Children's Books Reviews: Week of 7/17/2006

by Staff -- Publishers Weekly, 7/17/2006

 Picture Books

Mommy?
Arthur Yorinks, illus. by Maurice Sendak, paper engineering by Matthew Reinhart. Scholastic/Michael di Capua, $24.95 ISBN 0-439-88050-5

Children who get the better of monsters are a Sendak specialty, from Where the Wild Things Are to Brundibar. In this light bite of spine-tingling fare created by Sendak, Yorinks (Hey, Al) and Reinhart (Encyclopedia Prehistorica)—sort of a dark twist on Are You My Mother?—a mischievous boy addresses the title question to some unmaternal characters. Sendak's quintessential black-haired boy (with a strong resemblance to Mickey), wearing blue PJs and a red cap, wanders into a haunted house and naively calls, "Mommy?" Stylized, softened characters from Nosferatu and Lon Chaney creature features unfold in 3-D to menace the child, but the boy might as well be saying, "Trick or treat?", because he pulls pranks on everyone. A tall Frankenstein's monster gets ready to stomp on him; in a gatefold at the right-hand side of the spread, the disarming toddler jerks the bolts from the startled monster's neck. On a brick roof, the boy surprises a werewolf and a green goblin; the gatefold reveals the boy yanking down the Wolf Man's jeans to reveal silly boxer shorts, while the goblin giggles. In Reinhart's neatest engineering feat—a spinning dowel-and-string contraption—the not-so-harmless boy spins the white wrappings off an Egyptian "mummy." The title is the book's only word until the conclusion, when the Bride of Frankenstein at last replies to the child's question. Although the illustrious creators' do not appear until the back cover, readers cannot miss Sendak's signature graphic style. These gags are not too serious, but the suspenseful setups pointedly suggest humor's power over fear. All ages. (Sept.)

A read-aloud gem, this uproarious picture book contains an absurdly appropriate plot. "Every Saturday morning, a particular cow went for a particular walk. Usually, nothing particular happened," the tale begins. But one Saturday, the cow finds herself "on the wrong side of a particular pair of bloomers," setting off a comical chaos. The bloomers drop off a clothesline, cover her eyes and cause her to tumble into a postman's mail cart. The cart rolls through a pack of dogs and a seaside wedding before careening off a pier into a sailboat that tips the hapless cow safely back to shore. In addition to her delectable use of repetition, Fox (Time for Bed) underscores the book's theme that sometimes, when one least expects it, life can take one down a different path, by using a single rhyme at the end of the spare text (the cow "tossed her tail at the summer flies,/ and went on her way without surprise"). Denton's (Night Noises) action-packed watercolors considerably amplify the book's comic delight. Throughout the cow's adventure, he includes characters that comment on what's happening. The woman whose bloomers begin the train of events shouts "Bloomin' thief!" and when the cow in the cart bursts through the decorative wedding arch, the groom says, "Holy cow." The book's slapstick-humor and verbal dexterity will delight youngsters—as will the particular idea that sometimes, even an ordinary walk can turn into something quite extraordinary. Ages 3-7. (Sept.)

Bear can't seem to get in the hibernating groove. Worse yet, he believes that all the non-hibernating animals are having more fun. "It's not fair," grouses Bear (such economical sentences typify the narrative). So the cub emerges from his cave and announces to his fellow creatures that he wants some non-stop physical activity. In one of the loveliest spreads, Bear fulfills one wish ("I want to wrestle") by going head-to-head with a huge and somewhat bewildered moose; in the most surreal spread, two glorious horizontal peach-toned panels depict Bear flying through the air with a flock of geese. But when night falls, the animals refuse to keep playing; they need their rest—and, it turns out, Bear does, too. The story feels reminiscent of Cooper's Magic Thinks Big, although Bear is not quite as compelling an anti-hero as Magic, the big feline; the humor takes on a tone more pleading than wry. Still, that overly bright, entertain-me-now gleam in Bear's eye will likely strike a chord with even the most sedentary youngsters. Ages 3-up. (Sept.)

