Children's Book Reviews: Week of 10/16/2006

byStaff -- Publishers Weekly, 10/16/2006

Picture Books

Reynolds (Ish) creates a lighthearted yet insightful fable about the repercussions of overscheduled lives. The tale's opening line—"Leo was a busy lad"—appears opposite a picture of a blond boy diligently multitasking. No matter how hard he works, there is always more to do, so he decides to make a to-do list. Alas that list grows and grows, leading Leo to utter, "So few of me and so much to do. If only there were two of me." Immediately, there is a knock on the door, which Leo opens to find an identical replica of himself. The two find even more to do—as do the subsequent Leos—until there are 10 in all, "each one busier than the next." Though his conscientious clones announce there is no time to rest, exhausted Leo slips away to take a nap. Still savoring his naptime dream, Leo wonders, "What if I did less—but did my best?" Rendered in watercolor, ink and tea, Reynolds's art provides a deft balance of spare pages and comically cluttered compositions, and gives the various Leos an entertaining array of facial expressions. An engaging and eye-opening tale for over-programmed kids and the adults who set their schedules. All ages. (Sept.)

Browne (Willy the Champ) here offers another satisfyingly wry take on the trials of childhood. At the tale's center is chronic worrier Billy, whose oversize ears, middle part and festive sweater call to mind Browne's popular chimp, Willy. Billy's nighttime worries emerge in monochromatic framed images with humorous surrealistic flair. As he worries about hats, chapeaux of various styles hover over his bed; when he worries about shoes, a parade of pairs of shoes exits out the window; and water falls from the ceiling and surrounds his bed when he worries about rain. His parents try unsuccessfully to calm Billy's fears. But when his worries keep him awake at his grandma's house (Browne indicates the boy's growing anxiety with a portrait of the boy in bed, dominated by light blue and sepia tones and patterned wallpaper that suggests Rorschach shapes), she comes up with a solution. The wise woman gives him six tiny worry dolls that will "do all the worrying for you while you sleep." This works like a charm—until the earnest lad starts worrying about the worry dolls. The hero inventively solves this problem, and the author wraps up with a note on the significance of worry dolls, which originated in Guatemala. The festive rainbow hues of the dolls' clothing effectively contrast with the somber shades of the art depicting the boy's worries. An entertaining, comforting bedtime read-aloud. Ages 4-7. (Nov.)

The adage "forewarned is forearmed" rings true in this charming tale that appeals to the stubborn inner child in everyone. Horowitz (The Ugly Pumpkin) speaks volumes through a marriage of rhyming, witty text and wacky illustrations, especially the clever die-cut cover of this paper-over-board book, literally showcasing a tiger's open mouth. When birds-of-a-feather friends Chirp and Burp receive news of the imminent arrival of a tiger, they choose to ignore the sage advice of a fellow bird ("Listen... if you wish to be healthy and live a long while;/ Always beware of a tiger who smiles!"). Horowitz's less-than-subtle humor shines forth with newspaper headlines trumpeting the tiger's appearance, plastered all over the windows of the very bus on which he rides, and the striped cat's halo as he vows never to eat the quivering birds. Once the beaked buddies realize his true intentions, the birds suddenly get smart ("It just goes to show you can't trust your eyes, for a tiger who smiles will also tell lies"). Until the arrival of the next predator…. Parents of children who must always see things for themselves will surely appreciate this knowing tale. Ages 4-up. (Oct.)

LaMarche (The Rainbabies) gives his hero just one, strictly limited magical power. Daniel discovers that he can raise things off the ground by looking at them, but "never back and forth. Just up. And that, not much." The youngest son of a fisherman whose livelihood requires strength, he resents his nickname, "Mouse," and chafes at being left home while his brother helps on the boat. But once Daniel realizes he has lifted an oyster cracker with his will alone, he spends hours perfecting his new skill. The story unfolds in a series of cinematically paced scenes. LeMarche shows Daniel close-up as he practices on progressively heavier objects, then provides readers with a big smile—a spread of Daniel's dad asleep in the living room, a newspaper across his lap, looking just like any other napping dad, except for the fact that he's hovering inches above the sofa. When a whale is beached near their home, the boy's gift frees the whale and wins Daniel a place on his father's boat. LaMarche's power to draft and tint his compositions appears almost casual; there's nothing, it seems, he can't draw. He depicts all the people and objects in the book, whether on the ground or suspended in mid-air, with the same enthusiastic objectivity. This matter-of-fact quality contributes to the story's magic. Ages 3-8. (Sept.)

