thought it was great in varying degrees, so it was decided to do the book.” A contract was soon on its way to France.

As it developed, Gertrude Stein had very definite ideas about the design and printing of the book, and explicit instructions began to arrive at Scott Books. The page color must be pink, and the type must be printed in blue, because Rose was the name of the child in the book and blue was her favorite color. “This turned out to be quite a printing problem,” said Bill Scott. “By now we were printing offset, which was a help in providing even coverage of big flat areas. The illustrator was using a certain amount of reverses in the pink. These needed to be very strong or they would be lost. I slowly gravitated toward a bold type that would not be overwhelmed by the color. I had another theory about the text type. I was afraid that if people read too much of Gertrude Stein at a time, they would go nuts. So I was looking for a face that was intrinsically hard to read. Finally I had it! Linotype ‘Memphis,’ which I never liked much but which filled the requirement of boldness. The printer, LeHuray, nearly went broke paying for the huge amount of pink ink, but he got the job done without too much variation between the two sides of the sheet. I recall setting up the title page myself, but I think I got someone else to paste up the circular type of the dedication.” The heavy blue type on the brilliant pink page turned out to be striking.

The opportunity to illustrate a book by Gertrude Stein was a prize sought by many artists. Scott cleverly sidestepped choosing among them by holding a competition. But again Stein presented her publisher with a problem. She wrote that she had already selected the illustrator—her English protégé, Sir Francis Rose.

Probably Mr. Rose’s most important qualification was that he bore the right name; in Gertrude Stein’s theory of names what could be more fitting than an illustrator named Rose for The World Is Round. Francis Rose was a longtime friend, to be sure, but not everyone in Stein’s circle was admiring of his work. When Stein bought her first painting by Rose, Picasso asked how much she paid for it. She told him that she had paid three hundred francs. Picasso said brusquely, “For that price one can buy something quite good.” But she went on to acquire painting after painting by Rose. The name was right.

William Scott did not acquiesce so easily to the demand that Rose illustrate The World Is Round, and managed to convince Gertrude Stein that Young Scott Books had a talented number of illustrators from which she could choose. He dispatched to Paris the pictures from the contest he felt best suited the text.

Clement Hurd, an eager competitor, gave an account of the arrival of the package in Paris containing the artists’ works. “The custom house let Gertrude Stein know that there was a package of ‘art’ for her and that she would have to pay some exorbitant duty on it. She replied that she didn’t know whether she would accept the package, so they let her see the contents in the custom house. She had a chance to judge the work, but of course she refused the package and had it returned to the Scotts in New York, thereby paying no duty at all.”

Gertrude Stein designated Clement Hurd to illustrate The World Is Round. Once more her amazing abilities were evident in the fact that although she spent a very short time with the sketches, she remembered every detail, “making very specific criticisms of my pictures,” said Hurd. “The only one I can remember after all these years is that she thought Rose looked too much like an American Indian, so I changed her to look more French.”

Hurd first saw the manuscript of The World Is Round in the fall of 1938. Following his designation as illustrator, he worked through the winter and into the spring. In late May 1939, he wrote to Stein:

136 East 70th Street

New York City

Friday May 26

Dear Miss Stein,

I am sorry that I have been so slow in sending you my pictures for your book but I have been working on them constantly so that I hated to send them off until I was satisfied with them myself.

I have loved Rose and Willie and your story since I first saw the manuscript last fall and I was very pleased when you let me do the illustrations for it.

I feel the responsibility profoundly of doing illustrations that will be worthy of your book. I do feel that an illustrator can only outdo himself when he really feels the challenge of a wonderful story. I hope I have carried out your suggestions about Rose. If only we could have had consultations at each step of the work I would be content. I have tried to subject the visual Rose to your charming characterization for the reader.

Hoping that my pictures will please you. It really means a great deal to me.

Sincerely,

Clement Hurd

From the farmhouse at Bilignin soon came an answer:

Bilignin

Par Belley

Ain

My Dear Hurd,

The pictures have just come and I am awfully pleased with them, I am delighted, the movement is lovely things float in them and are really there at the same time, the drum is very xciting, the night is charming and Rose and the bell is perfect and the green meadow and all that follows, there are only two that I do not quite like.

in the just then was it a pen and Rose embraces the chair,

I think Rose here is too large and the arms and legs look just a little naked and the emotion not clear, in all the rest the emotion is very clear and true.

