Children's Book Reviews: Week of 9/10/2007

Fat Cat is ready to take a seat, and all the other animals firmly believe it's not a matter of “what” but rather “whom” he will choose for his resting place. Solidarity quickly breaks down—“Sit on the Pig! Sit on the Pig!” shrieks Chicken in full Furies-like mode—until Mouse gingerly broaches an alternative: “Perhaps he could sit on the chair?” Sighs of relief all around—until the animals realize it's Fat Cat's lunchtime. Thomas, in a rollicking and highly promising debut, makes this book a laugh-out-loud pas de deux between Dick-and-Jane-get-stylish typography (which goes by the evocative names of Eatwell Chubby and Chaloops) and the supremely silly visual evocation of high anxiety. Eschewing anything that smacks of a setting (except for the comfy chair to which Fat Cat is directed) she renders her barnyard characters in super-saturated colors and thick, bold outlines. Mood swings generally have a bad name these days, but Thomas makes them a hoot. Ages 3-5. (Sept.)

A childless king and queen, who are clearly Western in appearance, follow a wondrous red thread that tugs at their hearts and draws them to a “faraway land.” They ultimately arrive at a remote village (it is obviously Chinese, although never identified as such), where they discover that a giggling baby girl has been pulling at their heartstrings. An elderly woman tells them, “This baby belongs to you.” Lin (The Seven Chinese Sisters, see Picture Book Reprints) bases this imaginative story on an ancient Chinese belief that “an invisible, unbreakable red thread connects all those who are destined to be together.” Some parents (and children), however, may be troubled by the conspicuous absence of the birth mother, or by the tale's resolution, which, in making the adopted child even a metaphorical “princess in the kingdom,” draws attention to the economic disparity between the child's original circumstances and those of the adoptive family. But it's hard to resist the story's plainspoken magic. Lin builds a sense of awe and mystery as she unspools the monarchs' journey, and although her homey rendering style can border on stiff, the intense expressiveness of her characters and a regal palette make for emotionally vivid compositions. Ages 4-8. (Sept.)

This book shares its name with a London-based organization dedicated to promoting greater understanding of Chinese life and culture among adoptive families in the West. The text, credited to an anonymous adoptive mother, takes the form of a series of heartfelt, parallel musings about two women “who never knew each other” but who are central to a sprightly Chinese girl. “The first one gave you life; the second taught you to live it.... One found a home for you that she could not provide, the other prayed for a child; her hope was not denied.” Masse (Goodnight, Sweet Pig) echoes this dreamy lyricism with gently surreal illustrations rendered in a texture like shot silk. Her treatment of the birth mother merits particular interest: on some spreads, she portrays the woman relatively realistically, carrying water in her village or gazing down at her pregnant belly. But in other spreads, the mother is transformed into a benevolent spirit; readers will notice her Asian features in the moon that shines down on the adoptive mother and child, and even in the mountain that the pair traverse during a hike or in a dramatic sky. It's a risky artistic choice, but Masse pulls it off in an understated way that offers comfort and encouragement to parents and children. A portion of the proceeds benefits Mother Bridge of Love. Ages 4-10. (Sept.)

A sort of Personal Shopper Dolittle, a zoo-going girl talks to the animals, but the novelty wears off when the pushy beasts send her on errands. She hears the first “pssst!” as she approaches the gorilla cage. “What's up?” asks the ape, idly scratching his ear. “Listen. Could you get me a new tire?” His swing is broken: “Get two, just in case.” The pig wants trash cans, in metal and plastic, please; the sloths demand bicycle helmets. The shiny-faced girl goes from bemused to stoop-shouldered, but brings the goods in a wheelbarrow. Rex (Frankenstein Makes a Sandwich) packs the increasingly crisp conversations into tight six-panel comics, relaxing into airy spreads as the girl meanders along zoo paths. He juxtaposes meticulous oil-and-acrylic portraits with stripped-down, architectural sketches and empty voice balloons that imply background chatter; the eccentric graphics suggest unfinished paint-by-numbers with a psychedelic edginess. Rex's animals pretend to be sprucing up their cages, but a subsequent picture of the menagerie in a dragster—cobbled together from the requested items—reveals their shrewd plot to break free. Rex conveys their personalities with an astringent attitude and a refreshing brake on the cuteness. A very funny excursion. Ages 5-8. (Sept.)