Downing's fans may recognize this cumulative text as the lyrics to a longtime Louisiana favorite song she adapted for her 1998 kids' album, From the Gumbo Pot. Even without the music, the words still have plenty of lip-smacking appeal as they match signature Creole and Cajun dishes to the days of the week. "Today is Monday/ Monday red beans," begins the text, adding the verses' refrain: "All you lucky children, come and/ eat it up. Come and eat it up!" By the time the end of the week rolls around, readers also will have been urged to try everything from po' boys (Tuesday) to beignets (Sunday), always followed by the refrain. Kadair's (Grandma's Gumbo) cut-paper and photo collages alternate close-ups of the dishes with scenes of a dining room that welcomes an ever-growing number of guests. Her homespun collages may be made from cloth and paper (and even rice), but they prove to be a tasty medium for conveying the mouthwatering flavors. Youngsters may well be inspired to put together their own art projects celebrating their favorite dishes. In keeping with the spirit of the culture it celebrates, the book also includes a lagniappe: a description of each dish cited, and a recipe for red beans and rice. Ages 5-8. (Nov.)

German artist Junge probingly examines a child's fear of the night. The book begins as young Laura climbs into a bed, rendered in pencil lines on a spacious white page, and wonders, "Why does it always have to get dark?" Night creeps toward her from the right-hand side of the next spread, a crawling mass of smoky gray-green. Next, a train appears with gargoyles for passengers, driven by a monster many times Laura's size. The girl is fearful, but curious, too: "What would a world without night really be like?" A series of curious gouaches follows: a tiny line of people gaze at the sky, wondering where the stars have gone, and a group of workmen saw down lamp-posts like trees. "There would be no moon to deliver beautiful dreams," the narrator points out, as a giant crescent moon–headed woman bends way over to drop tiny dreams down the chimney of Laura's house. "Dreams in which... Laura is able to forget her fear of the dark." Three wordless spreads demonstrate her victorious dreams: she lassoes a lion and tames it for an audience of the aforementioned gargoyles. The book's elegant European feel is ideally suited to the subject of the subconscious. In Junge's treatment of the fear of night she does not moralize; her leisurely examination of night and day is just right for bedtime, and she delicately expresses the story's message—that the night has gifts, too. Ages 5-7. (Sept.)

This undercover investigation, which begins as research for a science project on iguanas and winds up as alleged evidence that dinosaurs are alive and well, is both amusing and engaging. Edwards (Alphabeasts), otherwise known as "Wally," collects the "scientific data" in pages designed to resemble a boy's simple notebook, fashioned from corrugated paper strung together with yarn. Even the narrator's "apparatus" list of a pencil, sketchpad and other tools reveals a back-to-basics approach to proving his theorem. Each page details discoveries and observations penned in a mock-serious voice. "Many dinosaurs especially enjoy meeting in cafés to discuss movies, music, art and crushing things," reads the text opposite a pseudo-photo of teatotaling dinos labelled "T. Rex? (or Tea Wrecks?)." Facing pages include a composite of watercolor-and–colored pencil renderings peppered with brief notes, puns and humorous asides (next to a father-son dino photo, Wally has jotted, "This baby is going to need one big diaper!").With so much prehistoric proof, even skeptics may have a change of heart by story's end. Regardless of readers' beliefs about dinosaurs' existence, this title will appeal to everyone from CSI fansto those who simply enjoy a good read. Ages 5-8. (Sept.)

This picture-book version of Prokofiev's opera kicks off the Musical Stories series. Polish illustrator Gaudasinska endearingly renders the depressed Prince who needs to laugh, the witch who sentences him to fall in love with a trio of oranges and the rest of Prokofiev's cast as long-nosed wooden puppets. Their stiff-legged poses, along with the crisp-edged silhouettes, folk motifs and sunny watercolor wash convey the artificiality of a theatrical production with classic harlequin wit. The text, by contrast, falters. The lengthy narrative feels flat-footed, even in moments of what should be high comedy: "[The witch] tripped over the hems of her layered skirts and promptly ended up on the floor in front of the Prince,... her absurd stripy knickers exposed for all to see." And, as to one of the opera's running gags—the argument of two factions of spectators over what course the opera should take, and their attempts to hijack the performance? Alas, the subplot doesn't make it into print, and the nature of the "audience" mentioned on the first and last pages is never made clear. It's not easy to turn an opera into a book. But perhaps young readers will be so busy inspecting Gaudasinska's imaginative work that they won't mind the awkward text. Ages 7-9. (Sept.)