Then in

The End of Billy the Lion,

I would suggest that the second lion should be more disappearing that is more of him disappeared than the one slightly ahead, I think the end of the lion should be more real. I am awfully really awfully pleased, I was a little doubtful in the beginning but now I am completely convinced that you are really illustrating it the way I wanted it done. The one of the is a lion not a lion is really perfect, thank you and thank you again for liking it so much and working so hard.

Always,

Gtde St

“French Rose” and Mexican Chihuahua, Pépé, at Bilignin, circa 1938.

The artist was overjoyed by Stein’s approval and wrote:

North Ferrisburg

Vermont

New York City

July 12 1939

is my address—

Dear Miss Stein,

I was delighted to get your enthusiastic approval of my pictures. Your letter arrived a few days before my marriage so that it made a delightful wedding present, and I assure you it gave me great pleasure.

I am in New York to check on the printing of the books which is now under way. In spite of some delays it is going well and we have every hope that it will be entirely satisfactory. The pink is now all printed and I feel that it is just what I wanted as to color and weight. The blue starts being run tomorrow and I hope to get off for Vermont in a few days more. I trust therefore that you will shortly have the finished book in hand.

I have designed about six nursery rugs from the illustrations which W. & J. Sloane is having made up. . . .

I have enjoyed working on “The World Is Round” a great deal and feel more and more convinced that it is going to be an immediate and great success. . . .

With many thanks for your cooperation and approval.

Sincerely yours,

Clement Hurd

P.S. I should like very much to hear how you like the finished book, if you could write me a line. I will be at my farm for the rest of the summer.

The wedding he wrote of was also my own. Clem and I were married on Cape Cod, Massachusetts, June 24, 1939. Following the wedding we headed straight for New York, where Clem joined Bill Scott to supervise the printing of the book by the printer LeHuray, Clem being mostly concerned with the shades of pink and blue to be used. I remember that New York was ferociously hot that summer, and we were thankful to head north at last to our little farmhouse in Vermont for a belated honeymoon.

When Gertrude Stein received the first copies of The World Is Round, she wrote to her illustrator:

My dear Hurd,

The book has come and I am xcited and delighted by and with it, everything that you have changed makes it better and it is a lovely book, I took it over immediately to show it to the French Rose’s family and they were delighted as we were and xcited as we were, the rose is very lovely particularly at its palest and the blue of the rabbit sky is quite wonderful, in short we are terribly pleased and hope that everybody will like it almost as much. Do send me a photograph sometime of the rugs you have made, your arrangements are perfectly satisfactory and tell them as you suggest to send me the part of the royalty direct, perhaps lots of other things will happen and we will all enjoy them, and I am so pleased that it came as a wedding present and I hope it will go on being a wedding present always

Gtde St

IN the course of their correspondence, Gertrude Stein sent Clement Hurd a series of eight photographs of herself and Rose with the little dog Pépé and the big dog Love on the terrace of the farmhouse at Bilignin.

The rugs referred to were a series of round handhooked woolen rugs about thirty inches in diameter that Hurd had designed for W. & J. Sloane of New York. The designs were based upon the illustrations for The World Is Round. They were priced at $12.00 to $15.00. When a display was made of the rugs in the window at Sloane’s, Hurd sent a photograph to Stein. At that time he also designed a collection of wallpapers based upon the pictures for Katzenbach and Warren of New York.

Bilignin

Par Belley

Ain

My dear Clement Hurd,

I am awfully pleased about the wall paper, once we did very good wall paper of the pigeons on the grass and we have it in two rooms in Paris and it would be lovely to have another with the World is Round, and the rugs, the window sounds perfectly ravishing and everybody has been so xcited about the ad in the New Yorker, that they all send me a copy, I cannot tell you how pleased I am about it all, and your business arrangements are perfectly satisfactory. It may be that we will come over in the early spring, nothing of course is certain but it is possible and it will then be a very great pleasure our meeting, it would be fun too if they filmed us, it would be fun and lucrative and most xciting, we are living peacefully here in the country, and I am working a lot, so once more to the pleasure of meeting either there or here, always

Gtde St

Of course we were very excited at the prospect of meeting Gertrude Stein, but by 1940 the war had already begun in Europe, and with the attack on Pearl Harbor and the entrance of the United States into the conflict, our hopes were dashed. Neither the Scotts, John McCullough, nor my husband and I were ever to meet the famous expatriate.

