Children's Book Reviews: Week of 11/19/2007

Stillwater, the giant panda who taught Zen parables to siblings Karl, Addy and Michael in Zen Shorts, continues to combine his slow-moving grace with genuine spiritual tranquility. This time, Michael faces a daunting spelling bee, and Stillwater, first seen wearing a necktie, introduces the three to Miss Whitaker, an elderly neighbor whose crabby outbursts have frightened them. Stillwater’s inward eye sees through her anger to her fear and loneliness. She turns out to be a marvelous spelling coach (“Just like plants, words have roots,” she tells Michael. “Roots of words can teach you to spell”), and when Michael wins a red ribbon, the pictures show the whole group sharing his victory with their own red ribbons—the “Zen ties” of the title. (Zentai is Japanese for “the whole” or “the entire,” as in “all of us together.”) A subplot featuring Koo, Stillwater’s nephew, drifts a bit; he’s a cute little panda who punctuates the action with Zen-influenced haiku (and allows Muth another pun: “Hi, Koo!”). Muth’s brush is as sure as ever; Stillwater’s big, blunt paws and hunched-over listening posture are irresistible, and Miss Whitaker’s delicate face and snow-white hair beautifully counterpoint the vignettes of youthful play. From a religious tradition that makes no theological demands and that will be unfamiliar to most readers, Stillwater offers a model of pure saintliness, and children will instantly respond to him. All ages. (Feb.)

Nutbrown Hare and Little Nutbrown Hare, the cotton-tailed father-son stars of McBratney and Jeram’s Guess How Much I Love You, hop back onto the scene for two board books that introduce preschool concepts via sweet-natured stories. The Hares’ easygoing exchanges, familiar to fans of the original picture book, are set off to great effect as the son poses such queries as “What’s your favorite red?” (in Colors Everywhere) or “What does an egg turn into?” (in When I’m Big). At every turn, Nutbrown Hare replies briefly, supplying clear bits of information (“I think maybe those berries” and “A bird,” respectively); his answers both satisfy his young charge as well as encourage further discussion. Jeram’s sunny ink-and-watercolor illustrations—sprightly spot art and spreads—offer subtle yet solid reinforcement of the text, playfully challenging youngest readers to explore a grassy riverbank or flower-filled meadow and come to their own conclusions. Weaving color identification and size/growth comparison into pleasant spring outings, the approach in these books feels like a fresh and logical expansion of the popular characters’ world. Ages 2-4. (Jan.)

Dear Ma,” says this story’s prenatal narrator, “What’s a baby to do in a womb with no view?” Park (the Junie B. Jones books) proceeds to catalogue in rhyme all the things lacking in his or her current environment (“No puppies. No toys./ …Not a sandbox or swings…/ Or those monkey bar things”), and throws in a last-minute to-do list (“You’re set for me, right? You’ve got a night-light?”). Garofoli (Sophie’s Trophy), working in much the same vein as Laura Cornell, contributes lots of sweetly silly, nursery-hued illustrations, wildly exaggerating her subject’s oversize head while being slightly more discreet about the mother’s oversize tummy (although the crowded in-utero portraits may remind some adults of the famous stateroom scene from A Night at the Opera). Strategic poses obscure the baby’s sex, in keeping with Park’s gender-neutral writing. But while there are many individually clever lines and pictures, the list-dependent premise here precludes the development of a full-fledged story. Accordingly, this book might be a better choice for expectant parents than expectant siblings, or for kids old enough to enjoy a fetal fantasy onto which they can project themselves. Ages 2-5. (Jan.)