Raschka, composer of such visual-musical interludes such as John Coltrane's Giant Steps, explores all five senses here. The "little one" of the enigmatic title is a young bunny who's urged to experience "flowers and foods, oceans and woods," in the lived environment. The alert rabbit looks ("See the sunsets, skylines, mountains,/ sidewalks, fountains") and listens ("Did we mention sounds surround you?... All that ringing will astound you"). The asymmetrical rhymes direct the rabbit to delicious experiences ("Lucky tongue, taste and try/ this berry pie") and encourage movement ("Playful paws, pounce and touch./ There is so much/ for you to feel"). Raschka creates graceful, Zen-like spreads. Minimalist brushstrokes of India ink form the rabbit's floppy ears and loose body; potato-print stamps of leaves, feathers, triangles and multicolored dots dance across the pages, and drops of watercolor paint and ink on wet paper blossom into fuzzy-edged pastel circles. The illustrations imply Raschka's focus on simplicity and natural materials, and the style could be imitated at home or in an art room. In the warm conclusion, the black-and-white spotted "little one,/ who comes from two" bounces to the waiting arms of a black rabbit and a white one; the parents join in by playing the fiddle and plucking some flowers. Raschka's easygoing rhymes and pay-attention-to-your-world theme recall Margaret Wise Brown classics like The Noisy Book, while his tactile art causes a sensation. Ages 2-5. (Aug.)

Just as the first snowfall introduced magic in the quiet town of Shulevitz's Snow, here music puts a sleeping household under its spell. The book opens when night falls upon a little house, and sleep overtakes its inhabitants. The artist's choice to anthropomorphize every creature and household item—from the faces on the dishes, to the legs on the table, all portrayed with tightly closed eyes—indicates that nothing is immune to slumber. Text steeped in repetition and alliteration creates a soporific effect ("sleepy cuckoo-clock/ by sleepy dishes/ on sleepy shelves/ and a sleepy cat/ on a sleepy chair"). Muted watercolors in twilight tones reinforce the sense of stillness. With the sudden introduction of music, the house begins to awaken, and color slowly washes across the pages, creating a daybreak effect. The text disappears, and the previously framed illustrations burst into full-bleed paintings. Words seem to be no longer necessary, as the music creates an energy all on its own. But as the action winds down and each object (plus a sleepy boy) returns to sleep, readers will not doubt that this process will inevitably begin again. Much like a child's nighttime routine, this story is an ode to the predictable rhythms yet also the surprising moments that comprise an ordinary day. Ages 3-6. (Aug.)

Matronly Edwina, a lichen-green T. Rex wearing a beribboned straw bonnet and toting a lavender handbag on her claw, loves doing community service. Crayony sketches show her fixing a street lamp (no ladder necessary) and letting kids slide down her back. "Everybody loved Edwina... except Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie." Reginald, a precocious boy with malicious tilted eyebrows, passionately delivers a report on " 'Things That Are Extinct.' Specifically, dinosaurs." His classmates, whose doodles of Edwina hang on the bulletin board, swiftly contradict him and run outside to have some of the dino's homemade cookies. Yet Reginald doesn't give up (and another book might present such stubbornness as admirable). His desperate efforts to be heard finally attract Edwina's maternal solicitude, and in a bombastic pantomime sequence, he presents her with "the truth about dinosaurs." Afterward, "Reginald felt fantastic! No one had ever listened to him so well for so long," and Edwina "knew she was extinct." Even better, disillusionment doesn't change Edwina. "She just didn't care. And, by then... neither did Reginald Von Hoobie-Doobie." The fellow has finally found a friend. In the closing image, Edwina bakes cookies for her new pal. Like Willems's Leonardo the Terrible Monster, this is a tale about craving attention, but the reassuring tone and expert pacing will win over readers. More important, the book comments on polite debate and helps raise useful questions. Is there such a thing as too much knowledge? Can popular notions be challenged? Should we listen to others, even when we don't agree? For Edwina, ignorance is bliss, but awareness is good, too. Ages 4-7. (Sept.)

Base (The Water Hole) here accessibly dives into such ecological themes as extinction, overpopulation and the balance of nature. Uno, with elongated face and bulbous nose, builds his home in an exotic forest. His one house quickly gives way to a village and finally, a polluted city devoid of animals and plants—except for those preserved in the hero's small garden. Rebus-like equations in the upper right corner of each page or spread catalogue the decreasing flora and fauna, and the increase in the number of buildings. Children will appreciate the composite animals with names such as Lumpybums (one-eyed, duck-billed monkeys with purple bumps on their backsides). Though the animals begin to disappear with the encroachment of the city, they make a comeback by book's end—with the exception of the mysterious Snortlepig (a hybrid of armadillo, dog and pig). The book's large square trim size and polished spreads, aided by the tally of creatures on the top borders, invite readers to participate in a seek-and-find. Reflecting the theme of balance, Base's diverse stylistic elements satisfyingly coexist (e.g., realistic renderings of fantasy animals; organically shaped foliage juxtaposed with angular skyscrapers). Just when youngsters might conclude that the human footprint is nothing but bad, Uno's garden provides the genesis for rebirth. A dramatic gatefold reveals a new, harmonious human coexistence with nature. While ending on a hopeful note about the power of one person (Uno) to make a difference, the missing Snortlepig drives home a somber point. Ages 4-8. (Sept.)