Clement Hurd’s rugs displayed at W. & J. Sloane, New York, 1939.

A fragment of the wallpaper designed by Clement Hurd for Katzenbach and Warren, New York, 1940.

Two other letters from Gertrude Stein rounded out the exchange between her and Clement Hurd.

Bilignin

Par Belley

Ain

My dear Hurd,

You will be pleased that the first child who has told me about our book is a little French boy six years old the son of a captain in the Army and our proprietor, I gave them the book not thinking as none of them read English that it would be anything but a souvenir. But I saw little Francis and much xcited he said to me tell me more about Rose and the mountain and Willy and the Lion, I said how did you know about them it would seem that he was mad about the illustrations and a friend who read English came in and told him the stories, and he adores the book, he says he would like another one by us about not wild animals mts., but about poplar trees and birds and rabbits and deer and gazelle and if we wanted to a wild boar, a big one or a little one I asked him, a medium sized one he said. And when I told him that there was wall paper to be of it his eyes just grew large and round, do send me a bit of it so that I can see what it looks like, it looks as if it would be a double happy New Year to you and Mrs. Hurd now and always

Gtde St

[Postmarked Ain]

My dear Clement Hurd,

I have just received the samples of the wall paper and we are all delighted with them we took them over to Beau[?] where Rose lives and the family were enchanted, I am not sure I do not like the blue one best but then when I say that I look at the other and am not sure, if they do a room of it and with the rugs you have a photograph of it do send it to me. How are the rugs selling, I have heard nothing about the Christmas sale, have you, and now have you heard of the new children’s book that I am doing, I might say have done, because it is pretty nearly finished, it is a book about Alphabets and birthdays, a lot of little stories to illustrate it and I want it sombre and xciting, the way Gustave Doré’s illustrations were to me when I was a child, I suggested that the book be done in black and gold gold paper and black print or the other way, but perhaps you could think of a combination of colors that would be more sombre and xciting, all this of course, if McCullough likes the book and if you are to do the illustrations, I do not mind if you make it even a little frightening, well anyway I will be sending the ms. along in about ten days now and I hope you will like it

Always

Gtde St

THEIR delightful correspondence now resides in the Beinecke Library at Yale University. Throughout these letters from Bilignin, Gertrude Stein showed herself to be a most sensitive and appreciative person whose writing style in a letter has the intimacy and immediacy of conversation.

It was Stein’s reputation for unintelligibility that caused an outcry of disbelief when in the spring of 1939 Young Scott Books announced that it would publish a children’s book by her. Some commentators sharpened their stilettos and attacked with the skepticism they held in reserve for such a production. “The book will have a social will have a social will have a social aspect in as much as it is being published by William R. Scott,” stuttered one, digging at both author and publisher. Another, attempting cleverness, burbled “Gertrude Stein is writing is writing is writing a new Gertrude Stein a new book is writing is writing Gertrude a new a new a new. . . .” In a short piece entitled “Stein Song” the New York Post stuffily editorialized that “Gertrude Stein has written a story for children called The World Is Round. However, the book may be expected to prove the world is square, since she is the same Gertrude Stein who wrote Four Saints in Three Acts.”

When the book appeared in the fall of 1939, the negative reviews minced no words. “Far, far better,” wrote Dorothy Killgallen, “if you have a child, to let him read Nick Carter, William Saroyan, the Wizard of Oz, Tommy Manville’s Diary, or the menu at Lindy’s—anything but such literary baby-talk.”

Actually, most reviewers were charmed by both the writing and the illustrations. Catherine MacKenzie in the New York Times cautiously stated that the familiar style and rhythm of Gertrude Stein were easily accessible to little children, who “if they are not laughed or ridiculed out of it, have a grand time with the sound of words.”

