Children's Book Reviews: Week of 9/11/2006

by Staff -- Publishers Weekly, 9/11/2006

Picture Books

Readers who think they're in for a celebration of smeared frosting and blowing out the candles may be surprised to find instead Fraser's (On the Day You Were Born) New Age musings on what a birthday cake means. "So hold on, bakers!," exhorts Fraser, as she proceeds, in full gym-instructor mode, to show the earth orbiting around a massive sun, rendered in a confetti-like spray of triangles and circles. "We're riding the Earth in a great spinning circle around the Sun, from your birthday to your next birthday.... You will need exactly 364 more sunrises, all clouds included." Metaphorically speaking, that means gathering up a year's worth of seasonally themed ingredients (e.g., "the sound of a returning red robin, singing. Simply open the window. Your bowl will catch it"). The cut-paper collages depict a toque-wearing, angelic-looking chef combining the fanciful ingredients with a wave of a wooden spoon; every few pages, Fraser returns readers to the perspective of an orbiting earth to underscore her theme. While her deep thoughts may not appeal to all readers, Fraser deserves plaudits for prompting youngsters to think of their birthday as more than an opportunity for presents. Recipes for a basic yellow cake plus vanilla and chocolate frostings round out this upbeat lesson. All ages. (Sept.)

For the child who isn't easily fooled into sleep—and the parent who must outsmart him—comes a soothing story that gently coerces little ones into bed. "When you can't fall asleep,/ Then try counting sheep!/ But what do you do if the sheep are asleep," beings Numeroff's (If You Give a Mouse a Cookie) reprise of the "what if" game. Rhyming verse smoothly moves the story along, as a girl and her teddy bear consider other animal alternatives. From pigs that "snore in a heap" to "cats on the sofa/ .../ snuggled asleep," the two soon learn that no creature is immune to the lure of eventual slumber. The rhythm of the verse produces an almost hypnotic effect, the better to act as a sleep-inducing agent for young listeners. Muted watercolor images of dozing creatures tenderly capture the peacefulness that accompanies sleep. McPhail (Mole Music) keeps readers' interest by mixing up the many perspectives from a child's eye–view, be it up close and personal while peering inside a rabbit hutch or observing a nest of birds from a safe distance. The final image of the entire ensemble at the foot of the bed of the now-sleeping girl leaves a satisfying last impression. Ages 4-8. (Oct.)

As warm and comforting as fresh-baked apple pie, this cinnamon sweet picture book about cooperation and sharing is just right for a family read-aloud. The Cat family is so satisfied with the apple pie Grandma Cat bakes that they leave only one last slice on the table before they take their naps. That leftover piece becomes a whole meal for the Mouse family, and their leftover crumbs in turn end up as perfect fare for the Ant family. Martin's (We've All Got Bellybuttons!) text, with its alluring repetition, can be quickly memorized by a preschooler: "Little Brother Cat ate a piece./ Big Sister Cat ate a piece./ Momma Cat ate a piece...." What the text lacks in complexity, it makes up for in geniality and a quickly moving plot, with more than a baker's dozen appealing characters. Gorbachev's (The Giant Hug) homey full-bleed pen-and-ink and watercolor illustrations brim with joy, as one family after another shares the feast. When Grandma Cat wakes up from her nap and says, "I'm hungry. Should I bake another pie?" each family, in turn, shouts, "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes." Cats, mice and ants ("even little Baby Ant") all work together on Grandma's huge kitchen table to make another pie. The book celebrates the importance of family mealtime, but also provides an example of an amiable community where sugar, flour and harmony are all mixed together with love. Ages 3-5. (Sept.)

