Friends, authors, and former colleagues pay tribute to the beloved editor and publisher, who died on January 23 at age 81.
Linda Sue Park
Dinah pulled my debut manuscript from the slush pile in 1997, and we worked together for the next 20-plus years, publishing 20 books all told. Not many editor-author pairs can claim such longevity. She knew how to drag me kicking and screaming to the book I was trying to write all along—by asking gentle and perspicacious questions.
Dinah is part of so many of my fondest memories. Once, a mix-up occurred when the publisher was supposed to send a car for me; because of the snafu, I ended up walking to the destination—only a few blocks away. A few months later, right before the 2002 ALA awards banquet in Atlanta, Dinah told me to meet her in the hotel lobby. I assumed that we would walk to the banquet, which was to take place in the hotel next door. To my astonishment, an enormous stretch limo was outside waiting! It took us on a lovely tour of Atlanta before dropping us off at the banquet. Dinah and her staff had been determined to make up for the earlier missed ride!
And, not inconsequentially, 2002 was the year Dinah edited the Newbery and the Caldecott Medal titles—my A Single Shard and David Wiesner’s The Three Pigs. What a banquet that was!
I’m so fortunate to have been able to work with her. Beyond the pages, we had fun whenever we were together. We talked a lot about restaurants and cooking and knitting. Before she died, she sent me two big boxes full of knitting equipment, including a swift and a ball winder. Knitters will understand how special these gifts are. I will miss her doubly—as editor and as friend.
Jennifer Greene
My first encounter with Dinah was when I interviewed for an assistant editor position at Clarion Books, a job I desperately wanted, in the late ’90s. It was a slushy, wet February day, and I wore rainboots, so I went to the restroom to put on shoes and calm my nerves. I didn’t realize this meant walking through the entire Houghton Mifflin office to reach the bathrooms in the back. (In retrospect—why did I not simply wear the boots during the interview? Or swap them out in the lobby?) Of course, once I was in the ladies’ room, who walks in but Dinah. Neither of us had any idea what the other looked like, but Dinah very gently said, “I bet you’re my one o’clock interview. I’ll see you in a few minutes and I’ll pretend I didn’t see you here!”
What followed was 25 wonderful years of working together. Dinah opened the door for me into the coveted, magical world of children’s books and taught me pretty much everything I know about editing and publishing as well as quite a bit about life. She was quietly kind, and it almost goes without saying that in those years I never once heard her yell or even speak sternly. She was incredibly modest despite being a fascinating person and an absolute rock star of an editor, and generous in her mentoring. I like to think her very high expectations and standards shaped who I am as an editor—I feel I have been classically trained. I often hear her voice in my head as I work or go about my day, and I know she will continue to be a presence with me. I will think of her every day, always.
David Wiesner
Dinah was my friend and a part of my editorial team for a dozen years before she became my primary editor. That friendship made the transition in our professional relationship very easy. Our working method was to sit next to each other on a couch in her office and go over the sketches and dummies of my books. I never got an editorial letter; it was all verbal. These talks were the core of our creative process. As I was developing a story, she would ask wonderfully insightful questions to help me clarify my thinking. Just as importantly, she also knew when to leave me alone. When a story was in place we would sit together and revel in the nuts and bolts of its structure. As good as Dinah was with writers who used words, she was equally adept at reading and analyzing the flow of the pictures in my wordless books. And oh, how we would laugh! Dinah had a wicked sense of humor and a keen sense of the absurd. When I once asked her if something I had come up with was maybe too weird, she famously said to me, “Weird is good.” A response so perfect it became our mantra from that day on. She was a great editor and a dear friend.
Joann Hill
I met Dinah Stevenson in my first job out of art school. I was an assistant to the art director at Lothrop, Lee & Shepard, an imprint at William Morrow. Dinah was an executive editor then, and we became friendly because she was a real foodie and sometimes I would bake a coffee cake for the office, which delighted her. We realized our birthdays were close, so we started a tradition of going out for a fancy lunch each year during Scorpio Season. In hindsight I loved that Dinah was so eager to make friends with colleagues of all ages and different interests. After she became publisher at Clarion Books, she was looking for an art director and reached out to me. Though we knew each other very well, she interviewed/grilled me for well over an hour! I got the job. The 10years we worked together at Clarion are a real highlight of my career, with books we published winning Newbery, Caldecott, Sibert, and Coretta Scott King awards. Dinah had extraordinary skill as an editor, working to bring the best out of every manuscript from picture books to novels to nonfiction. When I picture Dinah in my mind’s eye, she is at her desk piled high with papers, she looks up from her work, her glasses perched on the end of her nose, she smiles and calls out “WHERE SHOULD WE GO FOR LUNCH?!”