Bruel (Bad Kitty) proclaims, "This is Melvin Bubble," on the opening page, as a huge arrow hangs above the boy hero. Melvin looks friendly and unassuming enough, but according to the unseen narrator, the fellow remains a mystery, and the only way to find out the answer to the title question is to interview... well, anybody who will answer. What follows is a parade of characters, each one goofier and more improbable than the last, and all of whom reveal more about themselves than they do about Melvin. Dad calls him "smart, handsome, popular, a great athlete! Now that I think about it—he's just like me when I was his age!" His best friend thinks Melvin's "the coolest kid I know! He can whistle 'The Itsy-Bitsy Spider' through his nose!" and the tooth fairy just wants to kvetch about how Melvin's big head makes it a real pain to leave coins under his pillow. The straight-man narrator's wry comments may be most appreciated by older readers (e.g., when a beautiful princess dreams of happily ever after with Melvin, the narrator says, "You may be thinking of someone else"). Bruel, as always, builds terrific comic momentum, and his broad cartooning is the definition of zany. Precocious raconteurs will probably get the biggest kick out of seeing how the characters' rants and soliloquies literally push the limits of their dialogue balloons. A read-aloud treat—and fine inspiration for classroom biographies. Ages 4-8. (Aug.)

Both clever and funny, Banks's (And if the Moon Could Talk) inventive picture book features literal and rambunctious word play. Max's brothers, Benjamin and Karl, each have impressive collections (stamps and coins, respectively). They laugh at Max when he decides to collect words. Kulikov's (Morris the Artist) clever illustrations feature Max's hundreds of words in different colors and fonts, sprinkled across the pages like confetti (at one point the boy is literally knee-deep in them). When Max's collection grows too large for his desk, he begins separating words into piles and realizes that, "when [he] puts his words in different orders, it made a big difference." (Writing "A blue crocodile ate the green iguana," he discovers, is very different from writing "The blue iguana ate a green crocodile.") When Max, with his hedgehog hair and thoughtful expressions, starts to write a story of his own about a worm and a crocodile, the real fun begins. Benjamin and Karl, always pictured as stuffy banker types with slicked-down hair and wearing vests, add sentences so the crocodile will eat Max's worm hero, and Max must race to find a sentence that will save his invented character. Banks's economically told tale brims with wit, and Kulikov's splashy illustrations easily keep the story Max writes from being confused with the overall plot. Readers and writers alike will enjoy the linguistic fun in this nearly word-perfect book. Ages 4-8. (Aug.)

While the pseudo-scholarly tone of this amusing "mockumentary" will undoubtedly float over the heads of some, older readers will enjoy its tongue-in-cheek lampoon of portentous documentaries. Beginning with the fact that Beethoven (1770–1827) "owned five legless pianos and composed great works on the floor," the narrative then points out that he lived in 39 different apartments—"(See book title.)" Winter (Roberto Clemente) and Blitt (Once Upon a Time, the End: Asleep in 60 Seconds) combine comic brio with audacious fabrication to suggest how difficult it was for the poor fellow to move his quintet of pianos from one place to another. They suggest, for instance, that a nearly deaf Beethoven's playing was "bangingly loud!" and support the statement by claiming historians have found "hundreds of cotton balls with traces of dried earwax" in his neighbors' apartments. Blitt visually elaborates on each outlandish, allegedly well-researched detail. Illustrating a piano wheeled through an obliging neighbor's apartment, the artist pictures the movers carrying the piano across a dining room table midfeast. The unseen narrator's droll tone sends up the hushed, dramatic voice of an announcer: "Why did Ludwig move after only eight and a half days? Was it, as his diary suggests, because of the 'hideous stinky cheese smell' that filled his apartment? We do not know." A witty spoof of a familiar genre, this irreverent account of a brilliant musician is full of satiric pleasures (and ends with an author's note that sorts fact from fiction). Ages 4-9. (Sept.)

