Children's Book Reviews: Week of 7/30/2007

Tafuri (Have You Seen My Duckling?) is in classic form in her latest large-scale offering. As Squirrel hops and jumps through a pumpkin patch and around the nearby woods, his long, rangy body expertly scaling branches and the occasional bird feeder, friends invite him to pause for some fun. “But Squirrel couldn’t,” explains Tafuri. “He was so busy!” Kids can chime in on six oldie-but-goodie animal sounds (“Squeak, squeak,” says Mouse, “Will you nibble a pumpkin with us?”) while they savor Tafuri’s signature style: the precisely drawn, generously sized animal shapes, the delicate detailing that makes fur and feathers bristle with energy, and the softly variegated colors that evoke the magic of the season. A wonderful book to usher in autumn. Ages 2-5. (Aug.)

Admirers of The Borrowers and The Tale of Two Bad Mice will smile at this beguiling comparison of human- and mouse-scale worlds, Donofrio’s (Riding in Cars with Boys) children’s debut. Mary, a midcentury child who favors flouncy skirts, lives with parents and siblings. In the same house, behind a wall, lives a mouse who “had a mother and a father and a sister and a brother, too.” Mary learns to beware of mice; the mouse, of people. “So Mary didn’t tell her family about the mouse. And the mouse didn’t tell about Mary.” Nonetheless, Mary often steals a glimpse inside the mousehole to exchange a wave with her friend. With an antique palette and an engraver’s fluid line, McClintock (Adèle & Simon) designs ingenious accessories for the anthropomorphic mice. When a newly hippie-ish Mary leaves for college in a VW Beetle, the mouse packs her things in a walnut shell. Mary’s dorm room matches the mouse’s underground home, down to the green bedspread, yellow sheets and overflowing hamper; Mary’s striped pink rug looks just like the pink sock by the mouse’s bed. Eventually Mary raises her own children in a modern, glass-walled house, and her daughter, Maria, meets the mouse’s child. True, Donofrio and McClintock indulge in nostalgia and pay no heed to rodents’ life expectancy. Yet only a jaded reader could fail to be bewitched by McClintock’s meticulous panels or her piquant cover art, with its swingy hand-lettering and swaying heroines. Donofrio and McClintock give exquisite attention to the girl’s and mouse’s parallel lives, emphasizing cross-generational connections and shared secrets. Ages 3-7. (Aug.)

The perennially popular Brett sets this wintry spin on the Goldilocks tale in the Arctic. A polar bear family leaves its igloo for a walk to let Baby Bear’s soup cool just as Aloo-ki, an Inuit girl, runs past, searching for her team of huskies, which have drifted away on an ice floe. Distracted by the aroma of the soup, Aloo-ki wanders into the igloo, and the rest is (not quite) history. Set against a background rendered as chilly blocks of ice, Brett’s trademark border panels unfold the simultaneous story of the bears, who rescue the stranded dog team even as Aloo-ki makes free with their breakfast and home comforts. Kids will enjoy the variations on a nursery room standard, although the main draw is, as usual, Brett’s characteristically detailed art. She pays loving attention to folkways, attiring the bears and other animals in furry parkas with geometric Inuit designs and furnishing the igloo with implements crafted in a native style. But between the frigid tones of the icy borders and the minor key of the story, the volume is narrower in its appeal than Brett’s (The Mitten) best. Ages 4-up. (Sept.)

The first installment of the Annie Series, which aims to help children meet life challenges, tackles a tough one: the death of a pet. Fontaine takes a seemingly straightforward approach, letting her narrator deliver a detailed account of her cat’s month-long decline. The narrator, a girl, discovers the cat under the bed making a strange sound and then accompanies her mother on a trip to the vet. An exam produces the grim conclusion: Ocho the cat will not get better, and the vet predicts he has about 30 days left. Girl and mom attentively care for Ocho, grieve when he dies and, finally, learn to cherish his memory. Unfortunately, much of this scenario doesn’t bear close scrutiny (the vet’s pinpoint-accurate prediction of Ocho’s life expectancy; the quickness of the girl’s acceptance of Ocho’s prognosis; the steadiness of her recovery from grief). The illustrations, in vivid, sometimes garish hues, mimic the simplified lines and perspectives of children’s drawings. Talking points at the end encourage further dialogue. Ages 5-8. (Aug.)

