Children's Books: Week of 7/10/2006

Picture Books

Unlike the shy hero of Lucas's debut, Halibut Jackson, redheaded, pig-tailed Nutmeg takes her fate into her own hands. And well she might, for she lives in a dismal dwelling jammed with bits of broken machinery. "There was always cardboard for breakfast. There was always string for lunch. There was always sawdust for supper." Nutmeg's Uncle Nicodemus and Cousin Nesbit sit stolidly in their post-industrial surroundings, but readers sense that Nutmeg wants more. "I am going for a walk," says she. "Whatever for?" says her uncle. "I don't know!" snaps Nutmeg. A genie in a blue bottle washes up onto the gray-brown landscape and gives the girl a magic spoon, whose power, like the broom in The Sorcerer's Apprentice, stirs their dreary abode into chaos. Soon the whole household spins off on a dizzying adventure, to a world that offers succulent meals in jewel-like hues. Lucas tempers his clean black lines with the sweetness of his palette; his whimsical interiors reveal more curiosities with every viewing, in both dreamy spreads and crisp sequential panels. But just as the story's getting off the ground, it's over, like candy that melts too soon. There's nothing to do but turn back to the beginning and start again; and that's likely just what young readers will do. Ages 3-8. (Aug.)

Fleming's (Barnyard Banter) signature cotton fiber illustrations are as sumptuous as ever in this tale of a farmyard mix-up. For reasons not revealed, Cow wakes up "to find she had lost her moo." But who has her moo? None of the usual suspects pans out—although Cow's quest gives readers the opportunity to make a number of crowd-pleasing sounds, plus Cow's catchy refrain: "It is not you who has my moo." Not until the end of a disappointing day does Cow discover that one of the chickens sounds distinctly unchicken-y. "Hen!" Cow shouts. "It is you who has my moo!" Sounds are mysteriously exchanged and order is restored under starry rural skies. Rich, unusual textures and luxuriant colors, long Fleming's hallmark, here combine in a way that makes every composition feel positively indulgent. Cow, rendered in chocolate brown accented in electric red and ultramarine, seems like a celebration of all things bovine; even the tiny yellow birds and skinny green snake take on a luminous presence, as if put on the page to remind the audience of just how wonderful the world is. Will readers be frustrated by the lack of explanation for the story's premise and conclusion? Perhaps—then again, these pages could be seen as a gorgeous launching pad for a question every youngster savors answering: "What do you think happened?" Ages 4-8. (Aug.)

In this near-wordless book, a sky-blue rhinoceros gets mistaken for another sort of beast. The trouble starts when a groovy long-haired zookeeper, idly whistling and blasé about his job, designates the rhino's stone enclosure with a red arrow reading "Hippo." The rhino, and two leggy purple birds on its shoulder, regard the sign with chagrin. When a society matron, in a dialogue bubble, pinches her nose and says "Hippo," the rhinoceros cries, "No, rhino!/ Fix the sign-o!" Its outbursts scare off several visitors, and the tiny birds fail in their attempt to knock down the sign. Finally a sympathetic boy in a sunny yellow coat—who has noticed the zookeeper's carelessness since the copyright page—quietly sets things right, and the rhino and birds can finally relax. (In the punch line, readers find out the lackadaisical keeper has labeled the unhappy hippopotamus "Porcupine-o.") Newman's (Reginald) full-bleed watercolor spreads emit a '70s retro vibe, with animals and humans pictured in a rainbow of hot colors on clear white pages. His saturated hues of rusty orange, violet, turf green and aquamarine suggest Eric Carle's tissue-paper palette and layering technique. Newman takes the single joke as far as it will go, and youngsters will enjoy being in on it from the beginning. Ages 3-6. (July)