Gary D. Schmidt
Several books ago, Dinah called to tell me that she was flying in to Grand Rapids to have The Talk with me. This was intriguing enough, but to have it come with just a couple of days’ notice suggested unusual urgency. So she arrived, and we had lunch and went back to the house, and sitting in front of the wood stove and rubbing my Border collie between his ears, Dinah explained that companies make relationships through financial commitments and she had four contracts with her in her briefcase and she’d like me to sign them please. I reminded her that I never signed contracts before the books were done, and she nodded, she remembered that. And I told her that having a due date only made me tense, and she nodded again. “But that’s how the company wants to do things,” she said. How about you and I do things this way? I said, and the two of us stood up. I promise I’ll give you the next four books—and however many we can do together after that. And Dinah, because she’s Dinah, said “Good enough,” and we shook hands.
She probably got heck from the company for this, but Dinah wasn’t just a fabulous editor, an impeccable judge of plot lines and characters and language and tone, with remarkably astute questions that pointed the right way every time. Dinah sensed instinctively—who knows how?—what her writers needed. Then she found the ways to give that to them.
I once mentioned to another writer that Dinah was my editor, and that writer gave a low whistle and said, “Whoa, I am afraid of her.” Dinah was demanding, no doubt. And she expected a lot—again, no doubt. But who does not want that of your editor? Who does not want her to give you hard work? Who does not see those demands as blessings? And the thing is, Dinah knew how to make you believe you could do what she hoped for you. So now I do what she’d want me to do: every morning I build a fire in the wood stove. I sit down at my desk and rub the Border collie between the ears. Then I take a quick gulp of very hot tea, and get to work.
Marcia Leonard
Dinah Stevenson meant the world to me professionally. I first met her at an ALA conference in the summer of 1978. I moved to Manhattan the following January and then worked for her twice, first at J.B. Lippincott and later at Clarion Books. On both occasions, I learned so much from her, observing how she encouraged and supported staff members and an amazing array of prize-winning artists and authors, how she offered everyone both guidance and freedom to explore. She worked for me when I was a children’s book packager, serving as a creative and reliable freelance writer. And over the many years, we attended conferences and speeches together and shared publishing news.
Dinah also meant the world to me personally. She graciously sang at my wedding. I graciously did not sing at hers. We traveled together, went to craft fairs and resale shops together, traded recipes and recommendations, talked endlessly, and trusted each other completely. It’s hard to imagine either world without her. But I know her legacy and my memories of her will live on.
Lynne Polvino
Dinah hired me for my first job in children’s publishing, as the administrative assistant for Clarion Books. The first thing she said to me when I sat down for my interview was that I misspelled the word “administrative” in my cover letter. I nearly died and figured I might as well get up and leave right then and there. But we carried on, and she called me in for a second interview, which I went to during my lunch break from a horrible data entry temp job at a giant insurance company. This time, she eyed my outfit and said, “I thought you were coming from your temp job—isn’t that a very corporate office?” I looked down at my dress, which was short and had an awful lot of zippers (it was the 90s!), shrugged, and said, I guess this is as corporate as I get.
She later told me that answer, and the fact that I had so many earrings (again, it was the ’90s) was what made her decide to hire me—she also claimed to have hired one of Clarion’s designers partly because of his interesting forearm tattoos. People who didn’t fit the mold and marched to their own drummers were Dinah’s people. Her affinity for weirdos—her appreciation of unique voices and perspectives—shaped the Clarion list and made Clarion an extraordinary place to work and to learn about children’s publishing.
I attended my first ALA annual conference when The Three Pigs and A Single Shard received the Caldecott and Newbery Medals. What a thrill! I was still an assistant, and had no idea at the time how lucky I was to be a part of those celebrations, or how rare it was for one editor’s books to be awarded the nation’s two highest children’s book honors in the same year. Dinah was generous in including junior staff at celebrations and events and it was a time when budgets allowed it. She brought us to Newbery-Caldecott banquets and the National Book Awards (for An American Plague by Jim Murphy), invited us to meals at Gramercy Tavern and Chez Panisse (we had just published Bring Me Some Apples and I’ll Make You a Pie by Robbin Gourley), and introduced us to the magic and power—and, yes, the glamour—of the world of children’s books.