In the New York Herald Tribune, May Lamberton Becker, one of the most discerning reviewers of children’s books, objected only to the pink color of the paper. Recounting a story of some twenty adults who read the book aloud to each other, she concluded: “It was an afternoon of the sort of happiness that cleanses the mind—a child’s happiness.” Refusing to take potshots at Stein by quoting nonsensical lines, she added, “You cannot judge it by extracts any more than you can judge a movie by stills.”

In an article in the New York Times Book Review of November 12, 1939, Ellen Lewis Buell seriously attempted to analyze why the book was so successful: “For a skeptic who never quite finished the first paragraph of Tender Buttons, it is a pleasant duty to report that Miss Stein seems to have found her audience, possibly a larger one than usual, certainly a more appreciative one. As to just why, it would take an expert in the subconscious and a corps of child psychologists fully to determine. Not the intoxication of words which ‘keep tumbling into rhyme,’ as one little girl neatly described it; not the irresistible rhythm of such songs as ‘Bring me bread, bring me butter,’ and ‘Round is around,’ nor the fun which flashes out when least expected, can fully explain its success. Perhaps it is because, in addition to these virtues, Miss Stein has caught within this architectural structure of words which rhyme and rhyme again the essence of certain moods of childhood: the first exploration of one’s own personality, the feeling of a lostness in a world of night skies and mountain peaks, sudden unreasoning emotions and impulses, the preoccupation with vagrant impressions of little things filtering through the mind.

“It is meant to be read aloud, a little at a time, and the adult who does so will find himself saying ‘I remember thinking like this,’ and succumbing to the seductive quality of phrases, which will make it probably the most quotable book of the season. For children, apparently, there is a real fascination in the moods of Rose, pondering over the phenomenon of self—‘would she have been Rose if her name had not been rose’; and in Willie, so sure of his own individuality, and in the lion, which was not blue, who wanders in and out of the chapters with a blithe disregard for the proper chronology. The response to it is as various as it is individual. One child says bluntly, ‘It’s cuckoo crazy’; a six-year-old boy has listened to it a score of times, and one little girl says, ‘I like it because when you start thinking about it you never get anywhere. It just keeps going along.’

“It is printed in blue ink, because that was Rose’s favorite color, on fiercely pink paper, as toothsome-looking as ten-cent store candy. It is hard on the eyes, but to children it is beautiful, and certainly Clement Hurd’s drawings, which translate something of Rose’s own feeling of the vastness of space and infinity into beautifully contrived decorations, are delightful.”

The World Is Round was published in an edition of 3,000 copies, of which one hundred were specially bound and presented in a slipcase and were signed by the author and illustrator. The regular edition was priced at $2.50 and the special copies were $5.00. Bill Scott recognized the potential of having a best seller in The World Is Round, and hired a PR man to handle publicity. Hundreds of review copies were sent out, one to almost every newspaper that had a book column. Notices appeared in newspapers all across America. Enthusiastic salesmen allowed books to go out on consignment, causing Scott to rush mistakenly into a second printing. When copies began to be returned in January, he found himself with more books than he had anticipated. Sales were slow but regular, and eventually the first edition and second printing were sold out and Scott considered the venture a success.

Bill Scott recalled his elation at having a book by Gertrude Stein on his list in only his second year of operation. “The delightful scoundrel we hired to promote the book, Joe Ryle, was a PR man to the life and promised us a few genuine bits of the moon. Whether at his instigation or not, we also had a party at our house to celebrate our getting into the big time. Bruce Bliven came, May Lamberton Becker, children’s book reviewer-in-chief for the Herald Tribune, came, and other celebrities whose names now escape me. Everyone was there but Gertrude and Anne Carroll Moore, awesome head of the children’s room at the New York Public Library. We had already written her off a year earlier when Margaret and I had taken up our first list to get her accolade (she called them ‘truck’).”

Such success had all participants thinking in terms of doing another book together. Gertrude announced she was writing another book for children, called To Do, and that she wanted it illustrated by Clement Hurd in “excitingly sombre” tones, brown and black, like illustrations by Gustave Doré. But To Do lacked the charm and intelligibility of The World Is Round, and after a lengthy correspondence between Stein and McCullough, Scott Books finally rejected the manuscript.