Caldecott medalist Gammell (Song and Dance Man) provides a humorous and hyperbolic visual interpretation of Sierra's (Wild About Books) silly, spirited story. The bespectacled, wild-haired young narrator is grouchy because she has yet to find a third-grade science fair project, while her classmates are sitting pretty: "The ants on Mary's ant farm were growing corn and peas,/ And Kevin Fink was on the brink of curing a disease." But eureka! Over the Internet, she purchases a project "guaranteed to win first prize," Professor Swami's Super Slime, billed as "a mutant yeast with just a piece of dragon DNA." When the package arrives, she disregards its warning to keep the slime inside the box until the fair. After she opens the lid and gives the slime "a teeny-tiny poke" (like the star of Plantzilla), the goo begins to grow (and growl and emit smoke). Gammell's signature spattery artwork is ideally suited to chronicle the slime's expanding girth as it devours the girl's cat, sister, father, teacher and classmates. Finally, she remembers the rest of the instructions: feed the slime sugar "till it swells 1,000 times in mass./ Stand back as it erupts/ Into a harmless cloud of gas." The resulting explosion catapults the slime's ingested victims to tree branches and rooftops. Gammell's illustrations amplify the energy and fun of Sierra's bouncy verse. Ages 6-9. (Oct.)

McKinty, previously known for adult crime novels, brings an attuned ear for dialogue and a taut pacing to his first YA outing, the launch title in the Lighthouse Trilogy. Thirteen-year-old Jamie O'Neill lost his arm in cancer surgery a year ago, and has not spoken a word since. During that time, his father also left the family to marry again and settle in Seattle. Jamie's life of near-poverty with his single mother changes dramatically with the arrival of a letter, informing his mother that she has inherited a lighthouse estate in Ireland, and the 10-acre island on which it rests. By the second chapter, Jamie and his mother are living in their new home, and have learned that Jamie will become a laird (or lord) on his 18th birthday. In a hidden chamber within the lighthouse, Jamie discovers a strange device that teleports him and his new friend Ramsay to Aldan, a city "ninety-six light-years" away. There a girl named Wishaway informs him he is the prophesied savior come to rescue her people from the invading iceships of Alkhava. But the attack is already underway, and the residents of Aldan are taken captive to be sold as slaves. Jamie leads a resourceful counterattack, and while the action will keep the pages turning, it is the dialogue between Jamie and Ramsay, replete with pop-culture references, that makes this such an enjoyable trip. An intelligent, open-ended mythology allows for additions to the series, but this volume solidly stands on its own. Ages 11-15. (Oct.)

When an asteroid collides with the moon, causing natural disasters—tidal waves, volcanoes, earthquakes and climate changes—on Earth, life as 16-year-old Miranda knows it will never be the same. Suddenly, things she has taken for granted—electricity, news from the outside world and three square meals a day—are a thing of the past. Thanks to her mother's foresight and preparedness, Miranda and her two brothers are better off than many families in their Pennsylvania community. They have a pantry filled with canned goods and plenty of logs to fuel their wood-burning stove. Yet their situation becomes more critical as other unexpected disasters arise. The book may be lengthy, but most readers will find it absorbing from first page to last. This survival tale by the author of The Year Without Michael celebrates the fortitude and resourcefulness of human beings during critical times. The story unfolds through Miranda's journal entries, from May, when the asteroid strikes, to the following March. Though the entries paint a grim picture of a rapidly shrinking civilization ("I write stuff down in here and I don't read it. Things are bad enough without having to remind myself of just how bad things are," she explains), her words also evoke a strain of hope which proves to be her most essential survival tool. Miranda's changing priorities, undying love for her family and heightened appreciation of simple pleasures will likely provoke discussion and inspire gratitude for life as we know it now. Ages 12-up. (Oct.)