Imagine a family car trip where no one zones out on a Game Boy or iPod, no child whines, “Are we there yet?” and no adult announces, “Don't make me pull this car over!” Rosen's (Elijah's Angel) sweetly nostalgic story, which features an intriguing picture book debut by Burckhardt, presents three siblings who never quarrel and who can amuse themselves for hours. “We have no destination (at least, Dad won't say just where we're going),” enthuses the narrator, “no reason to be home for supper, no place we need to reach by dark on the map that's as big as a baby blanket spread across our laps.” Burckhardt's crackle-varnished pictures evoke the earnest openheartedness of 19th-century American primitivists as they chronicle the family's journey over hill and dale; the exaggerated panoramas and the highly stylized characters (their faces are almost always seen in severe profile) lend an almost surreal quiet to the pages while also tempering Rosen's tendency to overindulge in lyric idylls. The book may require as much willing suspension of disbelief as a fairy tale does, but it takes readers for a pleasant ride. Ages 5-10. (Sept.)

Blake (Akiak: A Tale from the Iditarod) offers another action-crammed dog story set in Alaska, his full-bleed oil paintings and his first-person text working in tandem to convey his plot's immediacy. Johnnie, the narrator, finally gets to join his father and Swift, the dog, on a hunting trip. Pa counsels his son, “It's about figuring out the bear before the bear figures out you.” On the very next page, a stealthy grizzly takes the party (and readers) by surprise: in a startling picture, the animal rears up to dominate the spread, its jaws open and nostrils flared, its claws bearing down on Swift. Pa fires his gun and the bear leaves, but not before wounding Pa. From this point the story becomes Johnnie's, as Pa dispatches him and Swift to get help, instructing Johnnie, “Listen to the dog.” In gripping scenarios, Johnnie pits himself against nature and, aided by Swift, triumphs. Blake's paintings, whether sharply defined close-ups or more impressionistic backgrounds, capture the drama of the adventure. Dog lovers will especially enjoy the authentic depiction of the remarkable bond between human and canine, the shared determination and mutual trust. Ages 5-up. (Sept.)

In contrast to Bateman's light-hearted Keeper of Soles, this fairy tale comes across as solemn and high-minded. In it, a servant girl helps a unicorn evade slaughter by her former playmate, the duke's son. Newcomer Spalenka's gaudy, digitally manipulated illustrations, however, compete for readers' attention, with distracting combinations of superimposed medieval ornaments, photographs of some characters (specifically of Tanisa, the servant girl), painted still lifes and other elements. The text explains that Tanisa and the duke's son, Chris, have grown apart, and that Chris's once-pure heart has been twisted by his power-hungry father. The scenes jump from one to the next, in a few places resembling stills in a book adaptation of a movie. The climax feels medicinal: the unicorn, eluding the whole court, finds refuge in Tanisa's lap, but Chris aims his arrow at it. The unicorn first heals the wound Chris accidentally inflicts on Tanisa, then tenderly places his horn on Chris's heart. “When Chris opened his eyes again they were filled with the joy [Tanisa] remembered from when they were children.” The story's message is lost in the unicorn magic, faux courtly prose (“on the morrow she would rest”) and superficial images. Ages 6-10. (Sept.)