In this excerpt from a letter to Gertrude Stein from John McCullough dated March 25, 1940, he tells of their great hopes for The World Is Round:

I have no recent figures here concerning The World Is Round but there was an unusually large return of books after Christmas. This indicates that booksellers expected to sell more of it than they did and I am afraid the fault is mine. If I hadn’t been trembling so violently in my carpet slippers during our early correspondence I wouldn’t have let you take so high a royalty, for it has nearly strangled all advertizing possibilities—and The World is one of the few children’s books that would have profited by it. [Stein insisted on 15 percent royalty for the first edition. This was later reduced to 10 percent.] Aside from this little dirge, however, the picture is a bright one. We spent considerable effort and care in presenting it to the educational world and such efforts were most rewarding. It was reviewed in those circles with seriousness and penetration. Consequently, our sale has been steady and from perennial sources so that it looks to continue so for years.

There seems an increasing and spreading awareness that it is a great book and from all sides we hear reports of its effect on children. Miss Davis at the Public Library says that it has stimulated a great deal of children’s writing and she has a thick stack of pictures that it has provoked, particularly of the garden chair. The more it releases and relaxes others, the more it inhibits us with the heavy responsibility of having published a masterpiece.

When Gertrude Stein selected Clement Hurd to illustrate The World Is Round, he had barely begun his career as a book illustrator. Born and brought up in New York City, he graduated from Yale University in 1930. After a year at the Yale Architectural School, he went to Paris, where he studied painting in the studio of Fernand Léger.

The Depression ended Clement Hurd’s studies in 1933 and brought him back to New York to seek work as a freelance artist. Margaret Brown saw his murals for a bath house in Greenwich, Connecticut, that humorously depicted swimmers being attacked by smiling sharks and young ladies being pinched by happy men. To Margaret’s discerning eye they showed a clean, almost French style, well suited to book illustration. She suggested that he enter the field of children’s books.

Hurd and Brown started a collaboration that lasted many years. Their first effort, Bumble Bugs and Elephants, published by Scott Books in 1938, was termed by Lucy Sprague Mitchell as “the youngest book I have ever seen.” After spending three years of military duty in the South Pacific during the war, Hurd continued his work with Margaret Brown, and they completed the universal favorite, The Runaway Bunny, and the phenomenal bestseller, Goodnight, Moon. Hurd went on to produce books with other writers as well. After our marriage in 1939, Clem and I wrote and illustrated children’s books together for over forty years.

Long after The World Is Round disappeared from bookstores, the participants in the project felt they had been involved in something unusual and important. In 1965 Bill Scott and Clement Hurd were working together on another publication. One day over lunch Scott declared that of all the books he had issued, he thought that The World Is Round was the one most likely to become a permanent part of American literature. He said that if he had it to do again, he would ignore Stein’s suggestion of blue on pink and use conventional black ink for the type on white paper. Hurd observed that to him his illustrations had always seemed somewhat unfinished, and that were he able, he would do them differently, carrying them one step further. Together they decided a second edition was called for—with a new format, a different typeface, and new illustrations.

Hurd kept his original conception of the pictures but recut them in wood and linoleum blocks. Scott opened the space around the type, giving the pages a freer look. The book was bound in white cloth over boards, with pink end sheets very like the color used in the first edition. When the edition appeared in 1967, Hurd and Scott were gratified by the response. Ten thousand copies were sold. This is the edition most readers are familiar with.

Forty-five years have passed since The World Is Round first appeared, but it shows no signs of being forgotten. Each year it seems to gain new admirers. In 1984 Andrew Hoyem of the Arion Press approached Clement Hurd about participating in yet a third edition. Given the unusual formats in which some of his books are presented, I was not surprised when he told me, “We will, of course, make The World Is Round a round book.” But Hurd did not feel that he should execute a third set of pictures. He suggested instead that the Arion Press use the illustrations he had made for the second edition. Searching his archives, he found the original linoleum and wood blocks. These were proofed by the printers and, after some modification of the proofs by Andrew Hoyem in collaboration with the artist, they were made into photo-engravings. The images are full size as they were conceived and cut, rather than in the reduced form used in the trade book.

