Pity the artistic endeavors of the too-effectively creative, for they are the ones most easily ignored.

It isn’t much of a stretch to say that in the field of nonfiction, Jason Chin may be one of our most epic and inspiring grand masters. If he writes about trees, he doesn’t limit himself to the odd birch or elm but to vegetation capable of sustaining whole ecosystems, as in Redwoods (2009). If he writes about reefs, the entire ocean is his to command, alongside a barrier reef wide and gorgeous in scope (Coral Reefs, 2011). Little wonder the man took it upon himself to single-handedly tackle what could arguably be called the most impressive natural wonder of the American West.

In Grand Canyon, Chin simultaneously treads familiar ground while also covering a natural wonder like no one has ever covered/explained it before. In his bag of tricks he adds a new element to his mix of pen and ink, watercolors, and gouache: die-cuts. Once the purview of peek-a-boo board books, Chin uses the cuts to make direct correlations between contemporary fossils and ancient seabeds/critters. The general conceit of the book is that a child and her father are hiking the canyon by themselves. Along the way she may spot a fossilized shell, a set of ancient tracks, or an interesting-looking rock. Turn the page and the die-cut pulls away to reveal an ancient world, millions of years in the past. There is an immediacy to this technique. Kids are constantly being asked to view or look at fossils, but this is one of the few books I’ve run across that makes a direct connection to the past in such a concrete way.

And it’s purdy. Never underestimate the power of sheer beauty. As he writes in his author’s note, Chin visited the Grand Canyon, taking pains to depict specific locations on specific trails. But in many ways it isn’t enough to adhere to accuracy. A Caldecott committee isn’t swayed particularly by fine facts and figures. Nor will they be all that impressed by the accuracy of Chin’s depiction of the trails. And so we have to pause for a moment and consider what makes a nonfiction book about science and nature a Caldecott contender. Here’s a question for you: what was the last science-based book to win a Caldecott Honor or Award? You might be able to make a case for 2014’s Locomotive by Brian Floca, and you could also argue for 2007’s Honor title Gone Wild: An Endangered Animal Alphabet by David McLimans. Notice the seven-year gap there, though. Science makes only the rarest of appearances on these lists. When it comes to nonfiction, biographies, to put it plainly, are far more beloved of the Caldecott committees.

Now here’s the kicker. Jason Chin is one of those fellows that falls into what I like to call The Caldecott Gap. Because he works in the realm of realism, Caldecott committees are often less inclined to consider such books as true contenders (see: Bagram Ibatoulline, Gennady Spirin, Kadir Nelson, etc). Add in the fact that what Chin is doing here has been done in previous books to different ecosystems before, and you take away the element of surprise that so many debut illustrators enjoy.  And yet, I look at that last spread of the book where the gatefold pages pull apart and we see a panoramic view of the canyon and I think of what the professional reviewers said of this title. They called it “breathtaking” (SLJ), “awe-inspiring” (PW), “beautiful” (Kirkus), and “immersive” (Horn Book). Lovely words, but will anyone call it “award winning” in the future? That’s for the Caldecott committee alone to decide.

Read the starred Horn Book Magazine review of Grand Canyon.

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