McDonnell (Just Like Heaven), creator of the comic strip Mutts, has a fan base that will greet this book with open arms. The strip’s hero, the cat Jules, sets out to hug one of every sort of animal in the world. This large goal is made less overwhelming by the book’s diminutive trim size and the conviction on Jules’s tiny, wide-eyed face (famous for his big red honker). McDonnell’s previous books had sparer palettes; this one combines warm, cream pages with pastel ink-and-watercolor vignettes to pleasing effect. Double-page spreads of snowy Arctic expanses under a moonlit turquoise sky provide a tense moment (“But at the North Pole, Jules sadly found/ What it would be like with no one around”). The artist quickly dispels the audience’s concern, because as Jules starts to sniff, a polar bear offers him a hug. Meter and rhyme wobble a bit (“There once was a kitten so filled with love,/ He wanted to give the whole world a hug”), but the sentiment seems to come from the heart. McDonnell’s carefully mixed gouaches and his able draftsmanship—the rarer the animal, the less likely he is to resort to caricature—hint at newly revealed talents. Ages 3-6. (Nov.)

With a “clap-clap-clap!” and a “snap-snap-snap,” the catchy rhythm of Wheeler’s (Mammoths on the Move) cadenced text will instantly grab readers with its up-tempo beat: “Grandpa TOOT-TOOTS./ Granny sings scat./ Bitty-boppin’ Baby goes RAT-TAT-TAT!” The fun begins as the eponymous baby awakens in his crib to Daddy taking out a record labeled “Jazz Baby.” Everyone—from Sister and Brother to cousins and neighbors (in a rainbow of skin tones)—partakes in an impromptu, upbeat musical dance party, with Baby at the center. His African-American family snuggles, holds and hoofs it up with him, and, with his oversize head and large black eyes, he remains the focal point of most spreads. Christie’s (Brothers in Hope) long-limbed characters with tapered hands and feet glide and bop across the pages, while bold type at slanted angles mimics their movements. In one scene with a musical staff ribboned through it, notes are configured to represent drum and bass players, and Baby holds a quarter note like a rattle. The jam session comes full-circle when Baby returns to his bed after hugs, smiles and a blues tune from Daddy. But kids won’t be nearly so ready to settle down. After they hear the concluding “OH YEAH!” they’re likely to clamor for repeats of this buoyant musical jaunt. Ages 3-7. (Nov.)

Curiosity doesn’t kill the cat, but it sure annoys a homeowner in this vivacious picture book about a wayward feline. “It was summer, and someone left the window open. Cat jumped in!” begins the adventure. Before long, a bold black-and-white cat is wreaking havoc in the kitchen, the bedroom and eventually the art studio. Each time Cat wraps up his messy antics, “someone” approaches, “Tip-tap, pitter-pat,” and calls, “Cat? Out!” But not even “someone” can resist when Cat eventually turns on his furry charm. Weaver’s (Opera Cat) succinct text rings with onomatopoeia and provides a bit of suspense as readers try to infer the identity of “someone” and to guess what Cat will do next. Both author and illustrator demonstrate a fond familiarity for felines in spot-on depictions of cat-like behavior and situations. McCully’s (Mirette on the High Wire) watercolors, often set off by playfully curled or tumbling text on the page, are flashes of color and motion, capturing Cat’s trail of innocent yet flamboyant destruction. She keeps the tale’s mystery alive by showing “someone” only from below the knee, and by offering other clues in her backgrounds. Ages 4-8. (Nov.)

The underground comic aesthetic—at least the G-rated version—comes through in full force in the children’s debut by acclaimed Canadian graphic novelist Dave Cooper. Bagel the dog, clearly a few biscuits short in the brains department, ropes his sensible feline friend Becky into helping him figure out how his beloved ten-gallon hat went missing. But Becky quickly loses patience as Bagel retraces his steps from a most improbable day, which includes laughing fishes, a jetpack-powered robot suit and a visit to a planet named Zorgonogon 14. “Do you expect me to believe all that?” scolds Becky—which, of course, precedes proof that it’s absolutely true. The pseudonymous Mumbly’s retro-flavored compositions are packed with bug-eyed characters, amiable grotesqueries and manic detail; the attention just to surfaces shows his highly wrought style and his dexterity. The visual gags, however, can be somewhat blunted by the muted palette, which gives some pictures a curiously muddied appearance. Still, this book will be right up the alley of any kid who likes The Grim Adventures of Billy & Mandy or similar irreverence in any media. Ages 4-8. (Nov.)