Whenever Marcolino ditches piano practice, Mom pulls out her secret weapon: guilt. “When I was your age, I played for hours,” she says wistfully, adding that her own aspirations to be a grand pianist were never realized. “After you were born, I didn’t have time to practice,” she sighs. That’s enough to send a chastened Marcolino back to the ivories “for her” even though he’d much rather be “a grand Formula One racer or a grand firefighter” or any number of other grand professions. But Marcolino’s sympathetic grandfather has a secret weapon of his own: a box of old photographs that reveal Mom was hardly the pianist she claimed to be—in fact, this family drama turns out to be a case of like mother, like son. “Mom’s face turns red, as if a teacher were asking her why her homework wasn’t done,” twits Cali (I Can’t Wait). The sharp text finds a soulmate in French illustrator Heliot’s offbeat, angular ink drawings, arranged in compositions that take advantage of the book’s short, horizontal format. A jaunty mélange of naïf stylings and retro graphic design references (Grandfather looks like he stepped out of a vintage poster), the pictures also brim with goofy detailing, like Marcolino’s extreme geometric version of a pompadour. It all adds up to a highly satisfying uncovering of a parent’s feet of clay. Ages 6-8. (July)

Miss Wichelman, an energetic fifth-grade teacher, assures her students they can be anything they want to be (“If you dream it... then you can BE it!”). She keeps a basket of lemons in her classroom, repeatedly asking, “And if life hands you a lemon.... Just add water and sugar and what do you have?” Her students know to respond, “Lemonade!” But this philosophy is tested when Marilyn is diagnosed with leukemia; looking at the lemons, her best friend Traci thinks, “No matter how much sugar was added, there wasn’t going to be lemonade this time.” After enduring grueling chemotherapy that leaves her bald, Marilyn returns to school to find that her classmates have all shaved their heads in support. Miss Wichelman is also bald, but (she eventually reveals to Traci and Marilyn at a meeting of the trio’s Lemonade Club) it is because she is being treated for breast cancer. When the teacher confides that her illness has dampened her enthusiasm for applying to medical school, Marilyn bellows, “You aren’t going to let something like cancer stomp on your dreams, are you?” In an uplifting finale, the teacher gets married, attended by Traci and Marilyn in lemon-colored dresses, and goes on to become a doctor. As is often the case with Polacco’s stories, this lump-in-the-throat, inspiring tale comes straight from real life; Traci is her daughter. The artist’s characteristic illustration style works particularly well here to evoke a wide emotional range while maintaining an essentially sunny mood. Ages 6-up. (Sept.)

Crisp writing from a National Book Award winner, and a Navy-family backdrop, raise this otherwise formulaic chapter-book series opener several notches above average. Piper, an independent-minded fourth grader and the narrator here, is hardly thrilled when her father, a Navy aviation mechanic known to his family as Chief, announces that he has been reassigned and the family will be moving from San Diego to Pensacola, Fla., the home of the famous Blue Angels flight team. When they arrive at their new home (after an attenuated cross-country drive that includes a visit with grandparents in Louisiana), she composes a “Why-I-Wish-We’d-Never-Moved list,” which includes leaving behind her tree house and her very own bedroom (she now shares a room with her younger sister). On the plus side, Piper’s parents let her and her two sisters get a dog and, since her choice of breed is nixed, Piper gets to choose its name (Bruna). Before long, Piper sees the Blue Angels soar overhead and decides that she wants to join their elite team when she grows up—and settles firmly into her new environment. Holt (When Zachary Beaver Came to Town) relays quotidian events with humor and insight, believably portraying a likable girl’s rapport with her siblings and parents. Davenier’s (The First Thing My Mama Told Me) dynamic line drawings convey the narrator’s spunky personality. Ages 8-11. (Aug.)

Two-time Newbery Honor author Holm (Our Only May Amelia) and Castaldi (Miss Polly Has a Dolly) gather an eclectic assemblage of “stuff” to chronicle the intermittently bumpy year of a smart, sassy seventh grader. As the months pass, Ginny tackles an impressive to-do list. Among the entries: “Get a dad” (she does, when her widowed mother remarries); “Get the role of the Sugarplum Fairy” (she doesn’t; worse, her former best friend—who never returned the sweater she borrowed—does); and “Convince mom to let me go see Grampa Joe over Easter break” (he lives in Florida). Ginny also writes poems and IMs friends, and her older brother, Henry, draws a series of comics. The collages that make up the pages here look perky: appealing mixes of objects like bottle-cap linings and candy wrappers, or spreads that combine hair dye boxes, drugstore receipts, salon bills for “color reversal” and a bank check to tell a story. But the inviting format disguises a darker side. Ginny worries, with cause, about Henry, who drinks and drives; resents her new stepfather’s ways; and her normally excellent grades take an abrupt nosedive. The everyday tensions of seventh grade show up, too, via the ex–best friend and a pesky little brother. The punchy visuals and the sharp, funny details reel in the audience and don’t let go. Ages 8-12. (July)