Like other stories of its ilk (Tess Weaver's Opera Cat; James the Dancing Dog by Linda Maybarduk), this tale features an animal with a preternatural appreciation for a lively art who is fortuitously awarded a place in the spotlight. For Jake, a wide-eyed, black-and-white pooch, this means being anointed "principal stagepaw." LeFrak, a member of the New York Philharmonic board of directors, will donate her share of the book's proceeds to benefit the orchestra. Unfortunately, the book is more well-intentioned than well-executed. The author makes good use of Jake as a reader surrogate when he trots through the various orchestra sections. "Jake!" says the dog's owner (the human principal stagehand, whose job it is to bring the conductor his baton at the start of each performance), "That's not a car horn. That's a French horn! See? The brass instruments are warming up now!" But the narrative feels flabby: incidents seem strung together, with little dramatic tension. Barnaski, a Polish artist making his children's book debut, works in rich acrylics and temperas, and saturates every page in dense, alluring color. His renderings of Jake evince a sweet cartoon sensibility, and while he's less adept at painting individual humans (they look a bit stiff), his group portraits of musicians effectively convey their concentration, dedication and élan. Ages 4-7. (Sept.)

In this nostalgic charmer, McClintock (Dahlia) imagines a walking tour of Paris circa 1900, traced by two distractible siblings on their way home from school. (The endpapers, taken from a 1907 Baedeker map, chart the roundabout route.) When Adèle greets Simon, "He [has] his hat and gloves and scarf and sweater, his coat and knapsack and books and crayons, and a drawing of a cat he'd made that morning." Despite his sister's pleading that he keep track of his possessions, Simon loses everything on the list. At a market, closely observed from a bird's eye–view, vendors sell carrots, books, birds and baskets, and Simon misplaces his drawing. Sharp-eyed readers might locate the boy's picture, but the siblings do not. Adèle and Simon move on to the Louvre, Notre-Dame and the Jardin du Luxembourg, where they watch the Punch and Judy show and a parade of the Republican Guard. Simon drops a belonging at every stop, but in the reassuring conclusion, a queue of watchful people arrives at the children's home to return the goods. In illustrations that mimic hand-colored engravings, McClintock pictures orange autumn foliage against pale blue-gray skies. She depicts every detail with precision and warmth, from architecture and cobblestones to horses, early automobiles and period clothing. An afterword with thumbnail images identifies each location and allusions to Daumier, Atget and a few Impressionists (other allusions, such as one to Madeline, are left to discover). McClintock scores a double coup, creating a must-see for francophiles and an engaging hide-and-seek game for homebodies. Ages 4-8. (Sept.) Agent: Jennie Dunham, Russell & Volkening.

In MacRae's diverting debut, creepily illustrated by Odriozola (Vegetable Glue), an eerie, pale-faced "Opposite" haunts a boy and reverses all his attempts at neatness. Nate first encounters The Opposite when it pops into his room, attired from head to toe in footie pajamas that match the wallpaper. " 'Dad!' cried Nate. 'There's an Opposite on the ceiling!'... But then The Opposite happened, and it wasn't there anymore." The transparent Opposite reappears in the hall, its jumpsuit blending with the green walls. It lurks on the kitchen counter when Nate carefully tries to pour milk and overfills his cereal bowl. It sneaks under a desk when Nate aims his paintbrush at some paper and splashes his teacher with watercolor. Nate's protests ("It wasn't me!... It was The Opposite") fall on deaf ears, so he gives the trickster a taste of its own medicine ("there isn't an Opposite standing right in front of me... I do hope it will stay around forever"). Odriozola draws pliable, rosy-cheeked characters whose long noses, dot-eyes and fishlike, shoulderless torsos suggest Edward Gorey's signature style. Her watercolor palette is sunny, but the mood is spooky, especially when Nate summons and banishes The Opposite. MacRae never ventures that Nate might be crying wolf. Instead, he shows Nate cleverly dealing with opposition and growing less clumsy as a result. Ages 4-8. (Sept.)