Dinah was a foodie before “foodies” were even a thing (Dinah was a lot of things before they were “a thing”; a true trailblazer), and she relished gathering people together for a good meal to celebrate good books. She loved to be surrounded by her community of authors and illustrators and colleagues and friends. And she was always quietly modest about her successes and her impact, even though everyone knew she was a total legend.
Dinah was generous with her mentorship of younger editors, too. Assisting her was more like a close apprenticeship than a job; over the 25 years we worked together, her high standards and her care for language and respect for the art of bookmaking have become a part of my editorial DNA. I wouldn’t be the editor I am today without Dinah’s guidance and mentorship, and I often hear her wise and exacting voice in my head as I work. Right now, she’s telling me that this remembrance is way too long and has far too many adjectives. She’s right, of course. But how could I possibly say less?
Carol Goldenberg Rosen
I was the art director at Clarion Books when Dinah arrived from Lothrop, Lee & Shepard. Dorothy Briley told me I would enjoy working with Dinah, that in addition to her considerable talents as an editor, she was also the “best nitpicker in the business.” What she didn’t prepare me for was Dinah’s uproarious sense of humor—I can still hear her hearty laugh in my mind as I write this. And she really understood kids! At the time I was the only one with a young child in the office and Dinah delighted in my son’s visits, encouraging him to tell her jokes, and the sillier the better. Dinah and I frequently ended our emails over the years with one of his favorite punchlines, “Got any duck food?” long after forgetting what the joke even meant!
After I became a freelance art director, I worked with Dinah on all of David Wiesner’s picture books, always marveling at her astute, insightful comments and editorial vision. Plus, she could cut flap copy down to its essence better than anyone I’ve worked with. She seemingly knew just what to say, what not to say, and most critically, when to wait and let David do his magic. I am so grateful to have worked with her; she was truly one-of-a-kind and will be very much missed.
Lisa DiSarro
It is not an overstatement to refer to Dinah as a legend. She had an incredible eye for talent and ability to guide those gifted creators to do their best work. She was also publishing incredibly diverse stories and creators before there was a demand for them. But aside from her remarkable achievements as an editor and publisher, I will always remember her kind guidance and support. How special it felt to know she wanted your opinion on something and recognized your hard work.
I still remember an ALA event we hosted where editors were previewing some upcoming titles. Suddenly a rock band started playing next door, practically drowning out our speakers. It was a disaster, but the librarians remained in their seats, a sympathetic and kind audience, and the editors pressed on. The hotel wouldn’t do anything to help and I thought it would go down as the worst event we’d ever had. I sent a note to the editorial team later thanking them for their professionalism and sticking with it, despite the awful distraction and interruption. And Dinah’s response was, “And hats off to you for making the evening work despite all the hotel incompetence!”
She was truly a gem, and I’m so honored to have known her, and to have worked with her and so many of the incredible creators she brought to the children’s book world.
Karen Cushman
Many years ago, when Dinah learned I didn’t know enough to keep a first edition of The Midwife’s Apprentice for myself, she gave me her own copy in a hand-made box embossed with the words, “For the magic of her spells and the miracle of her skills.” She meant the inscription for me, but I think it more apt for her. Dinah’s dedication and proficiency are why I have a writing life now.
Dinah my editor became Dinah my friend. Lured by the promise of forest walks, thrift shops, and long talks about books, friends, food, and the obvious superiority of orange cats, she visited us here on Vashon Island (a whole country away from New York) so often that I made a Reserved for Dinah sign for the guest room door.
Away from the office, Dinah relaxed into a warm, silly, and delightful guest. For one visit, she arrived with a three-pound ball of fresh mozzarella in her suitcase!
In one of our last emails, she recounted her favorite island memories: searching for second-hand socks and silk blouses at Granny’s Attic, cuddling under lap robes and cats in big chairs by the fire, laughing about the time my husband Phil wrapped the required necktie around his forehead at a fancy dinner, working through a problem involving one of My Girls—her provoking, me trying to keep up.
I called her Editrix, in all the best meanings of the word, connoting female intelligence and power, and I will always remember her with love.