Griffiths's (The Day My Butt Went Psycho!) innovative book for beginning readers collects nine short, intentionally silly snippets propelled by kid-pleasing, tongue-tripping verse. In the title tale, a cat sitting on a mat decides to chase a rat, who grabs a baseball bat: “Around and around and around the mat the rat chased the cat with the baseball bat until... KERSPLAT!” Other protagonists also encounter tongue-in-cheek adversity. Friends Ed and Ted and Ted's dog Fred survive a tumble off a cliff, a near-drowning and ingestion by a whale. Lou, “the unluckiest girl that the world ever knew,” becomes covered in a kangaroo's glue and then lands headfirst in a “prickle bush.” And pals Bill and Phil roll down a hill, landing in a puddle of smelly pig swill. Griffiths's bouncy cadence and wacky wordplay occasionally sound derivative of Dr. Seuss, as when a hog reprimands a speeding dog and frog: “Racing is NOT allowed in my bog! Not on a log! Not on a cog! No log-racing frogs! No cog-racing dogs!” And when Chuck the Duck's ice-cream truck gets stuck in the muck, Buck the Duck announces, “I can get your truck unstuck. I can suck up all the muck with the muck-sucker-upper on my muck-sucking truck!” Denton's edgy, stick-figure-filled sketches enhance the zaniness factor and the offbeat, ironic humor. Ages 4-8. (Sept.)

This droll stand-alone chapter book picks up where Egan's picture book The Pink Refrigerator left off, as Dodsworth, the formerly complacent mouse, prepares for adventure: “He wanted to see the world. But first, he wanted breakfast.” Dodsworth drops by the bistro from Egan's debut, Friday Night at Hodges' Café, to order pancakes. But there he encounters Hodges's notoriously crazy duck, a plain white quacker with a yellow bill, yellow feet and steady gaze, who flings flapjacks at him until Hodges mercifully intervenes. Later, in a quaint sleeper car headed for Manhattan, Dodsworth opens his suitcase and discovers a stowaway—the duck. When they arrive and the duck hops on the subway, Dodsworth feels glad to be rid of him, then realizes he must retrieve Hodges's pet. Dodsworth inadvertently gets a grand tour as the duck takes a ferry to the Statue of Liberty (“ 'Why would a duck take a boat?' he wondered”), poses artfully at the Museum of Modern Art and takes a bus to Coney Island. Egan favors a palette of golds and clay-browns, and draws pillowy shapes in a gentle, never rigid line. For his nostalgic New York, he borrows scenery and fashions from the '40s and earlier. His polite cows, pigs and bears stroll the boulevards in suits and hats, making the unclothed, uncouth duck seem all the more delinquent. Egan keeps the hijinks low-key, preferring long pauses and slow burns to nutty slapstick, and spotlighting Dodsworth, the perfect screwball-comedy foil to Hodges's daffy duck. Ages 6-10. (Sept.)

Igraine's parents are magicians who own the coveted Singing Books of Magic. Brother Albert has joined the family business, but Igraine finds magic incredibly boring—she pines for the excitement of knighthood. Then, on her 12th birthday, the vast castle next door is taken over by Osmund the Greedy, who wants the books for himself. At the same moment, Igraine's parents inadvertently turn themselves into swine, and their daughter happily volunteers for a quest to retrieve the red-headed giant's hairs they need to become human again. Funke's inventive re-imagining of the knight-in-shining-armor story benefits from its playful details—rainbow-colored smoke wafting out of the spell room, gargoyles who breathe fire from the turrets, stone lions that roar at strangers. Equally enjoyable are the family dynamics: though brother and sister begin as typical antagonists, they work together when their home is imperiled. Igraine's parents don't understand her aversion to magic, but respect her desire to forge her own path. Along the Funke continuum, which travels from silly picture books to the dark, ambitious fantasy of Inkheart, this falls closest to Dragon Rider, aimed squarely at elementary school readers. The author, whose career began in illustration, provides her own line drawings, witty images of the singing books (they have faces, hands and feet), and atmospheric spreads with inset text. While children will want to see the pictures up close, an abundance of action and humor make this satisfying story work as a read-aloud too. Ages 8-12. (Oct.)