Fiction

Snow (How Santa Really Works) stakes a claim to Roald Dahl territory with his imaginative debut novel, the launch of the Ratbridge Chronicles. Young Arthur, equipped with a flying machine, enters the town of Ratbridge with the aim of stealing some food for himself and his grandfather, who live underground. The boy witnesses a "cheese hunt" (blocks of cheese, in this world, are "nervous beasties, that eat grass by night, in the meadows and woodlands," and easy prey for hunters), an illegal entertainment led by a top-hatted rogue called Snatcher. Arthur finds himself trapped in Ratbridge, where he falls into the caring hands of Willbury Nibble, the Queens' retired lawyer. The kind gent promises to help him locate a tunnel back home—but Snatcher has sealed all the entries. Snow uses this hero's return tale to explore his invented world, stuffed to the gills with British oddities, many of which appear in his plentiful cross-hatched pen-and-inks. His eccentric characters include beached pirates who do laundry for a living, underground-dwelling cabbageheads, and the Irregular Police Force, whose members ride bicycles with octagonal wheels ("the policemen could be heard a long way off as they let out little cries of pain at every turn of the wheels"). A larger story involves villainous Snatcher and a machine he has stolen that can shrink and enlarge living creatures. This veritable city-state of a novel is as sprawling as it is silly. Ages 8-14. (Aug.)

Returning to themes she explored in Lyddie, Paterson sets this novel in the winter of 1912 in Lawrence, Mass., where the plight of textile mill workers unfolds through the alternating third-person perspectives of a boy millworker, Jake Beale, and Rosa Serutti, whose mother and sister work in the mill. The two meet when sixth-grader Rosa looks for her discarded shoes in the trash heap where 13-year-old Jake, who has fled his abusive, alcoholic father, plans to sleep for the night. Though they do not introduce themselves, Rosa offers the boy her family's kitchen floor for the night. Their paths cross again, most notably after the workers strike, and violence escalates to the point where striking parents send their children to families who support the union cause in New York City and Vermont. Rosa, headed to Vermont, helps Jake escape with her. The book feels like two stories in one: the first part immersed in details of the historical strike (an endnote lays out the facts), and the second part set in Barre, Vt. Unlike Lyddie, Rosa is a bystander to the workers' plight (though she does come up with the title mantra for the strikers), so readers may find her character elusive until the book's second half. Jake eventually becomes sympathetic, but mostly due to the kindness of the memorable Mr. Gerbati, the children's foster father and a gifted Vermont stonecutter. Readers may wish for an entire book about this gentle man. Ages 10-14. (Sept.)

Holt's (My Louisiana Sky) atmospheric novel traces five generations of a Louisiana family. Spanning the years 1939–2004, the book encapsulates the struggles, sorrows, infatuations and triumphs of various family members as they enter adolescence. Readers first meet 14-year-old Rose, who lies about her age to become the bookmobile driver for the new Terrebone Parish Library. Working hard to help her family make ends meet, she never realizes her dream of going to college but remains an avid reader and writer. She passes down her love of books to some but not all of her children and grandchildren. Rose's son Merle Henry would rather trap than read; her granddaughter, Annabeth, wishes she were more popular; and her great-grandson, Kyle, works at the library like his grandmother did, but doesn't have much use for books until he discovers Harry Potter. The author subtly weaves in historic influences such as the Dust Bowl, the Vietnam War and the Watergate hearings. Rose resurfaces briefly as a loving mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, and once again takes center stage in the final pages of the novel when, at age 79, she becomes a published author. Economical, evocative prose reflects the leisurely pace of Southern living and movingly conveys family tensions, family love, and the power of stories to bring generations together. Ages 10-15. (Sept.)

In 1942 Berlin, nine-year-old Bruno returns from school to discover that his father, a high-ranking military officer, has a new job. He announces that the family—Bruno, mother and his older sister, Gretel—is moving "for the foreseeable future" to somewhere described only as "far away." Their journey unfolds through Bruno's eyes—his poignant initial objection is that the new house is not nearly as nice as the one they vacated. Worse still, he misses his friends. Beyond the tall fence separating his yard from an adjacent compound of crude huts, however, Bruno sees potential playmates, all clad in gray-striped pajamas. Though the publisher has kept plot details under wraps (e.g., cover copy and promotional materials include no specifics), readers with even a rudimentary knowledge of 20th-century history will figure out, before Bruno does, where he lives and why the title boy he meets in secret at the fence each afternoon is pale, thin and sad. The protagonist's naïf perspective is both a strength and weakness of this simple, thought-provoking story. What occurs next door is, in fact, unimaginable. But though Bruno aspires to be an explorer when he grows up, his passivity and failure to question or puzzle out what's going on in what he calls "Out-With" diminishes him as a character. It strains credulity to believe that an officer's son would have absolute ignorance about the political realities of the day. But that is the point. How could the world outside the fence not have known, or have known and failed to act on, what was happening inside it? In the final pages, the tension rises precipitously and the harrowing ending, in which Bruno does finally act, is sure to take readers' breath away. Ages 12-up. (Sept.)