Marvelous hand-lettering and meticulous oil paintings hearken to 19th-century Barnum ads—or 1960s counterculture poster art—in Rex's offbeat (The Dirty Cowboy) tale. The punny "tree-ring" circus of the title is not a big top, however, but a "fast-growing," nearly leafless tree and its unlikely inhabitants: "A chicken./ Two blue jays, three squirrels, a clown,/ a cat who climbed up but can't find her way down,/ three chipmunks, two sparrows,/ a whopping big bee,/ five mice and a raven/ all live in the tree." When 12 more animals (two tigers, one ostrich, etc.) escape from a traveling circus and perch on the thick, twisty branches, the tree is full, and ambitious readers can count the participants as listed in the cumulative text. At this moment, the 13th escapee—an elephant—appears, and the caption reads simply, "Drumroll, please," as the pachyderm makes its ascent. When the boughs break, the occupants tumble to the grass below "and flee from the lea/ where the tree used to be." Dr. Seuss fans, primed by the rhyme, may recall Thidwick, the Big-Hearted Moose, who allowed a whole menagerie to reside in his antlers. Rex creates an absurd counting scenario, but there's no explanation for the tree's popularity—the animals aren't talking. Instead of a plot, this book's strengths are its jazzy, oversize display type and the dainty oil renderings of the tree-climbers, who fairly pop off flattened backdrops of pastel yellow, baby blue and pale mint green. Ages 3-7. (June)

Gender weighs on the mind of John Hercules Po, the only boy in his kindergarten class. Every day, John's second-grader brother warns that playing with girls turns a guy "into a sissy," and John anxiously asserts he'll turn the girls "into tomboys" first. At recess, John eagerly proposes what he considers boyish fun ("Let's build a skyscraper!"). To his surprise, his classmates add to his original ideas—although the 19 girls follow John's initiative every time. After a feigned battle with a yeti atop icy-blue Everest slopes, John reports that the girls "throw snowballs hard." When they pretend a wooden wagon is a race car and christen it the Sarah Louise, John protests the "sissy name," but takes the driver's seat, with his companions in a toboggan row behind him. Salerno (Coco the Carrot) styles his graceful and energetic pictures after Bemelmans's Madeline, and gives the pert girls a variety of curls, braids and skin tones; John's blue school blazer and tie stand out from his classmates' uniform red jumpers. Pattison (The Journey of Oliver K. Woodman) challenges the terms "sissy" and "tomboy"; when John's brother judges the girls "nineteen tomboys," John corrects him by saying "nineteen friends." Ultimately, though, the "one lone boy"—no sissy he—exhibits the strongest personality and the greatest influence. Horace and Morris but Mostly Dolores and Chester's Way do a better job of undermining girl/boy stereotypes. Ages 4-up. (June)

In an intriguing premise from newcomer Coombs,Kalli is the village's secret-keeper. "I sell loaves weighing less than full measure," the village baker confesses to Kalli. "I've made a bad match," the marriage-maker confides. In Kalli's magic hands, the secrets turn into tiny objects, rocks and charms, which she stores in hundreds of drawers that line the walls of her thatched hut. The villagers aren't evil—they just need to lighten their loads. At last, though, their cumulative burden makes Kalli ill, and the villagers at her bedside discover that she needs to hear some good secrets, too. "I'm going to be a painter when I grow up," says a boy, and his secret turns into a blue butterfly. The gentle potter's son has a secret, too: " 'I love the secret-keeper," he confesses, causing joy and merriment in the village. Solomon's (Clever Beatrice) gouaches conjure up a classic fairy-tale setting, with half-timbered buildings and craftsmen sporting blouses and smocks. Yet she also introduces post-modern elements in the quietest, most judicious places; readers can detect scanned digital images of woodgrain and flower petals beneath the forest-colored gouache. In the same way, Coombs introduces 21st-century self-reflection into her otherwise traditional tale. Her characters do not need to be punished in order to reform—no asses' ears or red-hot shoes for them. Just the knowledge that their misdeeds have made a fellow creature suffer is enough to inspire an antidote. Ages 4-8. (June)