In four breezy vignettes, McPhail (Mole Music) spotlights everyday moments that spell true friendship for two unlikely roommates—a rabbit and a giant water snake. When readers first meet them, both are sound asleep: Sylvie snuggled in her bed, a portrait of her mother watching over her; and True submerged in a full bathtub, her nose and the tip of her tail sticking out. The other scenarios are equally simple (True, no expert in the kitchen, burns dinner; the two go bowling; bedtime rolls around), occasioning affectionate dialogue and terrific sight gags. Resembling an inflatable beach toy, True wraps her long body around the fridge and tilts it to empty its contents, containers and all, into a large pot when fixing the ill-fated supper. At the bowling lanes, she balances herself on enormous bowling shoes, then easily scores a strike by stretching herself down the alley, dropping the ball from her mouth. Sylvie, a maternal type who does the cooking and reads stories aloud at night, protests only feebly that True has moved over the line, and when True wins, as always, happily says that she’s had fun. The pacing of the narratives, as well as the last vignette which ends as the two friends bid each other good night, helps this charmer do double-duty as a bedtime book. Ages 4-up. (Nov.)

Ancient sources say silkworms and mulberry seeds left China hidden in the elaborately coiffed hair of a princess. Imagining what might have prompted the princess to reveal the secret of silk production, a crime punishable by death, Noyes (Hana in the Time of the Tulips) writes with exquisite delicacy of Princess Red Butterfly’s truncated girlhood: “I am a child with my hair/ yet cut across my forehead,/ but soon I will marry/ the king of far Khotan.” Blackall (Ruby’s Wish) composes sumptuous portraits of the imperial Chinese court: ladies whisper behind fans, consorts bathe in hot springs, a dressmaker fits the princess for a robe. Her ink-and-wash spreads swirl with flourishes (fluttering silk sashes, curving garden paths and tumbling locks of black hair). Red Butterfly must leave her parents, her little brother—whose grief Blackall paints in quiet brushstrokes—and all the beauty around her: “Good-bye,/ red-crowned crane. / Good-bye,/ sour plums.” Noyes understands Red Butterfly’s theft as a small but powerful rebellion against loss: “If you must go…. from all you know,/ take with you/ some small piece/ of brightness,/ some shining memory…” The story ends as Red Butterfly leaves for Khotan, but Blackall gives readers visual clues (the princess’s smile, flying silk moths) to suggest that the girl’s resilience creates a hopeful future. Ages 6-10. (Nov.)

The act of opening this eclectic, tall-format tome will launch readers on a leisurely and edifying journey of discovery. “Suppose you went into a museum and you didn’t know what it was,” the late, distinguished British author asks at the outset, then demonstrates the fundamentally eccentric nature of institutions more commonly viewed as sober and staid. Holland, also British, jolts readers still further with his mixed-media collages, which sparingly employ color and liberally combine what look like Victorian engravings, pencil sketches, Gorey-like figures, and photos of various locales. His stylish compositions play with perspective, type and design, making excellent use of the vertically oriented pages as the text pieces together an overview of museum evolution. The circuitous gambol includes the ancient muses (at the root of “museum”); Alexandria, Egypt; the Middle Ages; and such famous collectors and collections as Peter the Great and Oxford University’s Ashmolean. Mark doesn’t dwell long on any one era or topic, and her style is often both conversational and witty. Although the discussion is far-ranging (encompassing two-headed sheep and holy relics as well as the definition of a synoptic gallery), the inclusion of disparate items puts the concept of a museum into meaningful context by the conclusion. Also proffered are inventive examples of the word (the brain as a museum for thoughts). Throughout, the intricate details of the energetic compositions invite close perusal, prompting an analogy between this book and the exhibits it celebrates. Ages 8-up. (Oct.)