This complex work has all the trappings of vintage Konigsburg: unusually articulate children considering the adult world and trying to stake their claim on it; an art history–related mystery; a headlines-inspired story line; eccentric grown-ups; and, of course, incisive, often brilliant prose. Sad to say, the magic is missing. The action starts off promisingly. Amedeo Kaplan (son of characters met in The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place) has just moved to coastal Florida and made friends with William Wilcox, son of an estate sale manager (introduced in the story collection Throwing Shadows). As the boys help William’s mother pack up the palatial home of Amedeo’s next-door neighbor, a larger-than-life retired opera singer, Amedeo finds a signed Modigliani drawing. Because Amedeo has just returned from attending an art exhibit curated by another Outcasts alum, Peter Vanderwaal, on the subject of “degenerate” art (modern art criminalized by the Nazis), Amedeo is primed to uncover the history behind the drawing—a dark provenance that links the retired opera singer, the Vanderwaals and the Nazi occupation of Amsterdam. While the author’s material and style prove as stimulating as ever, her repeated reliance on coincidence weakens the book’s impact. Her tried-and-true fans will forgive these contrivances, but newcomers should not start here. Ages 9-12. (Sept.)

Wild’s debut novel, the first in a planned series, introduces 15-year-old Freedom Smith. Freedom has a preternatural talent for combat, an ability apparently inherited from a prizefighting ancestor, and one that comes in handy since he’s often harassed for being a Gypsy. After Freedom spars with some skinheads who have been bullying his family, one of his assailants is hit by a bus, and Freedom is to be arrested. He’s spared his fate when he agrees to go undercover. His mission: to investigate Darcus Knight, a filmmaker suspected of operating an illegal fight club that employs underage fighters in an unending high-stakes fight (“They don’t question it because they are born into it, and some of them die in it, having never known anything else but the fight, day after day”). At times, this fast-paced novel struggles under the weight of several plot lines, including a scheme to create a race of fighters from Freedom’s blood and the search for a missing youth. But Wild imbues her roguish hero with an appealing voice (“Adrenaline and chili are my two addictions”), and despite the far-fetched elements, the tension produces some authentic thrills. Ages 9-12. (July)

German war crimes are the basis for this historical novel, Wolf’s first, more noteworthy for its subject matter than for its execution. In 1942, in the small Czech town of Lidice, 11-year-old Milada has just finished celebrating her birthday when soldiers march into town in the middle of the night and order everyone from their homes. Separated from the men and boys, held for three days in another town, Milada and selected other children undergo a series of examinations; two of them, including Milada, are eventually transported to a special school where they are given German names and educated as proper German girls, eventually to be adopted by good Nazi families (Wolf models this part of the story on the Lebensborn program). Through all her ordeals, which grow to include secret knowledge of Czech prisoners held in the Ravensbrück concentration camp, Milada struggles to maintain her identity, hiding the star-shaped garnet pin her grandmother, Babichka, pressed into her palm that last night in Lidice (“Remember who you are, Milada. Remember where you are from. Always,” Babichka tells her with the prescience of old age). The drama of the events overshadows the serviceable characterizations, and because neither the razing of Lidice, explained in an endnote, nor the Lebensborn program will be familiar to the target audience, the history propels readers forward where the storytelling does not. Ages 10-14. (July)

This parallel universe adventure would surely have been more exciting when its authors first conceived it in 1995; today it feels somewhat like a gee-whiz amalgam of The Matrix, comic book multiverses and Ender’s Game. High-schooler Joey Harker has a terrible sense of direction; during a field trip he gets lost and ends up in a world where the McDonald’s arches are green plaid, his mother doesn’t recognize him and everything has been altered to varying degrees. He is rescued by a mysterious man named Jay (who looks like an older version of Joey) and learns that he has “Walked” between two of millions of coexisting worlds, landing in one where he drowned a year earlier. Joey finds himself the target of two warring peoples—one technology-driven, the other possessing mystical abilities—who capture Walkers like himself to harness their power. The action takes Joey to an academy at InterWorld, where hundreds of other kids who resemble him (and who all have the initials J.H.) train to “defend and protect the Altiverse from those who would harm it or bend it to their will.” Gaiman devotees, used to headier stuff, may be disappointed. Ages 10-up. (July)