In this tale of compulsive wordplay, flame-haired Bob (aka Robert Trebor) discovers palindromes and becomes possessed by language. He notices mirror-image words and phrases everywhere, and begins listing "My kayak. My race car. Otto, my pup.... I needed to tell Mom and Dad and... O no!" Realizing the literal truth of the book title, Bob rushes to inform his sister Anna: "You're all palindromes! Even Nan!" Anna, snacking on Doofy Food, cautions, "Level, Bob, level. You're being a kook!" Bob's apprehension increases in a way that's both funny and infectious. "It will get better, won't it now?" he reasons, unwittingly compounding the irony. Shulman (AA Is for Aardvark) and McCauley (My Friend Chicken) mimic the high anxiety of Scieszka and Smith's Math Curse, down to the speckly illustration style and playful display type. They emphasize the palindromes with old-fashioned, circus-like capital letters that suit the hyper mood perfectly; street signs, book titles and incidental background details further reveal the palindrome epidemic. Fans of Jon Agee's palindrome titles will want to check out this volume, which slyly promotes a catchy spelling game. Ages 5-10. (June)

Henderson (Three Wise Women) and Ray (Jinnie Ghost) here resurrect "one of the oldest stories in the world," and elegantly present it anew for young audiences. The feats of the youthful Lugalbanda (meaning "little prince") originally were recorded in wedge-shaped marks called cuneiform in a pair of epic poems on clay tablets, more than 4,000 years ago. Set in Ancient Sumer, which we now call Iraq, this tale, with its themes of war and peace, is eerily timely. Lugalbanda follows his seven older brothers, all army commanders, into war to plunder another city's riches. When the boy falls ill along the way, the brothers leave him behind with provisions. After three days, the boy wakes, and his encounter with the legendary Anzu bird, a "monster of the skies," helps save him. The great bird grants Lugalbanda a wish (for "strength in my legs so I never get tired—and arms that can reach out and never feel weak"), which helps his city prevail in war, but in a way that may well surprise readers. Mixed-media full-page and spot illustrations incorporate elaborate details, as seen in the Anzu bird's ornately patterned feathers and subtle color gradations. The somewhat exaggerated proportions in the artwork, and the appearance of the moon and sun in the same sky add a mystical feel to the art, while an airy design breaks up the text-heavy spreads. Henderson's foreword and afterword describe the extraordinary phases of discovery of the text and Sumerian culture, and how she derived this narrative from the cuneiform writings. Wrapped in mystery and myth, this story's message of courage and compassion sounds across the millennia. Ages 8-up. (June)

This uniquely formatted tale owes its strength to O'Brien's (the illustrator of the Jamaica books) meticulous research. In multiple-paneled comic-book style, the author/artist retells the story of the illegitimate son of a high Korean official, who is forbidden to address the man as "Father." Young Hong Kil Dong twice runs away, first to the monks in the mountains, then to the countryside—"Perhaps there I will find a clue to my destiny," he tells his mother earnestly—where he stumbles upon a hideaway for bandits. Their misfortunes are more affecting than his own. He decides to train them to fight for justice for the common people. Elements of magic and martial arts mastery combine to produce a story with an unflagging pace. The plot's utter improbability (at one point, Hong Kil Dong uses his mystic powers to conjure up seven straw dolls that look and speak just like him) contrasts with O'Brien's historically faithful renderings of ceremonial silk robes and temple architecture. A series of autobiographical panels shows O'Brien herself discovering the original story ("What a great idea for a children's book!" says a thought balloon above her head); she also includes plenty of other background material. Ages 9-12. (July)

Fiction

As McKissack (The Dark-Thirty) opens this treasure chest of tales, she recalls spending summer evenings on her grandparents' front porch in Nashville, where her grandfather and visitors would share spellbinding "porch lies," comically exaggerated stories that often centered on rogues and rascals. The author then presents her own variations on such yarns, "expand[ing] the myths, legends, and historical figures who often appear in the African American oral tradition" to create a sparkling array of porch lies, brimming with beguiling tricksters. McKissack sets the domestic scene for each by describing the porch visitor who first related the tale. A standout features wise, sassy Aunt Gran, who outsmarts Frank and Jesse James, manipulating the bandits into running out of town the racist villain who salted her well in hopes of procuring her property. Other memorable characters include the conniving used-car salesman who is brought to judgment quite humorously on the eve of his wedding; the truth-twisting fellow who wins the liars' contest at the state fair with the line, "I aine never told a lie before"; and a famous blues harmonica player, who wreaks such havoc in the holding station en route to heaven—or the alternative—that he's sent back to earth. Aunt Gran, slyly telling the James brothers a tale that will convince them to help her, notes, "Some folk believe the story; some don't. You decide for yourself." Readers of these spry tall tales will have a grand time doing just that. Ages 8-12. (Aug.)