On learning of this new limited edition of The World Is Round, Bill Scott remarked, “Arion Press may find its edition is limited in more ways than one—limited to those who can understand Gertrude Stein.” It is amazing that nearly forty years after Stein’s death so many of the literate public still believe her to be incomprehensible. The image of the brilliant artist with the head of a Roman emperor, the constantly reported life, the endless anecdotes of her Paris salon, the daring and public liaison that made Alice B. Toklas her lifelong companion—these are the things everyone remembers. The legend is certainly persistent; she must have been among the first to use the media to her advantage. But the work—half a century in the past—can still evoke the same hush of admiration or provoke the same hoots of derision that it did in the 1930s.

The World Is Round is Gertrude Stein for everyone—child and adult—providing that one is willing to relax certain prejudices and ignore the absence of certain conventions. I do not mean to imply that Stein will come across for all with the ease of The Little Engine That Could. Like most good writing, The World Is Round does not instantly yield its full meaning. It will have the reader returning again and again to ask some of the same questions Rose herself asks, “Well shall I go,” and to find some of the same answers Rose does, “Anything can happen while you are going up a hill. And a mountain is so much harder than a hill and still. Go on.”

In its publicity for the first edition Young Scott Books advised its readers that should they have difficulty in following the text, they might read faster, and that if they still had difficulty, they should read faster still. Today no such advice seems necessary. The core of meaning in the round songs and rhyming prose is more comprehensible than it was when the book was first published. Perhaps the electronic age, the age of television and the computer, has enabled us to move along the lines of thought with a speed of cognition that can keep up with the swift pace of this expatriate genius.

During the years at Bilignin Gertrude Stein achieved her greatest commercial success, but it was accompanied by a degree of self-doubt. After her first best seller, she developed a writer’s block, and throughout the 1930s a question of identity plagued her. “I am I because my little dog knows me” was her persistent observation. World War II was looming in the future, and in 1938 France was panicked with fear of a German invasion. Gertrude adamantly refused to believe that war could possibly occur and repeatedly said it would not, as if saying could make it so. She was sixty-five years old and did not like to contemplate a change from the good life at Bilignin or a return to America. As loudly as she proclaimed the virtue of being American in her writings, when she returned to California in her lecture tour of 1934, she had not been happy. Alice was elated by revisiting the scenes of her childhood and youth, but Gertrude was depressed by childhood memories when she saw Oakland again, the city about which she had made the remark, “There is no there there.”

Above all Gertrude Stein wanted to be there, just as Rose does. Despite the obvious humor in the story—“It is not easy to give a lion away / What did you say”—and a sense of fun that pervades the style, the core of The World Is Round is very serious. Rose’s struggle to climb the mountain is everyone’s attempt to arrive at some place where one is finally there. Interpreted in the light of Gertrude Stein’s life, this book is curiously touching, heroic even. In Rose we may see a psychological self-portrait of Stein herself, as she approaches old age, troubled by hostile forces in Europe. Perhaps this accounts for the slightly menacing tone and the vague uneasiness that pervades The World Is Round. There is something ominous in the events of the story—near-drowning, bad dreams, climbing a mountain in darkness, and the whisper of the devil’s name. Rose is always afraid, but she comforts herself by singing; she soothes herself with the litany of the mountain: if she can just climb the mountain she will be there. And so she sings, and that always causes her to burst into tears. Rose always cries: “Just try / Not to make Rose cry / Just try.”

In Rose’s solitary struggle to climb the mountain, it is art that finally triumphs. When Rose in darkness does not want to take comfort in tears, when she will not sing because it would only make her cry, she dispels her fears by standing on the blue chair, and reaching as high as she can, she carves Gertrude Stein’s immortal line “Rose is a rose” around the trunk of a tree. But there is a happy ending after all the struggle. As in the fairy tales where the Prince is transformed, Rose’s cousin and counterpart, Willie, who has no uncertainty about himself, is conveniently discovered not to have been her cousin after all, and is therefore available as a husband to live with happily ever after. Skipping over the awkwardness of adolescence and mysteries of courtship, the young reader comes to the desired conclusion. Upon a lonely pinnacle where Rose is finally there, but bemoaning her fate, a searchlight illuminates her, leading her to happiness with another human being.