Archer makes a wickedly funny debut with this contemporary tale of three evil stepmothers and their banished daughters who cross paths at boarding school. Molly Miller is the only one of the girls who wants to be at Putnam Mount McKinsey, which offers her an escape from both her mundane small town and Candy Lamb, the former homecoming queen who broke up her parents’ marriage and now reigns as queen of the household (Molly’s mom, meanwhile, reels from the shock in a psychiatric hospital). Alice Bingley-Beckerman’s father has moved into his Broadway-actress bride’s tiny Manhattan apartment; there is no room for Alice. And Reena Paruchuri, along with her brother Pradeep, get sent east when their formerly dignified father marries a yoga instructor half his age. Drawn together by their common dysfunctional backgrounds and a keen desire to seek revenge, Molly, Alice and Reena form the Poison Apples Club. Alternating among their perspectives with considerable wit, the author traces the girls’ adjustments to the new school, their search for friends, and their romantic trials and tribulations as they plot to destroy their parents’ marriages. The teens’ initial misjudgments of one another fuel much of the initial comedy, while Archer’s knowing prose gives even the old-fashioned moral a hip ring. Ages 12-up. (Sept.)

Jean, aka Jinx, has been a “bad luck magnet” since the moment she was born, when a freak thunderstorm caused a hospital blackout. Now, due to a vaguely described incident involving a stalker, she has moved from Iowa to stay with her aunt’s family in a ritzy New York City townhouse. Jean’s regular bad luck gets worse thanks to Tory, the snotty cousin who is now her classmate at an exclusive private school. After Jean mysteriously prevents a cute neighbor from a terrible accident, Tory is convinced that Jean is a witch—just like herself, and as proof she dredges up a story their grandmother used to tell about magic in their bloodline. Jean refuses to join Tory’s coven, saying, “I don’t think messing around with magic is such a good thing, you know” (though she soon performs a binding spell to prevent her cousin from hurting the family’s au pair). Tension between the girls rises, causing Tory to ominously declare, “I have a very special thank-you I’ve been saving up, just for Jinx.” With its assurance of a satisfying outcome despite the odds, predictability is a virtue in a Cabot (Princess Diaries) novel, and readers will guess most plot points, including the truth behind the stalking story. Readers will enjoy the premise and the naiveté of the heroine, and they’ll wonder, as Jean does, how much magic is actually at play. The final supernatural showdown proves that Cabot can do harrowing just as well as she does pop romance. Ages 12-up. (Aug.)

Part staccato prose, part transcript, this haunting first novel will grip readers right from the start. Fragmented scenes re-create, with grim authenticity, the almost claustrophobic perspective of the eighth-grade narrator, Logan, as he struggles to come to terms with his role in a despicable crime. “A year ago I was fine. That’s when there was nothing wrong,” Logan says early on. In relaying the action chiefly through Logan’s terse observations and through script-like reproductions of dialogue, Ellis never veers from Logan’s point of view. In this way, she infuses the narrative with his guilt over what happened, the details of which are revealed only in a climactic finale. At the same time, the narrator’s frustration does not become the audience’s, thanks to Ellis’s skill in dramatizing his vulnerability. Readers will recognize themselves in Logan’s difficulty overcoming his shame, even if the scale of his experiences is larger than their own, and sympathy as well as curiosity about his circumstances will drive them forward. Logan’s progress is slow—but realistically so—and brings with it an almost cathartic relief for the audience. Plaudits go to the art department, too: a particularly attractive book design incorporates small drawings between each segment of text. Ages 12-up. (July)