There's more spooky hilarity in store for fans of Ibbotson's previous ghost stories (Dial-a-Ghost; The Great Ghost Rescue). However, animal lovers may have trouble digesting some of the darker moments of this book. While their parents are in America, British siblings 11-year-old Madlyn and nine-year-old Rollo stay at Clawson Castle, an estate owned by the children's mild-mannered Great-Aunt Emily and Great-Uncle George. Uncle George takes great pride in his snow-white cattle, but unless more money can be earned by attracting tourists to the castle, the precious herd (and the castle) may be lost. Madlyn suggests that they draw more visitors by filling the castle with ghosts. Business booms after they hire a crew of frightening phantoms—a bloody bride, a skeleton taxi driver, a severed circus lady, a pirate and a rat that gnaws at his heart, and a Scottish pair of feet that dance to Highland reels (all cunningly depicted in Hawkes's illustrations). But when Uncle George's cows are kidnapped, it is up to the children to save them from the clutches of a greedy doctor, who mutilates critters for fun and profit. The book offers a plethora of tangled threads and comic characters and perhaps more gore than is customary for the author. However, things end on an up note: there are no serious injuries to the protagonists (human or otherwise) and the villains get their just deserts. Ages 10-up. (Aug.)

In British author Copeland's charming fantasy of human and insect interaction, 12-year-old narrator Arthur Piper uncovers a shady plot to undermine his grandfather's circus in Edwardian England. Seth, a fly, is the Agent in Advance for Piper's Circus, and his odd behavior prompts Art to dispatch his pet ladybug, Rufus, to spy on the fly. Seth and his brother, Vince, stand to make a tidy bundle by taking bets—but on what Art can't be sure. Copeland's cross-hatch pen-and-inks bring to life such characters as a veteran circus clown and the insect stars of the Big Top, who are the size of domestic animals, but with human abilities and habits. The chapters alternate between the more suspenseful episodes of Rufus trailing the traitorous Seth, and those of Art and his human pal Daisy as they cope with such hazards as loosened tightropes, and try to figure out the significance of the Flying Geminis' breakup (which is tied to the wasp-tamer and the evil wasp Jasper, with whom Seth is consorting). Readers will likely put two and two together before the human protagonists do, but there's much to amuse here. The story ends with an appendix of sorts, "Notes on the Training of Animals for the Circus," ostensibly penned by Art's great-grandfather, which will likely amuse both adults and children, as will Copeland's little gem. Ages 8-12. (July)

Sedgwick's (The Dark Horse) powerful and haunting WWI story probes ideas of death and healing, fate and free will. Alexandra (Sasha) has the gift, or curse, of foreseeing a person's death. "I was five when I first saw the future," the book begins, as Sasha describes knowing that her friend Clare would soon die. Her next vision comes when she turns 17, and then they occur frequently. She tries talking to her parents about her gift, but it makes them uncomfortable, and they dismiss it. WW I rages in France, and Sasha volunteers as a nurse; she foresees the death of several hospitalized soldiers. Then she dreams her eldest brother Edgar will die in the war; while touching a postcard he sent, she hears his voice say, "I must go now. I am dead." Some time later, Sasha experiences a vivid dream where she sees her beloved brother Tom, also a soldier, being shot. Sasha secretly travels to France hoping to prevent Tom's death. Threre she meets Hoodoo Jack, who can also foresee the future, and who helps her try and save Tom, even as he tries to convince Sasha that her vision will prevail. Readers will be immediately drawn in to Sasha's intimate retelling of her horrific experiences as she recounts her tale from her first vision to her last. Ages 10-up. (June)

