Children's Book Reviews: Week of 10/1/2007

Actor, playwright and novelist Martin (Shopgirl) branches into picture books for this nutty abecedary. No humdrum “A is for apple” list, this volume faces outrageous, alliterative couplets with full-page cartoons approximating the situations they describe. Known for skewering middle-class anxieties, Chast (Meet My Staff) ably sketches scenes of kitchen mayhem (“Friday when Frank fixed frijoles and French fries/ His fiancée Franny was covered in fruit flies”) and pictures the main office for Xerxes Xylophones, where a bizarre X-perience unfolds (“Ambidextrous Alex was actually axed/ For waxing, then faxing, his boss's new slacks”). She also supplements the nonsense rhymes with added images of items that start with the highlighted letter (when “Quincy the kumquat querie[s] the queen,” readers see a bookshelf of tomes on quintuplets, quantum mechanics and quartz). Martin and Chast show their mettle as each other's wacky sidekicks, performing for an all-ages crowd. Adults see two well-known artists at work, creating mind-bending tableaux, while children get a taste of original tongue-twisters. This peculiar and funny book resembles a round of the Surrealists' game of exquisite cadaver or Mad Libs, worked out in a dizzying combination of words and pictures. All ages. (Oct.)

This welcoming book showcases 10 familiar species that make distinctive sounds, then prompts youngsters to do their best imitations: “Can you growl like a bear,/ rolling in the snow?/ Can you chatter like a chimp,/ swinging to and fro?” Rendered in downy acrylics and colored pencils, Butler's (Ten in the Meadow) animal portraits are both cuddly and impressively detailed. In one spread, a trio of dolphins glides through sky-blue water, their streamlined bodies dappled by sunlight; one baby dolphin looks directly at readers, offering both a sweet smile and greeting of bubbles through its blowhole. Although the text gently pushes its audience toward bedtime (“Everyone is quiet now,” nudge the final lines, “You can't hear a peep./ It's time to gently close your eyes/ and fall fast asleep”), there's plenty here to keep a circle of preschoolers entertained in broad daylight. Ages 2-6. (Sept.)

Produced in the same generous format as Pinkney's (The Ugly Duckling) previous retellings of classic tales, this inviting work opens with a view of the heroine's mother posed very much like Whistler's mother, stitching a certain red cloak as a small window shows snow falling. Next she fills a basket with chicken soup and raisin muffins for ailing Grandmother and instructs her daughter, “Mind you, little miss…. Be certain to go straight there.” As the girl sets out, the full-bleed art, rendered in Pinkney's characteristic style, reveals snowy woodlands in which animals and birds are cleverly camouflaged. The wolf, however, appears front and center. He “had a mind to eat her up at once,” but the presence of woodcutters nearby deters him, and so he addresses her “in his most pleasant voice.” The inclusion of various sounds—the “crunch, crunch” of the child's footsteps in the new snow, the “chop, chop” of the woodcutters' tools, and so on—augments the book's appeal as a read-aloud. The wolf, although seen repeatedly with its jaws open, sharp teeth bared, mostly cuts a comical figure, poorly disguised in Grandmother's nightgown and cap. The writing and the art are spry and satisfying, and with its blue-eyed African-American heroine, this book will be especially welcomed by families looking for traditional tales that feature a multiracial cast. Ages 3-6. (Oct.)

The simple joys of pretend play and pint-size romanticism get the royal treatment at the hands of Wilson (Bear Snores On) and Unzner (Meredith and Her Magical Book of Spells) in this gentle rhyming fantasy. Dressed in what looks like a mostly handmade outfit, a girl—aka Princess Me—surveys her bedroom kingdom and imagines that her toys are her courtiers, complete with wimples and flowing gowns. With translucent watercolors and a delicate but sure ink line, Unzner conjures up a world that's prettily, proudly girly; her details pay tribute to a vivid imagination. In one spread, the royal subjects happily wait upon Princess Me as she perches on a pillow throne and beams an expression that's the very incarnation of noblesse oblige. As they comb her hair, proffer tea and sweets, and read aloud to the girl, Wilson writes, “A splendid tea is set each day/ and all the royal ladies stay/ to chat the afternoon away/ with clever Princess Me.” Sure, Princess Me can get “cross/ or mad or blue/... just like me and you” but for the most part she represents our better selves: “To all the people in her land/ the princess gives to those she can./ From weakest child to strongest man,/ she serves all faithfully.” Now that's a monarchy worth upholding. Ages 3-7. (Oct.)