Rex, a chameleon, belongs to an elementary school class and lives in a bucket-size aquarium. After school each day, explains the girl narrator, "someone gets to take Rex home," and uses a communal classroom journal to "write all the things Rex did on his visit." Some students draw pictures rather than write in the journal, and Mackintosh (Aussie Nibble: Poor Fish) gives whimsical renditions of what the crayon results might look like. A boy with a pool draws smiling swimmers and a giant, scaly green foot; a girl who lives in a high-rise draws a fire-breathing Godzilla climbing the Empire State Building. When the narrator anticipates taking care of Rex for the whole weekend, she fantasizes about sitting on a Tyrannosaurus rex's head to watch a movie. Australian author Dubosarsky writes open-ended comments and questions that leave Rex's true nature up to the reader. "Would Rex like a giant hamburger?" the narrator wonders, and Mackintosh pictures the girl with an ordinary lunch tray, Rex (as dinosaur) with a pile of paper-wrapped burgers. Dubosarsky never describes an actual chameleon, and in Mackintosh's artwork, Rex is seldom small, rainbow-hued or secretive. Instead, according to the pictures, all of the children fantasize about Rex not as a little lizard but as a dinosaur, albeit one that changes colors. Dubosarsky and Mackintosh have fun with one joke, but neglect the full range of possibilities that arise when a self-camouflaging creature meets a handful of creative children. Ages 4-8. (Sept.)

Bunge, who made a remarkable debut as the illustrator of Fritz's Fish, proves she's a double threat with this eloquently written story of youthful ingenuity and enduring love. When the young narrator arrives at his grandparents' house for his usual weekend visit, he finds Grandpa on the curb amongst his belongings; the couple has split up. "We're just so different," the two older people each confide in the boy as he helps them set up their separate households. (Grandma finally gets to paint everything blue, while Grandpa covers his walls in red.) But when the elders' respective euphoria gives way to depression (Grandma's chocolate pudding has the salty tang of tears, while Grandpa sleeps too much and stares out the window), the boy takes matters into his own hands. He knits a long, flowing red-and-blue scarf for each grandparent, and sends it off with an anonymous invitation in hopes of recreating their first date—iceskating. While the plot may sound a bit like The Parent Trap, Bunge evinces a far greater sense of complexity. Her ink-and-watercolor paintings, at once austere and fanciful in icicle hues, continue to mark her as a singular talent and as a keen, restrained observer of messy emotions. And the narrator is a wonderful creation: while his scarf-driven plan has a nice hint of super-heroism, his powers of observation and insight, as well as his ability to play confidante, feel utterly authentic. Ages 4-up. (Sept.)

Frampton (The Song of Francis and the Animals) handsomely illustrates a childhood memory recalled in a poem from Ferlinghetti's 1958 collection A Coney Island of the Mind. An awkward framing device introduces the poem ("Mr. Ferlinghetti remembers/ a long hot summer in/ Brooklyn/ when he was a kid./ .../ Sometimes Mr. Ferlinghetti/ writes a poem about the things/ he remembers"). But Frampton's stylized woodcuts, in an earth-toned palette, boldly contoured with thick black outlines, will likely charm readers. Ferlinghetti ruefully recounts a childhood summer day when the firemen turned on their hoses for "a couple dozen of us," or "maybe only six of us." Finally, owning up, he guesses that he and his friend Molly were "the only ones there." Frampton cheerfully depicts a thriving immigrant neighborhood, with a diverse array of kids jumping, dancing and splashing in curlicue waves. Period details—round-fendered cars, perambulators, a big old radio—augment the bygone-era feel. The lines "with the water squirting up/ to the/ sky" accompany a spread of kids reclining, arms behind heads, buoyed atop a veritable geyser. In another, a dog looks on as the young hero cavorts in his birthday suit. Children won't get Ferlinghetti's ennui-infused subtext, but perhaps the poet's ease in simultaneously evoking childlike and adult perspectives obviates any glitch. Frampton provides a few biographical details about the author in an endnote. A sweet slice of nostalgia, exuberantly served up. Ages 5-up. (Sept.)