Jim Armstrong
What a treat to have worked at Clarion Books while Dinah was in charge! Clarion was a small operation when I started there 25 years ago, a satellite imprint in N.Y.C. of the much larger Houghton Mifflin in Boston. We had a collegial group of talented, dedicated people, and Dinah was our benevolent boss. She was by nature low-key and reserved, but when the occasion called for it, she could, and would, speak enthusiastically, eloquently, and at length about her authors and illustrators, and about the stunning books they created. It goes without saying that she loved words, loved language, loved the printed page. She worked tirelessly, on her own and with others, at all aspects of making children’s books. In addition to being a superior manager and astute publisher, she was a thoughtful and generous colleague. She took great satisfaction in throwing a party, especially the eagerly anticipated Clarion Chill Chaser, which was held in the office every December for authors, illustrators, and the in-house staff, and the SCBWI-related potluck dinner at her home in Hoboken every February. Good times, indeed, presided over by a remarkable woman, boss, friend.
Lin Oliver
Dinah Stevenson’s contribution to the body of children’s literature was quietly enormous. Her elegant taste and exacting standards made the books she published stand out from the crowd. Her eye for talent brought forth writers whose works have done nothing less than enhanced the world and our understanding of it. Her devotion to quality, to detail, to refined thought were singular. She was everything a book editor should be—loyal, devoted, passionate, curious, a teacher, a listener, and a fan. She was an active volunteer in the SCBWI, offering to teach each new generation of writers coming up. She never compromised her standards to suit the marketplace. She protected and loved her writers. When Russell Freedman was too ill to accept his Golden Kite award, Dinah flew across the country to accept it for him, and brought a thousand people to tears. I will always remember our lunches at the Gramercy Tavern, a treat we indulged in whenever I came to New York. Dinah with her long, beautiful braid, telling me about her latest discovery, still brimming with creative ardor after all those years of practicing her craft. The only thing better than the food was the great love and intellectual excitement that radiated from her, across the table, and directly into my heart.
Betsy Groban
I’ve adored and worshiped Dinah for over 40 years. I’ll let others speak to her courage, her dignity, and her nonpareil editorial brilliance (I mean who else, without looking it up, knows the difference between a foreword, an afterword, a preface, and an introduction?) I’d rather talk about the tattoo she got on her wrist for a Big Birthday (it said NOW) and the clothing exchange we kept up for decades. Dinah and I lived and worked in different cities (New York and Boston), but in addition to the obvious — our devotion to children’s books — we had a lot in common, and very similar taste in clothes. Whenever we saw each other, we’d exchange a nondescript paper or plastic bag containing a few of our latest loved-but-no-longer-wanted garments. Like so many others, I can’t believe that Dinah is truly gone. I feel so lucky to have so many glorious memories of our time together, as well as a sampling of her beautiful clothes.
Starr LaTronica
Everyone knows that Dinah Stevenson was a brilliant editor with an acute eye for talent, but as her friend for over 30 years, I want to tell you some things you may not know:
She was so funny—with a wit that was sly, wry, and dry, and she served up zingers and clever asides constantly so you always had to pay attention. Equally, she had an abiding affection for offbeat humor and a storehouse of quotes at the ready (often from one of her books) to illustrate her deep appreciation of silliness.
Dinner with Dinah was always an adventure! From a fantastic Vietnamese restaurant in a strip mall in the hinterlands of Las Vegas to the President’s Dining Room after hours at the Metropolitan Museum of Art to chicken with a brick in her Hoboken kitchen, the food was delicious, but the experience was unforgettable!
Dinah had a discerning eye and could spot a beautiful object or a quirky, unique item in any environment—art shows, flea markets, or high-end shops, which made it a delight to shop with her. She also had both the sensibility and the honesty to let you know when a dress didn’t “sing” and save you from a costly mistake.
Most of all, she was incredibly generous, with her time, her attention, her counsel, her loyalty, and her love. She also generously shared her friendships. It gave her great pleasure and satisfaction to connect people who would enjoy, support and champion one another, especially if they were authors, illustrators, librarians, booksellers, or fellow book lovers.
So, really, when you think about it, all the qualities that made Dinah a brilliant editor also made her a brilliant friend.