St. George (the So You Want to Be picture books) offers a rousing tale that is part mystery, part ghost story and lightly grounded in history. When 11-year-old KayKay’s mother becomes President and the family moves into the White House, KayKay gets intrigued by a report that the ghost of Abraham Lincoln still haunts his old bedroom. Although KayKay does not believe in ghosts, she loves a mystery, and she can’t wait to investigate. In a chatty tone, KayKay as narrator works in details about day-to-day life in the White House and the responsibilities of being the President’s daughter. A “secret writer,” she also explains how she incorporates real life into plots for her stories. The quick plot and deftly sketched characters, along with a neatly resolved ending, serve the target audience well. Quirky, tongue-in-cheek anecdotes about the nation’s presidents further enhance this novel’s appeal. Ages 8-12. (Nov.)

The day before he turns 11, Sam searches the attic for hidden birthday presents and discovers more than he bargained for: a newspaper clipping showing a photograph of him as a missing child. In this exquisitely rendered story of self-discovery, Giff (Lily’s Crossing) creates what she calls a “jig-saw puzzle” of a book, showing readers how Sam pieces together artifacts and his own flashbacks to find out whether Mack, the man he has lived with for as long as he can remember, really is his grandfather. Learning the truth requires research, and Sam, a special-needs student who has trouble reading, solicits help from Caroline, a new girl at school. As they embark on two projects—building a medieval castle for social studies and solving the mystery of Sam’s past—they also construct a solid friendship, despite Caroline’s parents’ plans for another, imminent move. Although the premise echoes that of Caroline Cooney’s The Face on the Milk Carton, the similarity ends there. Evoking an entirely different mood and set of circumstances, this intimate story realistically examines friendship, family secrets and the struggles of a learning-disabled child trying to make sense of the world. Given the author’s expertise at developing sympathetic characters and creating a suspenseful plot, readers will find the complexity of Sam’s vulnerabilities to be as intriguing as the unfolding enigma of his past. Ages 8-13. (Jan.)

This polished debut from a British writer tantalizingly blends secrets and thick, evocative atmosphere. In an indeterminate, grim past (think Dickensian squalor by way of a Broadway stage set), the boy Ludlow Fitch flees the City, “a stinking place undeserving of a name,” and his parents, who have betrayed him for the last time. Chance (or is it destiny?) leads him to remote Pagus Parvus and to another newcomer, Joe Zabbidou, who sets himself up as a pawnbroker. But Zabbidou has a sideline: he pays good money for secrets. One by one the villagers come to him at midnight to unburden themselves—and they spill some doozies. The undertaker has dug up corpses, to be sold to a medical school; the butcher served his father a pie of rat, mouse, beetles and worms. As Ludlow inscribes the secrets in Zabbidou’s Black Book, he fights down his suspicions of Zabbidou even as he joins the villagers in their hatred of Jeremiah Ratchet, the wealthy villain to blame for their misery and evil deeds. Higgins, framing her book as texts discovered in a hollowed wooden leg, expertly sustains the audience’s curiosity, revealing just enough information to keep readers riveted. And for all the grisly details, the novel gets at important themes about self-determination and trust. Original and engrossing. Ages 9-12. (Oct.)