There's a dragon on the farm, and the heat from its breath is wreaking havoc: the eggs turn hard-boiled while they're still in the henhouse, the cows produce yogurt instead of milk, and the wheat gets toasted in the fields. Izzie is convinced that the roaring dragon sounds “hurt, not fierce,” so she defies her protective parents (“Go inside and with luck it will fly away soon,” says Mom, an admonishment that will immediately resonate with youngsters), and she soon discovers a scared, puppy-like dragon stuck in the farm's well. Sykes's (Dora's Eggs) text tends toward the deadpan, leaving plenty of room for Williamson (Hound Dog) to shine. The geometrically stylized illustrations bubble with a gleeful faux-naïf sophistication: the characters are sweetly silly (especially the parallelogram cows and a sheep who loves to pose), and the flattened perspectives make everyone look as if they're on comically tenuous ground. Curving type nods at the topsy-turvy plot, also calling attention to the goofy details packed into the art (don't miss the juggling cat). Ages 3-7. (Sept.)

Only childhood is one big downside, thinks Rosemary. For starters, her name is enormous (in full it is Rosemary Emma Angela Lynette Isabel Iris Malone) because as the only child, she has to be repository of all her overly doting relatives' favorite names. Her house is too “easy and quiet and organized,” writes Best (Sally Jean, the Bicycle Queen); she has no readymade playmates waiting at home, no one to share with, not even anyone to argue with. Blackall (Ruby's Wish) gives Rosemary a wiry, willful body and dark, widespread eyes that burn with the unfairness of it all—she looks like a kewpie doll whose slogan is “This time, it's personal.” And like the best action heroes, she takes matters into her own hands, adopting a menagerie of animals to provide her with companionship. “Although she was still an only child,” affirms Best as Rosemary snuggles with a big dog, “she hardly ever felt like one.” Parents of singletons may feel like they're being set up for some major pet acquisitions, but kids should applaud this self-reliant, spunky heroine. Ages 4-8. (Oct.)

As in his We're Going on a Bear Hunt, Rosen winningly invites audience participation, and yet the beguiling watercolors share at least equal credit for this book's charm. The story concerns a soulful bear who lives alone in a cave until he decides to venture to the city. Reynolds (Harry and the Dinosaurs) depicts the bear as a lovable oversize teddy with an extraordinarily expressive face, while the illustrator's cityscapes are as chock-full of movement, color and people as the puzzled bear can handle. As with the familiar camp tale about the lion hunt, Rosen's repeated audience responses can be infectious (“Past the cars./ Whooshy whoosh/ Whooshy whoosh/ Whooshy whooshy whoosh/ On the train./ Chuffy chuff./ Chuffy chuff./ Chuffy chuffity chuff”). However, because every line of the bear's narrative is followed by a response (“I ran to the park./ To the park?/ To the park!/ I sat on a swing./ On a swing?/ On a swing!”), the format occasionally constrains the movement of the story. Reynolds varies the layout with close-ups and pages split into panels, and the bright primary colors contrast with dramatic illustrations of silhouetted children and bear crossing a bridge or dancing joyfully in the cool light of the moon. Readers (or viewer/listeners) will be hooked. Ages 4-8. (Oct.)

It's clear (to adults, anyway) that the “darling uncle” of this Swedish title is a gay man, but Lindenbaum (When Owen's Mom Breathed Fire) focuses not on his identity but on his niece Ella's resentment of his new partner. The most charismatic relative in her otherwise plain-vanilla family, Uncle Tommy calls Ella “Mini Mia” as a tribute to her devotion to soccer star Mia Hamm, dyes her hair a different color every day and takes her to the opera; at other times, she says fondly, they “just stay home and play dead.” When Fergus appears one day in Tommy's kitchen and starts tagging along on special uncle-niece outings, Mini Mia reacts with increasing ire, pouring sugar on Fergus's sneakers and soaking the toilet paper in the bathroom. “I'm never going to hang out with Tommy again,” Mini Mia says, sulking in bed. “I'm just going to lie here. Bored stiff. Forever.” Lindenbaum paints Uncle Tommy's fabulous shirts and retro furniture with verve, and her pacing is sure as she sees Mini Mia's struggle through to its resolution. The emotions stay true, and by the denouement Mini Mia's wrath has been reconciled, wordlessly and authentically: the parting vignette shows the three sitting companionably on Tommy's couch. Ages 4-8. (Sept.)