Wynne Jones is at the top of her form in this excellent addition to the Chrestomanci books, set not long after the events chronicled in Charmed Life. Marianne's summer gets off to an unpromising start, thanks to her grandmother, the willful and manipulative Gammer Pinhoe, head of all Pinhoe family witchcraft in Ulverscote and the other villages surrounding Chrestomanci Castle. Marianne becomes errand-runner for her entire extended family when Gammer lurches into a punning, malicious (and wickedly funny) form of dementia, the seeming result of a run-in with another local witching family. Meanwhile, up at Chrestomanci Castle, Cat Chant (last seen in Charmed Life) has inadvertently become the owner of a horse named Syracuse, whose powers include helping Cat recognize the presence of dwimmer, a mysterious, nature-oriented magic. On a trip to Ulverscote, Cat meets Marianne, recognizes her as a kindred spirit and becomes the caretaker of a mysterious egg they find in the attic of Gammer's house. Wild magic ensues as the egg hatches, long pent-up nature spirits are released, ugly secrets are revealed, and Marianne and Cat confront terrifying challenges. Longtime fans will be pleased to encounter Cat once again, and to watch the early stages of his friendship with Marianne unfold. Newcomers will relish the lavish storytelling, and doubtless be driven back to earlier books. Witty, wise and wonderfully imaginative—this novel ranks among the author's best. Ages 10-14. (Oct.)

Bullies beware! In the town of Blue Wing, Minn., on the banks of the Mississippi River, 12-year-old Claire watches with fascination as her mean cousin Duke grows a rhinoceros horn after throwing Claire and her pet turtle off a bridge. Debut novelist Helgerson, through the heroine's first-person narration, does a remarkable job of making the magical goings-on seem completely plausible. The old woman who rescues Claire from the river, for instance, explains that only bullies who fall into that particular section of the river will grow a horn (Duke winds up getting tossed into the water himself); each month, rock trolls put a potion in the river to cause the physical change, then collect the bullies. The only way to reverse the spell is to perform a genuine act of kindness—and promptly, or the afflicted will transform into a wrinkly rhinoceros. It turns out that these horns have plagued Claire's family for generations; even the medical community is aware of these "rivery" effects. As with most memorable enchanted tales, it's up to the children to reverse the curse, and Claire asks in exchange for a good deed of her own. This likable heroine, full of spunk and tenacity, unspools her lively account at a quick pace, and quirky characters such as Bodacious Deepthink, the Great Rock Troll, add plenty of pizzazz. Nicoletti's half-tone chapter openers combine meticulous detail with fuzzy shadings, contributing to this charming book's paradoxical success as a thoroughly believable fantasy in which magic and the real world co-exist. Ages 9-12. (Sept.)

Bloor (Story Time; Tangerine) continues to demonstrate his range, this time mixing historical fiction with time travel in a poignant adventure story about fathers and sons. Martin Conway is a troubled scholarship student at a private Catholic school where his mother works. He has a run-in with Henry M. Lowery IV, whose family has established a million-dollar trust fund at the school in memory of their patriarch, a WWII hero. Martin exiles himself to a bedroom in the basement, first outfitted for his manic-depressive Uncle Bob as "a place of shame," and then used by his alcoholic father (before he left home). Oddly, Martin's life is reinvigorated when his grandmother dies, bequeathing to him an old Philco radio. One night, the radio magically transports him to 1940 London during the Blitz, and into the company of a boy named Jimmy, who insists he needs Martin's help with something very important. It's at this point (roughly a third of the way into the novel) that the narrative takes off, too, as Bloor deftly evokes the terror of wartime, weaving in interesting threads about U.S. diplomatic history (and allowing readers to witness for themselves the true nature of General Lowery's character). During a series of visits, Martin figures out not only how to answer the question Jimmy says everyone is asked when they die—"What did you do to help?"—but the answers to many of his own questions as well. Have tissues on hand for the final pages. Ages 10-up. (Sept.)

Based on the same premise as Girl, Interrupted, but aimed at a younger audience, Baskin's (What Every Girl [Except Me] Knows) novel follows the experiences of Mia Singer after she is enrolled at a boarding school for emotionally disturbed teens. Mia bears the dubious distinction of being the first female student at Mountain Laurel School, and finds herself surrounded by "crazies." In a first-person narrative, she gives her impressions of fellow boarders, including gentle-giant John, who is autistic; Drew, who stares at her from his window at night and sensitive Billy. Mia's commentary about school is interspersed with reflections about her own life before and after her shoplifting sprees, her grades started to slip and the death of a volleyball teammate. The novel leaves many questions unanswered. There are no epiphanies revealing why Mia's life suddenly went downhill and what she needs to do to get back on track. Nonetheless, readers will sense that by the time she leaves Mountain Laurel, Mia has gained a better understanding of herself and her world and is prepared to face new challenges. More than the situations that led to Mia's lapse and recovery, readers will remember the distinctly drawn, vibrantly colored characters making cameo appearances throughout the story. Ages 10-up. (Aug.)