Harper’s (Boitano’s Edge) polished debut novel couches an unexpectedly poignant meditation on loss in a quick-moving plot about ghosts and the spiritual mediums who communicate with them. Fifteen-year-old Sparrow Delaney is the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter and therefore highly gifted in the psychic arts. The only problem: she wants nothing to do with her talent. She trains herself to ignore the ghosts that compete for her attention, at least in the presence of her family and fellow citizens of Lily Dale, N.Y., a (real-life) town that attracts tourists with its famous spiritualists and Spirit meetings. But how can Sparrow shake off the teenage ghost who refuses to stop haunting her unless she helps him, and what does he have to do with the cute boy in the new school she’s transferred to in hopes of escaping the Lily Dale weirdness? A steady stream of wit refreshes familiar-seeming story elements. Harper serves up pitch-perfect dialogue from high school athletes and teachers; squabbling mediums; and such clever flourishes as the grandfatherly baker, the 19th-century young Indian gentleman and the exacting female professor who serve as Sparrow’s spirit guides. Surprise turns add to the plot’s pleasures, but what makes this book stand out most is Harper’s attention to the pockets of sorrow in her characters’ histories, each of them handled with care. For all of the imagination the author displays in inventing a spirit world, she shows equal skill in probing the nuances of tender emotions, too. Ages 12-up. (July)

In a book teeming with offbeat characters and situations, debut author Halverson shows how 16-year-old Monalisa Kent and members of her community come to terms with a catastrophe that nearly ruined their town. The tragedy occurred 10 years ago when the Wayne Furniture Plant—the source of most citizens’ livelihoods—was destroyed by fire. Monalisa’s father, who worked at the plant, became a hero by saving his daughter and her friend, Glen, while Monalisa, blamed for starting the blaze, became the town villain. She finds refuge in the tattoo parlor owned by Glen’s quirky parents and in a bumper-sticker shop owned by a former fireman haunted by images of smoke and flames. But after 10 years of keeping a low profile, Monalisa decides to make her voice heard, even if it means standing on top of tables at fast-food joints and shouting her favorite bumper sticker slogans. Keeping characters (and their complicated histories) straight proves challenging, and it’s unclear why the town remains so resentful—particularly since the local university, which “[now] employs more townspeople than the Wayne plant ever did,” transformed the city following the fire. Though teens may identify with Monalisa’s unconventional attitude and be glad for her ultimate—and rightful—redemption, the book often feels unclear and unfocused. Ages 12-up. (July)

When Gemma moves from Idaho to New York City for a summer internship with a daytime TV talk show, the socially awkward 16-year-old becomes housemates with a rich, beautiful, boy-crazy friend and her sophisticated “fellow boarding school inmate.” They lend Gemma designer clothes, take her to a glamorous club opening and even introduce her to a TV heartthrob (though she meets her crush on the subway). Her job, conversely, is less than fantastic. Gemma’s internship involves hours of photocopying, coworkers who are “on friendly terms... but definitely not friends” and a pair of scheming twins bent on outshining her. Clearly, Gemma will eventually find her way, but it is going to take her housemates’ help—and some painful moments. First-novelist Richards sketches familiar scenes: Gemma stumbles through an awkward conversation with her dream guy; thanks to those nasty twins, she must silence a ringing cell phone during her first staff meeting. A snarky narrator adds thin humor, cutting down characters with such asides as “Blah, blah, blah. Can a person die from overhypothesizing?” Some plotting seems intense for the otherwise light fare. For example, Gemma is nearly raped by a coworker at a party, and the twins falsely accuse a producer of sexual harassment. In the end, Gemma’s story will keep readers tuned in but may not draw high ratings. Ages 12-up. (July)

Powers’s first novel powerfully combines timely story lines regarding illegal immigration, school violence and racial tension. The first of six narrators, MacKenzie Malone attends a Jesuit high school in El Paso, Tex., where most of the Mexican students have branded him a racist after the controversial letter to the editor he’s written appears in the local newspaper. Off his Ritalin (he’s traded it for coke) and unable to take the taunting, Mackenzie beats up a Mexican classmate so badly that the guy ends up in the hospital. That night Mackenzie, still narrating, is stabbed to death in his front yard. In subsequent chapters, six boys—among them witnesses, suspects, friends—react to the news and reveal their own disturbing secrets as they alternately narrate. On the surface, the characters fall into stock roles (the closeted gay friend, the brilliant kid hiding behind a stoner persona, the geeky outcast, the peacemaker, and so on), but the author carefully individuates their back stories even as she links the boys via their common fears. If some of the voices sound a little similar and if some of the action seems implausible, the psychological drama as a whole has enough depth and dimension to compensate. The structure Powers builds is ambitious, and she manipulates it for maximum surprise. Ages 14-up. (July)