Blending the offbeat humor of Lemony Snicket and insight into the preadolescent psyche à la Jerry Spinelli with the captivating conundrums of Blue Balliett, the debut novel from a pseudonymous author is equal parts supernatural whodunit, suspense-filled adventure and evocative coming-of-age tale. When an unlikely pair of 11-year-old outsiders—survivalist Cassandra and aspiring stand-up comedian Max-Ernest—team up to solve a mystery surrounding the alleged death of an old magician and the strange and wondrous possessions he left behind, they unwittingly cross paths with the villainous Dr. L and his ageless accomplice Ms. Mauvais, who are obsessed with finding the magician's notebook. After the diabolical duo shows up at Cass and Max-Ernest's school, one of their classmates (a gifted artist named Benjamin) goes missing. Convinced that Benjamin has been kidnapped and faces mortal danger, Cass and Max-Ernest track the doctor and his glove-wearing sidekick to an exclusive and remote “sensorium” cum spa, where they uncover an arcane, alchemical, potentially apocalyptic bombshell. Relayed by an often witty, sometimes arch narrator, and loaded with brainteasers—anagrams, coded messages, palindromes and more—as well as such bounty as a brief and idiosyncratic history of Benito Mussolini, the definition of synesthesia and how Earl Grey tea got its name, Bosch's deliberately eccentric offering is likely to acquire a cult following. Ages 8-12. (Oct.)

Elijah Freeman, 11, has two claims to fame. He was the first child “born free” to former slaves in Buxton, a (real) haven established in 1849 in Canada by an American abolitionist. The rest of his celebrity, Elijah reports in his folksy vernacular, stems from a “tragical” event. When Frederick Douglass, the “famousest, smartest man who ever escaped from slavery,” visited Buxton, he held baby Elijah aloft, declaring him a “shining bacon of light and hope,” tossing him up and down until the jostled baby threw up—on Douglass. The arresting historical setting and physical comedy signal classic Curtis (Bud, Not Buddy), but while Elijah's boyish voice represents the Newbery Medalist at his finest, the story unspools at so leisurely a pace that kids might easily lose interest. Readers meet Buxton's citizens, people who have known great cruelty and yet are uncommonly polite and welcoming to strangers. Humor abounds: Elijah's best friend puzzles over the phrase “familiarity breeds contempt” and decides it's about sexual reproduction. There's a rapscallion of a villain in the Right Reverend Deacon Doctor Zephariah Connerly the Third, a smart-talking preacher no one trusts, and, after 200 pages, a riveting plot: Zephariah makes off with a fortune meant to buy a family of slaves their freedom. Curtis brings the story full-circle, demonstrating how Elijah the “fra-gile” child has become sturdy, capable of stealing across the border in pursuit of the crooked preacher, and strong enough to withstand a confrontation with the horrors of slavery. The powerful ending is violent and unsettling, yet also manages to be uplifting. Ages 9-12. (Oct.)

Mahy (Alchemy) serves up a post-apocalyptic fantasy, fashioning a world struggling back from near-oblivion. In a land where even the best-marked roads sometimes disappear without explanation, Maddigan's Fantasia, a traveling circus, is one of the few links connecting isolated towns. Their current tour, however, is unusually urgent because the city of Solis, their home, desperately needs a new solar converter, and only the Fantasia can reach the distant city of Newton, purchase the replacement and return in time. Their quest seems doomed almost from the start, however, when 12-year-old Garland Maddigan, the heroine, loses her father, Ferdy, the Fantasia's ringmaster, to an attack by highwaymen. Then three mysterious children appear, claiming to be from the future. They insist that they've come back to help the Fantasia in its mission, but are ruthlessly pursued by the not-entirely-human agents of the Nennog, the monstrous ruler of Solis in their day. A well-drawn character, Garland resembles other Mahy protagonists—cranky, assertive and filled with self-doubt— and her adventures are invariably exciting. The villains, however, are little more than cartoons, while the novel reads as both picaresque and a tad formulaic, each self-contained chapter featuring a new oddball society, a new threat and a quick resolution. The prose has Mahy's customary polish and fans will enjoy the story, but this falls short of the author's very best. Ages 10-up. (Oct.)

