Nara and the Island

In a magic-tinged story about finding unexpected connections, Romanian-British illustrator Ungureanu introduces a redheaded girl who finds life a bit tame on the island where she lives with her father. Her attitude is understandable: the island is scarcely larger than the home they share, “so small, you can’t lose anything,” as Nara’s father puts it. In a sequence of panels, Nara imagines traveling to a nearby island covered with dense foliage—“I could ask the birds to fly my there”—but reality proves simpler as her father takes her there in their newly fixed boat. Ungureanu laces his tale with vague, enticing details (Nara’s father’s work involves a giant fish glimpsed in the waters below); upon reaching the other island, Nara meets a boy who’s similar to her in some ways and her opposite in others (his name, Aran, is the reverse of hers, and he longs for the simplicity and quiet of her island). The muted palette, smudgy line work, and somewhat unexplained nature of Nara’s situation add up to a haunting, slightly surreal story that speaks to the rewards of both independence and companionship. Ages 4–9. (Oct.)