Feeling bereft 10 months after her mother's death, 11-year-old Evie Adler is even sadder when her father uproots the two of them from Michigan and buys a dead apple orchard in Beaumont, N.Y. The town is colorless and cold and “there didn't seem to be any life at all. Even the crows had stopped flying overhead.” Evie's only playmate is Alex, the ghost of a 10-year-old boy whose death the town still mourns and who frequents the cemetery next door to the orchard. Her dad, meanwhile, has no luck in the orchard, which people claim is cursed. The former owner, a stranger, has bequeathed Evie a small seed, which his sister says might have been from the Garden of Eden, and might have played a part in the disappearance of another sibling. Evie plants the seed and hopes it will transport her to a magical garden where her mother will be waiting. What works best in Going's (Fat Kid Rules the World) novel is the skillful depiction of Evie's grief for her mother and the wonderful life they shared. What complicates the story and makes it confusing is the odd combination of magic and religious symbols (for example, the ghost Alex turns out to be a twin brother named Adam; the seed instantaneously sprouts into a fruit-bearing tree). The emotional ending, with a surprising twist, ties the story together, but seems contrived. Ages 8-12. (Oct.)

Who knew the end of the world could be so hilarious? With a misfit cast of characters led by a precocious 11-year-old narrator named Gratuity “Tip” Tucci and a bumbling alien named J.Lo who has an appetite for dental floss and air fresheners, Rex's high-octane fantasy could fairly be called an apocalyptic comedy. After the Boov (technologically advanced aliens) conquer Earth (or Smekland, as they call it, after its discoverer), they decide that humans must live on preserves; all Americans must move to Florida. Tip, driving her mother's car with her cat Pig for a passenger, meets the unexpectedly helpful Boov J.Lo, who, she later discovers, has bungled a mission and is on the lam. Parallels between the Boov and European settlers and their treatment of Native Americans deepen the impact of the story, but the author goes well beyond delivering a single political message. Incorporating dozens of his weird and wonderful illustrations and fruitfully manipulating the narrative structure, Rex skewers any number of subjects, from Disney World to various fleeting fads. Some of the best jokes come from throwaways and from J.Lo's and Tip's attempts to understand each other (when Tip asks if his society has boys and girls, he says, “Of course. Do not to be ridicumulous,” and calmly lists the “seven magnificent genders” of the Boov). Picture book aficionados will already know Rex from Frankenstein Makes a Sandwich and Pssst! (reviewed Sept. 10); now another audience can savor his wit. Ages 8-up. (Oct.)

What better way to interest young readers in science—and specifically in its relevance to the long-term survival of humankind—than for one of the world's most renowned theoretical physicists to put his subject at the center of a children's book? Stephen Hawking, his novelist daughter, and French physicist Galfard create two inquisitive, middle-school heroes, then send them on wondrous adventures through time and space. The characters round out their experiences with information regarding everything from nuclear fusion reactions to neutron stars to the origin of black holes. In this first volume of a projected trilogy, George Greenby—whose technophobic parents have done their best to shelter him from the dangers of the modern world (computers, television, grape soda, etc.)—meets his headstrong new neighbor Annie, her scientist father and his super-computer Cosmos, a machine capable of instantaneously taking the two young explorers anywhere in the universe. His decidedly naïve worldview undergoes a breathtaking transformation when he gets the opportunity to ride a comet through the solar system and witness the death of a black hole. The authors handily explore a range of themes, among them, the moral responsibilities of science, global warming and space colonization. Four insets of color photos from outer space and Parsons's cartoons enhance the broad appeal of this book, a true beginner's guide to A Brief History of Time. Ages 8-up. (Oct.)