Written in the same spirit as Audrey Couloumbus's The Misadventures of Maude March, Ferris's (Once Upon a Marigold) comical Wild West adventure introduces a group of wittily portrayed characters, all of whom live in Grubstake, a mining town that has seen better days. Orphaned at age 14, Arley Pickett, the owner of a boarding house, longs for the kind of excitement she finds in her "Penny Dreadful" novels. Then one day a mysterious city slicker presents Grubstake's citizens with "an offer no sane person would refuse." For reasons unknown, the stranger wants to buy all the town's mines, which have been closed for years. While some "Grubs" are eager to sell and move on, others, like 16-year-old Arley, are suspicious of the buyer's motives. Trying to get to the bottom of things, the teen finds herself in the middle of an adventure every bit as eventful as one in her Penny Dreadfuls, and manages to find romance as well as danger along the way. Readers will embrace the feisty heroine along with her quirky, down-and-out boarders and an assortment of colorful neighbors: Everdene Hannigan, the tavern owner, who "was opposed to men, at least in a romantic way"; newspaper editor Duncan McKenzie, who "knew all the big words in the dictionary, and used them every day"; and Wing Lee, the town baker, who is as good at giving advice as he is at making bread. Ages 10-up. (Aug.)

In this parody of traditional fairy tale motifs, first-time novelist Coombs introduces a host of comical heroes, heroines, villains and buffoons. Meg, the only daughter of King Stomgard and Queen Istilda, is not your ordinary princess. She detests frilly dresses and would rather chase frogs than learn to embroider. What 15-year-old Meg hates most is being "sequestered" in a tower while princes from far and wide contend for her hand in marriage. The contest consists of three tasks: slaying a dragon, hunting down a witch and ridding the kingdom of bandits. Employing her wits, agility, and quite a lot of help from Cam, the gardener's boy, and Dilly, the princess's personal maid, Meg manages to escape her prison and embark on the wildest adventure of her life. Her goal is to beat the royal contenders at their own game and thus avoid matrimony. Meg's quest to stay one step ahead of her suitors is sure to keep readers entertained, especially when the dragon, witch and bandits turn out to be far more amiable than the vain "bread-for-brains" princes, and Meg receives magical trinkets that enable her to perform some interesting tricks. Reminiscent of Shrek and Once Upon a Mattress, this pleasingly twisty tale offers rib-tickling surprises around every corner. Ages 10-up. (Aug.)

Senior honors student Audrey has a "friends-with-benefits arrangement" with popular Luke DeSalvio. But when someone uses a camera phone at a party to sneak a picture of her performing oral sex on him—and emails the picture around to classmates (and her father, at his store)—Audrey suddenly has quite a different reputation. Not only does she have to deal with ogling and harassment from other students, but her relationship with her father becomes strained, and Luke starts ignoring her. Readers enticed by the scandalous premise will instantly sympathize with Audrey. Ruby (The Wall and the Wing), through Audrey's first-person narrative, offers plenty of frank, sisterly insight about teen sexuality, without seeming to drive home any message. The teen gives an honest description of her first gynecological exam and her first sexual experience, and she and other characters struggle with the power dynamics involved with sex ("Nobody cares what you did. Actually, it just makes you more popular," Audrey tells Luke, when they finally talk). The plot sometimes strains credibility (readers may wonder if anyone would really be so cruel as to email the incriminating photo to Audrey's father, for example, or how believable it is that Luke was really interested in pursuing a relationship with her), but the author leaves readers with plenty to ponder. Ages 14-up. (Sept.)