One of two titles launching the Ask Dr. K. Fisher series—the other is About Dinosaurs—this informative book takes the form of spirited missives between concerned animals and a well-informed avian doctor (a business card held in an envelope on the back of the front cover promises, “Any problem solved!”). Llewellyn adeptly riffs on some recognizably human concerns: in a letter signed “Panic-stricken in the pond,” a tadpole writes, “My body is changing in alarming ways. My head’s bulging, my tail’s disappearing and things are beginning to sprout on my body. What is happening to me?” (The doctor’s reply begins with the familiar reassurance, “Don’t worry—you are perfectly normal.”) Some of the stronger letters come from an overprotective crocodile mother and a giraffe ashamed of its long neck (“Why am I so tall, and is there anything I can do to be more like the others?”) Rounding out the guide are Dr. Fisher’s notes on subjects that include life cycles, feeding and warning colors. Sheppard’s illustrations feature an expressive cast of creatures in a collage-like assemblage of Polaroid-style photos, dog-eared letters, envelopes and more. A winning mix of genuinely funny writing and informative content make these titles stand out from the herd. Ages 4-8. (Aug.)

Eco-activist David, a producer of the documentary An Inconvenient Truth, and former copywriter Gordon pool their energies in this upbeat and articulate book. The authors estimate that 1.2 billion kids between the ages of eight and sixteen live on Earth, each contributing to greenhouse gas emissions. “Your carbon footprint comes from normal, everyday activities like using your computer, turning on the light in your bedroom, taking a bath (heating water uses energy!), and riding in a bus or car to school.” But rather than play the blame game, the book examines the climate crisis and recommends taking action by recycling, carpooling, starting “no-waste” policies in cafeterias (watch those juice boxes) and monitoring the efficiency of home and school appliances—things a young reader can do right away. Kid-friendly analogies, surprising statistics and punchy sidebars enable readers to reflect on scientific evidence. David and Gordon compare oceans to “carbon sponges,” the atmosphere to a jam-packed “bedroom closet” and forests and soils to a “piggy bank” that stores carbon dioxide. Dynamic layouts and abundant illustrations and photos enliven the passionate words—lush, full-bleed photographs emphasize the high stakes by portraying both the splendor of the natural world and the devastating effects of climate change. Printed in soy ink on recycled paper, this engaging and accessible guide, ideal as a gift or book-club option, inspires commitment to the planet. Ages 8-up. (Sept.)

It would seem churlish to review the Harry Potter series finale with something less than overwhelming enthusiasm—after all, there’s no one like Rowling. Who else has sustained such an intricate, endlessly inventive plot over seven thick volumes and so constantly surprised her readers with twists, well-laid traps and Purloined Letter–style tricks? Hallows continues the tradition, both with sly feats of legerdemain and with several altogether new, unexpected elements. And yet the revelations don’t pack as much of a punch; the moments of genuine astonishment or grief that mark every other book in the series go missing here. Perhaps readers know too well the rules of Rowling’s magical universe, a universe she has constructed with extraordinary thoroughness and care.

As the ending of the previous book suggested, Hallows revolves around Harry, Ron and Hermione’s quest for the rest of the Horcruxes into which Voldemort has poured his soul. Without the Hogwarts school year to supply structure, the plot can meander, and Harry himself is tempted to go on an altogether different search. For once some puckered seams trouble the surface of the storytelling—is Harry now using forbidden spells? How many Horcruxes are there?

It’s hard not to wish that the editors had done their jobs more actively. Hallows doesn’t contain the extraneous scenes found in, say, Goblet of Fire, but the momentum is uneven. Rowling is better at comedy than at fight scenes, and Hallows has less humor and more combat than any of the preceding books. Surely her editors could have helped her build tension with more devices than the use of ellipses and dashes? And craft fight dialogue that sounds a bit less like it belongs in a comic book? True, none of these flaws is fatal to a fan’s enjoyment. But why not have make the bestselling children’s book in history the best it could possibly be?

One great virtue remains constant: Rowling’s skill at portraying characters. Harry and friends mature, not in straight lines but in realistically messy patterns. Over the course of the seven books, Harry develops from the scrawny misfit of no. 4, Privet Drive, to a teenager who can pull off acts of self-sacrifice and goodness without cheapening his charisma for readers—no mean feat for a writer. And when Rowling concludes her long story, she does so the old-fashioned way, without ambiguity. Harry Potter has finished growing up, and even the most ardent fans will know that it is time to say good-bye. Ages 9-12. (July)