This time-travel adventure by a French author reads like a book-long prelude to a much longer story, and it does, in fact, turn out to be a series opener. Fourteen-year-old Sam lives with his grandparents; since the death of his mother three years earlier, his incurably eccentric father, the owner of an antique bookstore, has gotten stranger and stranger. Prone to disappearing, he has been missing for 10 days, and Sam decides to investigate. While searching through the bookstore's basement, he finds a “totem or a voodoo object, the kind of thing you see in horror films, where a terrible curse will strike whomever discovers it” along with a “dirty coin” engraved with strange lines and symbols. Fitting the coin into the object, Sam wakes up in the era of the Vikings, just in time to save a monastery's illuminated manuscript from a raid. Subsequent adventures take him to WWI France, ancient Egypt, medieval Bruges—and give him just enough clues to point to his father's whereabouts, as a prisoner of Vlad the Impaler. Prévost sets up the various locations with lightning efficiency as Sam hurtles through one period after another; readers cannot afford to blink. This is a souped-up, older relative of the Magic Tree House books; kids who liked that brand of history and adventure but have outgrown the format will welcome the more sophisticated presentation here. Ages 9-12. (Sept.)

First published in Iceland in 1995, this elegiac coming-of-age novel explores the moral ambiguities that arise out of attempts to right an injustice. Twelve-year-old Benjamin and his two best friends, Jeff and Manny, play in “the Ground”—the playground in their shabby neighborhood—guarded against bullies by the watchful Grandma Dell, who lives next to it.When a new kid, Roland, moves in, he impresses the boys with the Scottish knights in his ancestry and by his passion for heroic deeds. But Roland's effort to stand up to Howie, a bully with a “pitch black” soul, ends with Howie setting fire to Roland's clothes and Grandma Dell calling in the police. Events rapidly escalate, and before long there are two groups of “knights” in the neighborhood: the Order of the Red Dragon, led by Roland, and the Order of the Black Feather, made up of violent boys plus Jeff, who has been drummed out of Roland's crew. While the good accomplished by the Red Dragon is good indeed, it does not assuage the characters' grief or guilt for the tragedy that ensues. The story unfolds lyrically and retrospectively in Benjamin's voice, occasionally shifting into other characters' perspectives. With its redemptive ending, this moving novel reaches across place and time to evoke the complexities of friendship, retribution and the loss of innocence. Ages 10-14. (Sept.)

Tilly, best known for her acting career, enters children's fiction with a poignant although predictable story of three abandoned children finding a new home on a Canadian farm. Narrator Jack (short for Jacqueline) is devastated when the father she idolizes is killed while serving in a Canadian peacekeeping unit in Afghanistan. As bills mount, her deeply shaken mother proves incapable of meeting greater responsibilities, and in an act of desperation, drives the children cross-country to their great-grandmother in Alberta and leaves to start over in the city. It quickly becomes evident that she has no intention of resuming her role in the family, and their grandmother (characterized by Jack as a “mean old bitch”) is now their guardian. Jack's unwavering determination to keep up the spirits of her spoiled younger sister and her learning-disabled younger brother will move readers, and her gradual recognition of her mother's self-centeredness and her great-grandmother's love is realistic. But other aspects of the novel, like the symbolic significance of “petting” a porcupine—a trick taught to Jack by her younger brother at the conclusion—feel imposed on the story. Minor characters appear vaguely familiar, reflecting stock personalities. The story has depth, but it's uneven. Ages 10-14. (Sept.)

Suffused with the region's vibrant colors, Resau's (What the Moon Saw) memorable novel deftly blends Latin America's richness and mystery with the brutal realities its emigrants carry away. In her Arizona border town, narrator Sophie looks on as “a woman in a dress gazed at our muddy pond, a shallow puddle of sludge and leaves that shone in the moonlight. She knelt down as though she were praying, bowed her head, and drank, cupping the dirty water to her lips.” The prose captivates from the first chapter, where a six-year-old Mexican boy, orphaned during an illegal border crossing, enters Sophie's family on her 16th birthday, inviting comparisons with her favorite fictional character, the Little Prince (Saint-Exupéry's story serves as a subtext throughout). Like him, vulnerable Pablo yearns to go home. Sophie, bound by long-held fears, emerges from her tight shell as she helps escorts him to Mexico and continues on to Guatemala to help her new love interest, a teenage survivor of Guatemala's civil war, resurrect a painful past. Central themes of fear and emotional survival permeate the multilayered plot; Resau focuses on Sophie's increasing willingness to cross physical, social and emotional borders, but most of her other characters have also faced major dislocations, from Sophie's British-born mother to the distantly related Dika, a middle-aged Bosnian refugee. A mystical overlay from the practices of Pablo's Mixtec relatives adds even more luster to a vibrant, large-hearted story. Ages 10-up. (Sept.)