John Milton, 13, a scholarship student at an elite boys' boarding school in South Africa, records his disturbing but often hilarious exploits in this diary-style first novel set in 1990. As the year begins, President F.W. de Klerk decriminalizes the African National Congress and orders the release of political prisoner Nelson Mandela—but not even massive societal upheaval can get pre-pubescent boys to think about something other than girls, or set aside their depraved trick-playing. Nicknamed Spud because of his small “willy,” John reports without judgment the events around him. The large cast of housemates includes mayhem leaders Rambo and Boggo, who instruct in “how to rape and pillage schoolgirls,” Gecko, who succumbs to every passing malady, and Fatty, an overeater intent on breaking the school's sustained-fart record. The faculty is another can of mixed nuts: the drama teacher, unimaginatively named Eve, seduces an underclassman; the Guv begins English class by calling Henry James “a boring poof” and tossing his novels out the window. In many ways Spud appears to be a literary cousin of Louise Rennison's Georgia Nicholson, whose diaries also detail, in colorful slang, life with whacked-out relatives, obsession with emergent sexuality and school-related capers. There's a bit more heft here—away from home, Spud sees his parents' racism clearly—but he doesn't come of age: he's a star choirboy whose voice hasn't broken. After all, there are three years of school left and a sequel due next fall. Ages 12-up. (Oct.)

With a mother who has inexplicably disappeared, nascent superpowers and a burgeoning understanding of his gay sexuality, Thom Creed's life is anything but normal. Moore (an executive producer of the Chronicles of Narnia films) gives his debut novel a contemporary setting, albeit one rife with superheroes and villains straight out of the Golden Age of comic books. Thom is elated when the League, the foremost organization of superheroes, invites him to join as a probationary member. However, because his father, a disgraced former hero, detests super-heroes and gays (“These people will never have a normal life. They are the ultimate downfall of our society”), Thom hides both aspects of his identity. Essentially, much of this will be familiar from comics or The Incredibles: humorous details include an illness-inducing hero named Typhoid Larry and the media savvy of the superheroes. Ultimately, the novel misses its mark, with an abundance of two-dimensional characters and contrived situations. Additionally, conspicuous similarities between secondary characters and comic icons like Superman and Wonder Woman seem less like homage and more like imitation. While some may be glad to see a gay hero come out of the closet just in time to save the world, others may wish the situations felt less clichéd. Ages 13-up. (Sept.)

Debut novelist Cross, a screenwriter and former roller derby girl, retreads well-worn YA themes as a path to a roller-derby plot line. A main character feeling too cool for school and her plebeian town? Check. Two parents who just don't understand? Check. A budding romance that leaves a best friend left in the dust? Check. Here, the teen angst is embodied in 16-year-old Bliss Cavendar, a blue-haired, Chuck Taylor–wearing indie rebel living in a tiny Texas town of country music–loving beauty-pageant fans. Yearning to escape the suffocating boredom, Bliss and her best friend, Pash Amini, crash a roller derby event in nearby Austin. The girls are entranced by the glammed-up skaters in heavy makeup and fishnet stockings who shove and elbow their way around a track. Bliss soon lies about her age, becomes a derby girl, meets a cute boy and learns several unsurprising life lessons. Despite being formulaic, the novel shines in describing the dashing world of roller derby, where the players are hot and have nasty names like Dinah Might, Eva Destruction and Princess Slaya. When Bliss describes watching “girls dive on the track, leap over one another, pile on the infield for brawls, fly over the rails into the crowd (more than once!)... and yet, you can tell they're having the time of their lives,” her naked enthusiasm for the edgy, underground sport injects some energy into an otherwise labored tale. Ages 14-up. (Sept.)