The obsessive-compulsive hero of Donuthead, now in sixth grade, finds that the social and microbial challenges of middle school are nearly enough to do him in. Sarah, Franklin's unlikely best friend from book one, also faces tests: hers may be scarier, but she talks about them less. The author spends a bit too much time reviewing old material, and the story doesn't ignite until halfway through, when Sarah, who has learned how to figure skate faster than you can say "flying camel," soars in her first exhibition. The scatological humor may well appeal to the elementary school crowd, but the overarching message here is about maturity: Stauffacher charts that big leap from boy to man as Franklin blushes at his young teacher's bare shoulder, and sizes up his unrequited love for the perfect Glynnis Powell. As Gloria (his contact from the National Safety Department, first met in Donutheart) points out, "It's called 'growing up,' Franklin. You are beginning to notice that other people have needs wholly unconnected to your health.... It's a good sign.'' Franklin shows he understands when he does something to help Sarah that violently clashes with his ironclad policy of risk-avoidance. Those who loved the first book will want to read this one, and since many issues (Sarah's messy home life, Franklin's mystery sperm-donor dad) remain unresolved, they'll hope for a third to tie things up. Ages 8-12. (Oct.)

Dunmore's (The Siege, for adults) richly imagined fantasy, her first for young adults, posits tension between two parallel worlds: one undersea, the other along the rocky Cornwall coast. Sapphire, 11, and her older brother, Conor, have grown up in a close-knit family, loving the tidal cove below their cottage. Their father, Mathew, a fisherman and photographer, adores the sea; on the other hand, their mother has, in her words, "good reason to fear" it. When Dad disappears, and part of his boat is found, the family holds a memorial service and moves painfully through grief. Even a year after his disappearance, Sapphy and Conor refuse to believe their father is dead, while their mother begins to move on, befriending a visiting diver. Mer children Faro and Elvira begin to court the siblings, introducing them to such marvels as breathing underwater and swimming with dolphins. Ingo, the undersea world about which their father sang, beckons overpoweringly, and Sapphy, who is drawn back there repeatedly, begins to understand the Mer language. A wise beekeeper, whom some suspect is a witch, seems to know Mathew's fate. She subtly intercedes as Sapphy vacillates, "cleft" between her Mer and Air identities, and also suggests that Ingo is "breaking its bounds," intruding into the Air world. Dunmore makes both settings riveting, and captures Sapphy's lonely struggle through the heroine's first-person narrative. Dualities—skepticism and belief, collective memory and individual perception, the pull of Mer life versus Sapphy's family love—persist to the tale's end and beyond. Ages 10-up. (Sept.)

Owen's (the Mythworld series) clever story construction—which essentially starts with a twist ending and works backwards—allows for a lively hodgepodge of myth, legend and adventure story. On March 15 (à la Julius Caesar), 1917, a London professor is killed with a Roman spear, "of a make and composition that hasn't been forged in over a thousand years." His dying effort is to dispatch an arcane book to John, his student. The book turns out to be the Imaginarium Geographica, containing "all the lands that have ever existed in myth and legend, fable and fairy tale." John and two companions, Jack and Charles, must flee from a group of cannibal beasts who will stop at nothing to obtain it, and end up aboard the 16th-century ship of the diminutive and mysterious Bert, who knew the professor and knows even more about the book. Their travels lead them through Arthurian legend, pre-Biblical flood tales, dragon lore and the works of Jules Verne—to name just a few—with hints of Narnia along the way. Their mission to defeat the Winter King is linked to the real-world events of the Great War. The conclusion—which may not come as much of a surprise to attentive readers—reveals the true identity of the three main characters, whose future books are populated with the things they've seen on their journey. Like some of M. Night Shyamalan's films, this book might be seen more as a parlor trick than as literature, but it certainly has its pleasures. Ages 12-up. (Oct.)

Frost's (Spinning Through the Universe) ingeniously structured novel in verse about a Scottish family may be set in 1850, but its themes will resonant with today's teens. The events unfold through the alternating perspectives of sisters Sarah, the oldest of four, whose strength and agility with tools help her father ("just like a lad," says he), and Jeannie, the comely one with golden curls. Readers quickly learn that the British landlords are forcing out the residents of Scotland's Western Isle of Barra. The night before the family's planned departure for Canada, Sarah braids together her hair with Jeannie's, takes one half of the braid for herself and leaves the other for her sister. While 14-year-old Jeannie departs with her parents and two younger siblings by boat, 15-year-old Sarah hides out in order to stay with their grandmother and return with the woman to Mingulay, the small island south of Barra where their grandfather is buried. The braid not only symbolizes the bond between the sisters ("You'll always long for Jeannie, Aunt Mari says [to Sarah]. No matter how far/ away she is, you may know when something hard is happening to her"), but also nods to Frost's form here, the Celtic knot, which she employs seamlessly. This brief, memorable book spans two years, several deaths, first love and the stigma attached to unwed mothers, while also conveying the resolve of one family to survive and to preserve hope. Ages 12-up. (Oct.)