Close in tone and audience to Napoli's Bound, this powerful survival story invents a backstory for Melkorka, a character in a major Icelandic work, the Laxdæla saga. Melkorka, 15, and sister Brigid, eight, are daughters of an Irish king early in the 10th century, when Viking raids on castles and monasteries are common. After a Norse youth attacks their brother, their father plans revenge by luring a Viking ship to their town. The girls, dressed as boys in peasant clothing, are hurriedly sent for their safety to a distant “ringfort.” Instead, they are captured by Russian slavers who troll the coastlines, kidnapping women and children. To conceal their high birth, Mel and Brigid do not speak, and their silence gives them a hold over their captors, the leader of whom comes to fear that Mel is an enchantress. Napoli does not shy from detailing practices that will make readers wince: human hairs serve as sutures, bloody wounds are stuffed with moss—and the Russian crew repeatedly gang-rapes an older captive. Melkorka's journey becomes intellectual as well as geographical. Accustomed to being waited on, she admits to disdain for slaves: “Some are of ordinary intelligence, but most are stupid,” she says at the beginning, an opinion that will change radically with her reversed circumstances. The vocabulary, much of which is specific to the setting, may challenge readers, but it's unlikely to stop them: the tension over Mel's hopes for escape paces this story like a thriller. Ages 12-up. (Oct.)

Kephart (A Slant of Sun) makes a smooth transition from adult nonfiction to YA fiction with this intelligent, multilayered love story. Instead of inheriting her mother's beauty like her older sister, highschool sophomore Elisa shares her father's wild hair and talent for observation (“Dad likes to say, about both of us, that we're undercover operatives who see the world better than the world sees us,” says Elisa). At school, she ghostwrites poems and romantic metaphors for smitten boys to give to girls (“Dear Lori, Last night I left my window open and a firefly flew through. So much light and all I could think of was you. Love Matt”). Although she's lonely, all goes well enough until Elisa becomes attracted to Theo, who has drafted her to write love notes for a pretty but manipulative girl with a pronounced cruel streak. Elisa's poetic, unself-conscious descriptions of nature (especially what occurs at a pond, her favorite place for reflection) gracefully evoke her loneliness for her father, away on business (or is his absence prolonged by marital distress?); her frustrations with herself for always staying in the shadows; and her anger at Theo for going along with his girlfriend's mistreatment of her. Neatly balancing action and contemplation, Kephart offers a plethora of images, ideas about literature and even some well-known poems along with a plot that will speak to many teens. Ages 12-up. (Sept.)

Former physical therapist Aronson adroitly tackles grim subject matter in this first novel about guilt, punishment and regret narrated by a newly quadriplegic teen. After drinking five beers at a party and getting behind the wheel, Frank is responsible for the accident that killed his girlfriend as well as an older man and that has left him a “head,” unable to move or feel any part of his body below the neck. Now, completely dependent on his sometimes resentful mother, all he can do is think about what he is missing, how the accident could have been prevented and how much the community hates him (he reads the angry, anonymous comments on a dedicated Web site). The author convincingly and wrenchingly depicts Frank's state of mind as well as his daily struggles, ranging from his frustrations with his mother's clumsy attempts to feed him to his fears of falling when his parents lift him to bed. His existence at times seems almost unbearably dismal, but salvation comes in the form of a physical therapist who encourages him to speak at his high school, at which time he is finally able to voice his emotions and opinions and perhaps also do some good. After the grittiness of Frank's struggles, the success of the speech and a subsequent act of unexpected kindness seem quick and convenient, but close an otherwise dark novel with a glimmer of light. Ages 12-up. (Sept.)