Sharismar Rodriguez
How to share memories of Dinah without starting from the very first time we met? Clarion Books’ art director, Joann Hill, had called me in for a second interview to meet the imprint’s publisher, our dear Dinah Stevenson. Back then, I didn’t know just how legendary Dinah was. All I knew was that if I wanted to secure this dream job, I had to impress her. I was incredibly nervous, and all I can remember saying was asking if she would allow me to place my metal-covered portfolio on her beautiful vintage coffee table. However, what will forever stay with me is her warm and friendly smile, her calm demeanor, and her sense of humor. I still don’t know how I managed to make an impression on her that day, but knowing that she believed in me propelled me to never disappoint her.
I once had a professor who quoted the phrase “standing on the shoulders of giants” when discussing achieving success in one’s career. However, with Dinah, it was never like that. Not because she wasn’t a giant herself, but because she made sure you never felt small. Whether I was sitting next to her as a designer assistant working on my first sample pages or collaborating with her as the art director on her next “big book,” I was always treated as her equal and colleague.
One of Dinah’s most memorable pieces of advice to me was when she came by to congratulate me on my promotion. She simply said, “Congratulations! Now, don’t rest on your laurels. We still have work to do.”
Being able to have her as both a mentor and a friend has been of immense value to me, and I consider myself incredibly fortunate, just as many others who had the privilege of knowing her do.
Mary Downing Hahn
Dinah Stevenson was a pleasure to work with and to know. I was fortunate to have her as an editor and a friend. I will miss her insightful comments and skillful editing. She improved every manuscript she read and helped me to become a better writer. I never expected to lose her so soon.
Daniel Nayeri
The first time I walked into Dinah’s corner office on the Houghton Mifflin Harcourt floor of a Park Avenue building in New York City, I noticed two things: there were piles of manuscripts everywhere, and her paperweight was a Caldecott Medal. By reputation, I already knew she was one of the winningest editors in the history of children’s literature, having worked with David Wiesner, Karen Cushman, Linda Sue Park, Russell Freedman, and many more legends besides. I had come from a very commercial house in an adult trade division and wanted to make a good first impression, so on my first day of working for her I came in with a manuscript for a flashy middle-grade adventure series. I gave her a pitch to acquire it with a bunch of references to current bestselling megahits and said I thought we should probably snag the first three books right away before the agent takes it to auction. Well, she looked at me with a straight face and said she didn’t know about any of the bestsellers I’d mentioned, but that here, at her imprint, “We count our wins in January.”
That was all she had to say. Her standard was nothing short of greatness. She wanted us to bring in lasting literature, not trendy IP. And I loved her for it. In a time when everyone was trying to figure out how to retool their publishing companies into brand factories, she was having breakfast with librarians and talking about the important things. Dinah became one of the only people I could rightly call a mentor. I knew I’d made it into her circle when she trusted me to upload a dozen Swedish crime novels to her e-reader for her flight to Bologna, and when she asked me to read a story by one of her lifelong authors to offer feedback. She was also a friend. We made meals together, shuttled back and forth to Boston for Sale Launches, and balanced spoons on our noses during ALA gala dinners. She was one of the grande dames of children’s literature and I will miss her fiercely.
Bruce Coville
Dinah Stevenson was my editor for my first four books, and she changed my life. I’ve just re-read the very first letter she sent to me, expressing an interest in The Foolish Giant, a picture book that my wife Kathy and I had been working on. With exquisite timing, that letter arrived on July 7 of 1977, or 7/7/77, supposedly the luckiest day of the century! It was certainly one of the luckiest days of our lives. Rereading the letter now, more than 45 years later, it is abundantly clear how much work the book still needed... and how perfectly Dinah saw both its flaws and its possibilities. She was tough as nails, and we clashed a lot, especially when it came to humor. But Kathy and I could not have asked for a better mentor, or a better editor to guide us into the publishing world. She was old school in the very best sense of the term, and we are forever in her debt.
Anne Hoppe
While the galaxy of Dinah’s award-winning contributions to children’s literature shines brightly, it may be that her biggest impact on our culture is one of her least known. As a junior editor tasked with writing copy for a series of stories in which readers determined the outcome by deciding which page to turn to next, she coined the phrase “Choose your own adventure,” felicitous wording that now denotes an entire genre. But I think that if Dinah had had a personal motto, it would have been “Choose your own team.” Dinah knew that publishing was made up of people, not numbers, and she never lost sight of the humanity at the core of children’s books. She surrounded herself with talented creators and colleagues, and she trusted them to make the best work possible, offering light touches that elevated good efforts to extraordinary work, and whenever possible having a little fun and good food along the way.