Having told Hamlet's story from Ophelia's point of view in her Dating Hamlet, Fiedler here cleverly retells Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet from the perspective of 15-year-old Lady Rosaline, Juliet's cousin. Strong and smart Rosaline, who is training to be a healer, catches Romeo's eye when the young Montague brings to her his wounded friend for treatment. But when romantic Romeo meets innocent Juliet at the fateful Capulet costume fete, they are instantly infatuated; despite the fact that "Montagues spit upon Capulets, and Capulets, in turn, hurl stones at Montagues," they secretly marry, which of course leads to terrible tragedy. This is Rosaline's story, but other characters narrate, including kind Benvolio (a Montague), who loves Rosaline, and even her cousin Tybalt, who as a ghost is able to provide narration of scenes just between Romeo and Juliet. There are so many humorous touches in this retelling: the wounded friend whom Romeo first brings to Rosaline is Petruchio, whose name Bard fans will recognize from The Taming of the Shrew, for example. The author shares Shakespeare's love of wordplay; she uses lines from his original text, and waxes memorable lines of her own ("Tis not thou...'tis I," says Rosaline as she rejects Romeo). The author modernizes the message here, too, making Romeo and Juliet's suicides seem more foolish than poetic: When Rosaline hears of Juliet's plan to kill herself, she tells her young cousin that "There is nothing mighty in quitting life"; later she tells a distraught Romeo, "You settled for desire, but did not allow time for love." This novel manages to be both witty and multilayered, leaving readers with plenty to ponder. Ages 12-up. (Sept.)

After the queen bee of their clique mysteriously disappears during a slumber party on the last day of seventh grade, the remaining four girls drift apart. Now, three years later, the Rosewood, Pa., former pals are practically strangers, but still plagued by the secrets that they shared with Alison—and new scandals they are trying to keep under wraps. Then they each start receiving cryptic messages from someone named "A" who seems to know everything, and makes them wonder, "Was she back?" The four girls are fairly standard types: there is free-spirited Aria, overachiever Spencer, good-girl Emily, a star swimmer, and glamorous Hanna. Their scandals, too, echo the over-the-top fare typical of guilty pleasure books: Aria is having an affair with her new AP English teacher, for example, while Emily finds that kissing a girl "felt a zillion times different than kissing" her boyfriend. Readers will certainly find enough drama to keep the pages turning (one girl battles bulimia, another steals her sister's boyfriend—and then there's what's buried in Alison's old backyard), and they will no doubt have fun piecing together who and what could be behind those bizarre messages. This is clique lit with a mystery twist: the author has spun a plethora of possibilities sure to make readers reach for the next installment in this planned four-book series—and beyond. Ages 14-up. (Oct.)

As she did in The Foretelling, Hoffman offers another fascinating glimpse of a past civilization—with reverberations for both past and present—in this moving novel set during the Spanish Inquisition. The year is 1500 and, in the village of Encaleflora where 16-year-old narrator Estrella lives, Christian soldiers, "driven by bloodlust and evil," crusade against all forms of heresy. First, they burn books; next, they rob Jewish and Muslim families of their possessions, then torture or kill them. Readers familiar with Jewish traditions may guess what Estrella does not yet know about her family: that they are conversos, "new Christians," a community practicing the Jewish faith in secret. With expert pacing and lyrical prose, Hoffman lays out the clues that lead Estrella to self-discovery while also educating readers about the nuances of the times. Early signs point to the heroine's best friend Catalina's eventual betrayal of her (she invites Estrella over for a dinner of sausage, for instance), because she is jealous of the attentions Estrella receives from Catalina's cousin and fiancé, Andres. During her darkest hours, after her grandfather, mother and brother are brutally murdered, Estrella still refuses to compromise her values or her devotion to Andres, who returns her love despite the dangers. Even secondary and tertiary characters emerge fully formed, while Estrella's spare, eloquent narrative evokes her sorrow and her determination to survive and never to forget the atrocities she has witnessed. "Even when I was an old woman,... older than the oldest raven in the sky, I'd remember everything I'd ever known and seen," she vows as she prepares an escape to Amsterdam. Ages 12-up. (Oct.)