Lanahan, whose Black Juice won critical acclaim both in her native Australia and in the U.S., will further enhance her reputation with this fine second collection of 10 stories. Driven by beautiful, often quirky language and deep psychological insight, these works demonstrate a powerful sense of the marvelous. In “Baby Jane,” a boy on holiday hears a magical servant shout, “My queen is in difficulties. Is there a midwife here?... Any kind of leech, any wise woman,” and finds himself in charge of delivering a royal child; a different sort of child, an emotionally needy girl who fears she will “die of her distress” after being separated from her mother for a night, must show some gumption and outwit the terrifying, baby-eating ogre Wee Willie Winkie in “Winkie.” Other memorable characters include the dead souls in Limbo, who in “Under Hell, Over Heaven” earn brownie points by transporting the recently deceased to their final reward or punishment; and the eponymous “Daughter of the Clay,” an unhappy changeling who travels to fairyland and decides in the end that it's best for her “to stay silent, on my bottom among the Clay, and fill my mouth with fish.” Gritty, dark and sometimes very nasty, these stories are, at their best, worthy of comparison to the fairy tales of Angela Carter. Ages 14-up. (Oct.)

Koja (Buddha Boy) incorporates facts and folklore about bees as a metaphor in this spare and haunting novel. As the last few weeks of senior year unwind, Dana completes her bee research for a biology project, and draws comparisons for readers: “The one fact everyone knows about bees— there is only one queen. Which in our little three-person hive was Avra.” Most people think Avra and Dana are best friends, but Dana knows otherwise; Avra stays focused on herself and demands Dana's full attention, too. “She was basically what I did,” Dana admits to herself. But who is really the “queen bee”? When Dana falls for Emil but Avra cements a relationship with him, the relationship grows increasingly complicated—and, once Emil kisses Dana, it can no longer survive. Koja's timing is perfect as she builds the sexual tension between Dana and Emil.Her understated, tightly focused language evokes vivid scenes and heady emotions. Almost without the audience's awareness, the author sketches the characters' family histories—Dana's widowed mother, Avra's perfect older sister and overinvolved mom and even-tempered father—each line of dialogue, each interaction illuminating struggles that readers face as well. Ages 14-up. (Sept.)

Smith's YA debut (following the memoir West of Then) is an intensely atmospheric, angst-ridden paranormal thriller revolving around three Portland, Ore., teenagers. During a surreal, drug-filled summer, the three must come to terms with an incredible revelation: they're all supernatural entities known as changelings. The futures of artistic Ondine Mason, troubled Alaskan runaway Nix Saint-Michael and beautiful, ambitious Morgan D'Amici become irrevocably intertwined during a secret rave in the woods around Mt. Hood. They think they've come to a party, but a terrifying arcane ritual called the Ring of Fire reveals their true natures as well as their critical roles in a looming and potentially deadly otherworldly conflict. Powered by sharp characterizations and an almost dreamlike narrative, this amalgam of fantasy, horror and romance—first in a projected series—will strongly appeal to paranormal fantasy enthusiasts, particularly fans of Stephenie Meyer's Twilight saga, which, coincidentally, also takes place in the wilds of the Northwest. Discerning readers will appreciate Smith's subtle use of symbolism and imagery throughout. Ages 15-up. (Oct.)

When most people think of the space program, it's images of stalwart, clear-eyed astronauts roaring into the skies on rockets of destiny that come to mind—not Laika the dog. A Samoyed-Husky mutt caught off the streets and impressed into the Russian space program, Laika became in November of 1957 the first sentient being to leave Earth's orbit, inside the Sputnik 2 satellite. The plan was only to monitor her in her few hours of life, though, not to bring her home—a sacrifice for which one of the scientists later expressed deep regret. Abadzis's tear-inducing and solidly researched graphic novel treatment of Laika's surpassingly tragic story is a standout, not just for its sympathetic point of view but for its refusal to Disnify or anthropomorphize the undeniably cute dog at its heart. The humans around Laika—her protectors and tormentors from the fictionalized early sections, as well as the rocket scientists and her doting handler, Yelena—all try to imprint their own diverse desires on her eager-seeming face. Although the tightly packed and vividly inked panels of Abadzis's art tell an impressively complex tale (buttressed by a helpful bibliography at the end), where the dog becomes a pawn in larger political and bureaucratic schemings, Laika's palpable spirit is what readers will remember. Ages 10-up. (Sept.)