Fans of Meyer's debut novel, Twilight, may be disappointed in this second book in a planned trilogy. It begins with a bang, on Bella's 18th birthday, when Edward Cullen sweeps her off to his unorthodox family home (in the first book readers learn that the Cullens are vampires who hunt animals rather than humans) for a birthday celebration. But when Bella unwraps a gift and gets a paper cut, her drops of blood set off a chaos that culminates in the Cullens leaving town. Edward exits on page 73, and does not reappear for nearly 400 pages, except for his voice in Bella's head when she embarks on dangerous adventures, such as motorcycle riding and cliff diving. Instead, this book focuses on Jake, her friend from La Push, who has some unusual traits of his own. A Quileute legend that he confides in Bella in the first book comes to the fore here (and ties in with the title), and Bella is tracked down by the "bad" vampires from the first book, who seek revenge for Edward's murder of their friend James. Long stretches in the book may make readers feel as if they're treading water, but the pace quickens when Alice Cullen sees a vision of Bella cliff diving and mistakes it for suicide. Edward then heads to the all-powerful Volturi vampires in Italy, seeking his own death. Will Bella get to Italy in time to save Edward? Will she remain human? Meyer answers the first question but leaves the second for the third novel. Ages 12-up. (Sept.)

An enchanted blank book—one that reveals its secrets, but "only for those with eyes to see them"—lies at the center of Skelton's ambitious first novel, which unfolds through two alternating narratives. The first, set in the present, follows young Blake, whose mother is a visiting academic at Oxford. One day he runs his finger across the spines of some books in the Bodleian Library, and one volume "[strikes] him back." The book's title, "Endymion Spring," begins to appear before his eyes, and he opens the cover only to find the contents blank—save for a riddle-like poem. The second thread of the tale, set in 15th-century Germany, is narrated by Endymion Spring, a boy serving as apprentice to the great Gutenberg, who is hard at work on his printing press. Gutenberg, eager for money to fund his Bible-printing project, strikes a deal with the "ruthless" Fust, who travels with a locked chest, adorned with gruesome imagery. Its hidden treasure represents a mystery with ties to both Blake's blank book and to Eden. With it, Fust seeks to create a book that will contain "all the secrets of the universe." Skelton's fiction breathes excitement into real history, as he exploits the fact that Johann Fust, Gutenberg's real-life patron, has been identified with Faust (as explained to Blake by a professor and to readers in an endnote). Riddles galore, a great cliffhanger and a film deal with Warner Bros. should generate plenty of excitement for this literary thriller; book lovers in particular will savor its palpable whiff of musty shelves and dusty volumes. Ages 12-up. (Aug.)

First-time author Shields sets her energetic, hilarious spoof of reality TV in a public British school, and introduces narrator Jennifer James, the "most unpopular person in her class." A TV crew and group of celebrities cause quite a stir in Jennifer's community, when they descend upon London Road Comprehensive to document the goings-on of the school's faculty and students. To add to the fun, the producers are running a Survivor-type competition that will result in fabulous prizes for some, and humiliating elimination for others—and in the process they will raise funds for a charity that helps terminally ill children. Much to her shock, Jennifer's peers elect her to be one of 12 contestants, eligible to win a full scholarship to a prestigious boarding school ("one with a proper uniform and 'Houses' named after obscure dead people"). The only trick will be to gain enough votes to keep in the running. Quickly winning the status of token nerd and underdog, Jennifer endears herself to the public, and her hopes begin to soar—until she grows suspicious that the contest is fixed—and worse. Jennifer's quick-witted, lively narrative gives a blow-by-blow account of celebrities teaching classes, teachers dolling themselves up for the camera, protesters chaining themselves to trees, and students one-upping each other to win votes. Whether readers love or despise reality shows, all will alternately laugh and cheer Jennifer on as she learns some lessons about fame. Ages 12-up. (Aug.)