In Herrick's (A Place Like This) atmospheric tale written in verse, Harry Hodby's first-person narration captures the ups and downs of life with his widowed father and younger brother in a small Australian town. His father named him after escape artist Harry Houdini. "I proved my name/ was well chosen," Harry says. His teacher claims, "You can get out of anything/ with that mouth of yours." With a keen eye for detail, Harry (born in 1948) recalls a forgotten era; he describes getting a bowl haircut at Aunt Alice's hands, riding his homemade billy cart down Rookwood Hill without a brake, and the people that populate his world ("They say/ Birdy Newman/ lost his mind/ in the war/ and spends his days/ looking for it/ in Freemans Bush"). Along with humor, sadness also permeates Harry's memories. He misses his mother, who died when Harry was seven, and classmate Linda Mahoney, who drowned in a seasonal flood at age 14 ("She was my friend/ because/ the day after I fought/ Craig Randall/ .../ Linda came to school/ with my favorite orange cake"). Harry wrestles with searching questions, from his desire to move away from Hobsons Bend ("Those that leave this town/ don't come back") to God's existence, in this powerful and moving coming-of-age story. Ages 12-up. (June)

Charlotte, older sister of 18-year-old Adam Grey, is ostensibly taking a year off, traveling with her friend Alice. When Charlie goes missing while working in a hostess bar in Tokyo, Adam's shocked parents, already grappling with the rapid decline of his grandmother, seem to go numb. Fleeing his mother's tears, his father's "permanent mood of angry impotence" and the tightlipped local investigators, Adam withdraws funds, swipes a reserve credit card from his father's drawer and flies from Britain to Tokyo to find Charlie himself. Roughly the last two-thirds of Marks's (Zoo) novel unfold as an anxious, third-person travelogue, describing a gritty mix of working-class expats, yakuza gangsters and hip Japanese teens enthralled with Adam's blonde hair. As he falls for—and sleeps with—Aiko (a smart, scooter-driving beauty), Adam questions everything from Alice's motives in reporting Charlie's disappearance, to his loyalty to his British girlfriend. Teens expecting a denouement equivalent to the ratcheting suspense of Adam's mission might feel slightly let down (Charlie has apparently simply absconded with Alice's boyfriend). Instead, the novel's strength derives from the pulsing slice of life, cut from Tokyo's neon landscape—from the tiny, stacked bedrooms of capsule hotels to the outré costumes of roving scenesters. The stranger-in-a-strange-land motif, spiked with sexy Japanophilia and British slang, should draw literate manga fans and Anglophiles alike. Ages 12-up. (June)

Nonfiction

Fleischman's (The Whipping Boy) colorful, anecdotal biography of Harry Houdini (1874–1926) offers an accessible portrait of this master of magic and escape. The author sets an affectionate and humorous tone, beginning with his subject's most famous feats, and then declaring, "As a devout magician, I am able to reveal only that I may not reveal Houdini's secrets." Fleischman neatly sorts out facts, speculation and legend as he traces the performer's career, from his early stints in vaudeville, with a circus and traveling medicine show and even, along with his wife and on-stage sidekick, Bess, "a part-time career as ghost wranglers and mind-reading fakers." A savvy self-promoter, Houdini made headlines through such successful challenges as breaking out of a Chicago jail cell, yet, Fleischman wryly notes, his "sudden fame was written in vanishing ink." After securing a solid reputation in Europe, the "monarch of manacles" became a stage sensation and financial success in this country as well, with some of his more famous feats, such as escaping from a straitjacket while suspended upside-down from a building. A "teenage conjuror" and former vaudevillian himself, Fleischman brings an insider's sensibility to Houdini's story (after Houdini's death, he came to know Bess, who "became a sort of den mother to us young enthusiasts"). One gets the sense that the author delved into his subject for his own enjoyment, and brings readers along for an entertaining ride. Copious photographs help flesh out Houdini's robust, larger-than-life personality and underscore the range and audacity of his exploits. Ages 9-up. (Aug.)