Author-illustrator Vashti Harrison made history this year as the first Black woman to win the Caldecott Medal, which has been awarded since 1938, for her picture book Big. It tells the story of a big girl in a world that celebrates small, tracing her journey to self-love and showing the power of words to both hurt and heal. Harrison also received 2024 Coretta Scott King Author and Illustrator Honor awards.
American Libraries spoke with Harrison about the response from readers nationwide, life after winning the Caldecott, and how the publishing world can continue to elevate untold stories.
What stories have you been hearing from readers about Big?
Kids ask me questions about the narrative because there’s a lot of visual metaphor. For example, “Does the character really grow that big?” There’s a lot for readers to come to their own conclusions about—such as what the character is feeling and experiencing—and I love that. So I always flip it back on them and ask, “Well, what do you think?” It’s really cool to hear how kids are processing story and processing emotions.
Kids have an extreme sense of justice. I always feel uncomfortable reading the tough parts of the story, particularly the parts about bullying. It never feels good. But what always does feel good is hearing kids protest: “That’s not right! That’s not fair!” It makes me feel great when kids stand up for something if they don’t think it’s right.
I have lots of good conversations with adults who process it through their own lens of “This is something that I went through. I wish I had had a story like this.” It’s bittersweet. I wish we all knew that many of us go through the same thing. Maybe we would have felt a little less alone in those really tough, sad moments.
What role have libraries played in your life and work?
As I mentioned, I grew up in a pretty small town, but I also didn’t have a lot of books in my house growing up. My mom didn’t like spending money on books, and I get it—books are expensive.
So the way I accessed them was at school or through the library. I loved going to the library. Even though our public library was very small here in Virginia, I always found something there. I remember always having this feeling like, “I’m going find something good here today. And I don’t know how, but there’s always something new and something interesting.”
And even when I pivoted in my career from working in film and television and making movies, I moved back home to try to figure out how to become an illustrator. When I started taking children’s books really seriously and tried to not be intimidated by the fact that kids’ books are usually 16 spreads of paintings—that seems like a lot of work—I went to my public library to just research, see what’s out there, and get inspired.
I’ve always wanted to recapture that feeling [in my books] of like, “There could be something magical here that I could find today. I’m going to find something that’s going to excite me or take me on an adventure.”
Even if it’s just the way the book is shaped or the texture on the cover, I want to make something that feels special, that someone might find this in a space where they didn’t expect it. If it’s not just through aesthetic, it’s through the idea of creating something that could surprise somebody and make them feel comforted.
When you were at the ALA conference, did you hear any stories from librarians directly about your work that really resonated with you?
I regularly hear from an educator or librarian saying, “I have one student in particular who needs this book.” To me, the way that these folks are paying attention to readers, to the people in their spaces, and that direct connection that they can make with the story, feels so big. It feels so much bigger than saying, “Everyone needs this book.” To know that one book could make an impact on one person’s life.
I’ve had other people have concerns. “Well, I don’t know. What is it saying if I give this book to this kid? Am I saying that this kid is big?” I don’t know exactly how I would have responded when I was a young person, but just knowing that someone was paying attention and hearing you [would have been powerful]. And that experience in the book where the character gives back those unkind words—that is something I would have liked my younger self to model.
To know that these librarians are able to point out, “There are specific people in my life, in my library, in my school, that need this book,” that somehow feels so much bigger and more impactful to me.
In your acceptance speech, you talked about the Black Caldecott Honor winners who helped pave a way for you. You, too, are now paving a way for other creators.
I would love to know that this win means that there will be some momentum. I know that there are incredibly talented people out there, and I will do what I can to lift them up so that their work can be seen and shared and hopefully lead a pathway toward more of these awards.
People always ask me, “Why do awards matter?” I went to a very small school. I lived in a very, very small town. We didn’t have big budgets at our school library, but we did have a lot of the award-winning books.
And so I think about the budget that libraries and schools have for which books they can get. Having an award emblem on a book might get it into spaces like that, so kids like me can see it. So it does mean something. And I hope any work I do encourages more diverse, interesting, talented young people to get their work out there.
How can the publishing world further highlight diverse voices?
I will always cherish the fact that people love my books and celebrate them, and I will always cherish this award. But when someone comes to me and says, “Well, you should write a book about this or that,” I always counter by saying, “There are incredible books out there that are already published. Why are we not celebrating those?”
In this effort for diverse books, I think diversity should exist across genre as well. I write serious and tender books, so that’s just my vibe. But I would love to see some silly and goofy books. I was thinking the other day about what books were popular when I was a kid, like The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales [by Jon Scieszka, illustrated by Lane Smith]. Black and Brown kids need jokey, goofy books and things like Dragons Love Tacos [by Adam Rubin, illustrated by Daniel Salmieri]. They deserve to laugh and have joy, too. There are great people making books like that, and I would like to elevate them and see those books on the bestsellers list.