Despite the seriousness at the heart of The World Is Round, what captures new readers for it every year is its overwhelming sense of fun and playfulness of language. Nowhere has this been better expressed than in a review by Louise Seaman Bechtel, one of the most outstanding editors and reviewers of children’s books in the 1920s and ’30s. In The Horn Book Magazine, September 1939, Bechtel wrote: “Here is a new book that is a new kind of book, and I like it very much. It is rather a job to tell you why, because it has to be read aloud. You and I should be taking turns, chapter by chapter, laughing and seizing the book from each other. For of course it is fun to find out how well one reads it. Inevitably one wants to see how much better one does the next bit, in spite of the lack of punctuation; how, in fact one produces punctuation oneself with so little trouble. . . . The story is subtle; to some it will seem no story at all, to others a thoughtful and entirely new exploration of the moods of childhood. Here is the child’s quick apperception, his vivid sensation, his playing with words and ideas, then tossing them away forever. . . . For me, the whole is an unforgettable creative experience. It may be too esoteric to have a fair chance with the average child. But it is so new in its pattern, so interesting in its word rhythms, so ‘different’ in its humor, that the person of any age who reads it gives several necessary jolts to his literary taste. Only a true artist could have written so charming a book as The World Is Round.”

The genius of Gertrude Stein produced a work of literature for children that can be called classic for its invention. She added spin to our globe.

—Edith Thacher Hurd

1985

ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

GERTRUDE STEIN (1874–1946) was born in Pittsburgh of a prosperous German-Jewish family. She was educated in France and the United States, worked under the pioneering psychologist William James, and later studied medicine. With her brother Leo she was an important patron of the arts, acquiring pictures by many contemporary artists, most famously Picasso, while her home became a popular meeting place for writers and painters from Matisse to Hemingway. Her books include Three Lives, Tender Buttons, and The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas.

CLEMENT HURD (1908–1988) is best known for illustrating Goodnight Moon and The Runaway Bunny, the classic picture books by Margaret Wise Brown. He studied painting in Paris with Fernand Léger and others in the early 1930s. After his return to the United States in 1935, he began to work in children’s books. He illustrated more than one hundred books, many of them with his wife, Edith Thacher Hurd, including the Johnny Lion books, The Day the Sun Danced, and The Merry Chase. A native of New York City, he lived most of his life in Vermont and California.

EDITH THACHER HURD (1910–1997) wrote more than eighty books in her long career. After attending Radcliffe College, she became a teacher at the Bank Street School in New York City. In the 1930s she began to write children’s books, several of them with Margaret Wise Brown, which included Five Little Firemen and Two Little Miners. She also created many beloved books with her husband, Clement Hurd. Her essay “The World Is Not Flat,” included in this edition of The World Is Round, was among her last writings.

THACHER HURD (1949–) feels fortunate to have grown up in a family of artists and writers. He graduated from the California College of the Arts with a degree in painting and has written and illustrated children’s books ever since. Among his books are Art Dog, Bad Frogs, and Bongo Fishing. His book Mama Don’t Allow won the Boston Globe/Horn Book award, and Mama Don’t Allow and Mystery on the Docks were both Reading Rainbow featured books. He and his wife, Olivia, divide their time between Vermont and Berkeley, California.

COPYRIGHT

Cover design by Agnieszka Stachowicz

Cover illustrations by Clement Hurd

THE WORLD IS ROUND

2013 edition © HarperCollinsPublishers

Book Text Copyright © 1939, renewed 1966 by Gertrude Stein

Illustration Copyright © 1939, renewed 1966 by Clement Hurd

Foreword Copyright © 2013 by John Thacher Hurd

Afterword Copyright © 1986 by The Arion Press

Letter (March 25, 1940) to Gertrude Stein from John

McCullough © 2013 The Estate of John McCullough

The essay “The World Is Not Flat” is from The World Is Round by Gertrude Stein, with pictures by Clement Hurd, and with a companion volume, The World Is Not Flat, by Edith Thacher Hurd, published by the Arion Press, San Francisco, in a limited edition in 1986.

The letters between Clement Hurd and Gertrude Stein and the letter from John McCullough to Gertrude Stein were transcribed from the original correspondence in the Collection of American Literature, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University. All correspondence is used with the permission by the Estate of Gertrude Stein, the Estate of Clement Hurd, and the Estate of John McCullough.

THE WORD IS ROUND. Copyright © 2013 by Gertrude Stein and Clement Hurd. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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