How children’s books transform K–12 architecture outreach

When I was younger and people asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, I often prefaced my answer with, “Don’t laugh.” Then I’d say I wanted to design a biosphere, a response people often met with jokes about the movie Bio-Dome starring Pauly Shore. But to me, the idea was serious. I was imagining entire environments—places designed to support life and community.

I have wanted to be an architect for as long as I can remember. Long car rides through the Lincoln Tunnel and trips over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge left me in awe that you could drive through or over water. I wondered who designed these structures, how they were built, and how the people responsible for the construction even survived the process. In middle school, I job-shadowed a structural engineer, and by my senior year in high school, I was working 15 hours a week in an architecture office.

At the time, I didn’t realize how uncommon my early-in-life pursuit of architecture was. But looking back, I see that I didn’t have a built-in mentor or a clear path forward, and I had to seek advice and knock on doors that weren’t always visible. I was often the only person I knew who wanted to be an architect, and I pursued the profession because my persistence outweighed the obstacles.

That shouldn’t be the expectation. When exposure to architecture comes too late, many students never realize it is an option. Without early language or entry points, potential paths quietly close. Children’s books offer architects a powerful, accessible way to introduce the profession early, long before students must choose a career path.

This article’s focus is why books work so well and how architects can use them to open doors that might otherwise remain closed. To better understand why these books resonate so deeply, I spoke with several of the authors behind them about their paths into architecture and storytelling.

Where my relationship with books began

My connection to children’s architecture books predates my outreach work by decades. In 2000, just before I started architecture school, I received a children’s book, Roberto the Insect Architect by Nina Laden, as a gift that helped start my personal library. At the time, there were very few books like it, but I remember sensing that it mattered.

In our conversation, Laden shared that Roberto grew out of her early exposure to architecture, which came from a parent who pointed out buildings, shared drawings, and encouraged curiosity. “Children’s books create the sparks that light the fire that grows not just readers but doers and makers,” she told me. That belief helps explain why Roberto stayed with me—and why books became central to my own outreach work.

When I began visiting elementary and middle schools for career days, STEM/STEAM programming, and Architecture Week, I instinctively started bringing books with me. Sometimes, I read them aloud; other times, I used them to spark conversation. Immediately, I noticed how books changed the tone of the room. Before we talked about floor plans or problem-solving, we talked about stories, characters, and places. From there, the leap to design felt natural.

Students weren’t responding to architecture as an abstract concept; they were responding to the idea that buildings are shaped by people making choices—and that they, too, could be part of that process.

Making the profession visible

Architecture- and place-based children’s books do more than introduce a profession. They help young readers develop spatial awareness, curiosity about the built environment, and the confidence to see themselves as designers, problem-solvers, and participants in shaping their communities.

Young learners often perceive architecture as exclusive, associated with prestige, access, and a demanding path that can feel intimidating before students understand what it involves. For those who don’t see architects in their families or communities, the field can feel abstract, distant, or simply “not for them.”

When architects visit schools, libraries, or community spaces, children’s books offer an effective entry point. They open conversations about buildings and how places support people who use them. A society shaped by designers with broader lived experiences is better equipped to create thoughtful environments.

The importance of early recognition is a theme that consistently emerged in my interviews with authors writing in this space. Author and architect Janel A. LeGard’s book You Can Be, ME TOO!  centers on helping children see themselves in the role. In our conversation, she reflected on growing up without realizing architecture was even an option. Her work creates a moment of identification—an early signal that this path exists and that you might belong here.

Mollie Elkman, author of The House That She Built, reinforces this idea by presenting architecture not as a single role but as a collaborative ecosystem. Inspired by a real home constructed entirely by women, her book introduces the architect first, followed by 17 other roles involved in bringing a building from concept to completion. Her message is clear: Whatever your skills or interests are, there is a place for you in the building industry.

For children, seeing architecture framed this way—expansive, collaborative, and human—widens the sense of who belongs before self-doubt has a chance to narrow it. That sense of belonging is reinforced not just through representation but through story.

Storytelling builds empathy and curiosity

Architecture books do more than explain architects’ jobs; they show why design matters. In Walking in the City with Jane, Susan Hughes invites young readers to observe sidewalks, parks, and neighborhoods through the lens of Jane Jacobs, paying attention to how people use and experience urban spaces. Five Stories by Ellen Weinstein traces the life of a single building across generations, revealing architecture as a quiet witness to change, memory, and community.

Together, these books help children see buildings as living frameworks shaped by people rather than as static objects. They foster empathy, observation, and a sense of belonging, all of which sit at the heart of architectural thinking.

Early exposure builds confidence, not career pressure

Many children start designing long before anyone tells them those activities “count”—building with blocks or LEGO bricks, sketching houses, or creating worlds in Minecraft. Early exposure is not about steering children toward a single profession. It is about widening the lens of what is possible. When more children see design as accessible—and see themselves reflected in it—the built environment can reflect a broader range of voices, experiences, and perspectives.

Looking ahead

Children’s books help architects meet kids where they already are: curious, observant, and eager to imagine. They make our profession visible without pressure, technical barriers, or gatekeeping.

In this series’ next article, I’ll share more from my conversations with authors and explore how storytelling is shaping a broader movement around access to education and the architecture profession. The final installment will offer classroom-ready book and activity pairings architects can use during their school visits.

For now, the invitation is simple: Show up with a book, tell a story, and let curiosity do the rest.

Many of the authors featured in this series are conducting virtual read-aloud sessions during Architecture Week. Check out the full schedule.

Lori Apfel Cardeli is the principal of LACArch, a residential architecture practice based in Bethesda, Md. She is the Maryland state representative for AIA’s Small Firm Exchange and is deeply engaged in K–12 architecture education through school visits, book drives, and her ongoing project, LACArch’s Little Book Club (@LACArchLittleBookClub).