In Sanderson’s (Elantris) children’s debut, an over-the-top fantasy/adventure, librarians are evil because they control all the information in Hushland (America). They distort some facts and fabricate the rest. Alcatraz, meanwhile, is the name of the protagonist, who has been raised in a series of foster homes. As the novel opens, on his 13th birthday, he is quickly initiated into the true nature of librarians by his heretofore unmet grandfather, Leavenworth Smedry. Before long, Sanderson brings on talking dinosaurs (it’s a librarian distortion that they’re extinct), a parallel world, visiting villains and more. The madcap plot can seem chaotic, with action pulling Alcatraz toward new characters at a breakneck speed, but Sanderson unexpectedly draws everything together in an extravagantly silly climax. Readers whose sense of humor runs toward the subversive will be instantly captivated: not only does the author poke fun at librarians, he lampoons books (including this one) in frequent passages directly addressed to readers: “You are saying to yourself, 'The story just lost me. It degenerated into pure silliness…. I’m going to go read a book about a boy whose dog gets killed by his mother. Twice.’” Like Lemony Snicket and superhero comics rolled into one (and then revved up on steroids), this nutty novel isn’t for everyone, but it’s also sure to win passionate fans. Ages 9-up. (Oct.)

In Norse myth the whole world ended with Ragnarók, the last battle, at which the gods were defeated and after which eternal winter descended. In her highly successful first children’s novel, however, the author of the bestselling Chocolat tells readers what happened next. The supposed end of all things is now centuries past and the Middle World is ruled by the Order, a repressive theocracy reminiscent of the Magisterium in Philip Pullman’s The Golden Compass. Maddy, born with a rune of power on her hand, is deeply unpopular in her backwoods village. Thorny and imaginative, she is believed to be a witch by the locals who would have cast her out long ago if she didn’t have a convenient talent for controlling the goblins that infest their cellars. Such creatures are thick in the village because of its proximity to Red Horse Hill, a place of ancient power. Then Maddy’s life is transformed when she meets first One-Eye, a mysterious traveler who agrees to train her in the ways of Faërie, and then Lucky, the trickster captain of the goblins under the hill. Throughout, Harris demonstrates a knack for moving seamlessly between the serious and the comic, and her lengthy book moves swiftly. Playing fast and loose with Norse mythology, she creates a glorious and complex world replete with rune-basedmagical spells, bickering gods, exciting adventures and difficult moral issues. Maddy’s destiny, readers realize, is to remake the world, but to succeed she must first remake herself into someone worthy of that fate. Ages 10-up. (Jan.)

Set in the year 2140 in England, this chilling dystopian tale explores issues of overpopulation, global warming and the ethics of immortality. A drug called Longevity has made life without death a reality for the masses—but driven humanity to the brink of a Malthusian catastrophe. Orwellian-like Authorities have all but outlawed procreation in an effort to stabilize the population. Those born illegally are inevitably captured, sent to processing facilities and taught to be Valuable Assets to society, i.e., slaves to the immortals. Surplus Anna has spent most of her 14 years inside Grange Hall, where she has learned to hate not only herself but also the parents who selfishly broke the Declaration in giving life to her. But the arrival of a rebellious Surplus named Peter, who has lived on the Outside, brings Anna disturbing revelations about the world and her particular place in it. In her first YA book, Malley (British author Gemma Townley writing under a pseudonym) successfully imparts a strong message about the need for continual change (“Nature is not about preserving old things, but about creating new ones. New life. New ideas”). Although the backstory and world-building elements seem slightly underdeveloped, readers with a taste for speculative fiction will enjoy this relevant read. Ages 10-up. (Nov.)

A likable, flawed heroine helps set apart this fairly formulaic book about the trappings of fame. When narrator Annie Hoffman’s great-aunt invites her for a visit to New York City, the talented violinist from Alabama secretly auditions for Juilliard. Instead of an acceptance from the prestigious music school, though, Annie gets another offer: she literally runs into a television producer, who invites her to audition for a new teen show (the role just happens to be for a Southern good girl who plays the violin). As Annie is catapulted to stardom, she hangs out with celebrities, receives an amazing gown for free and, less pleasingly, is stalked by the media. Readers will relate to Annie, who is prone to saying and doing embarrassing things (at a shoot for Seventeen magazine, her mace goes off in her purse, sending the photographer fleeing). Eventually her worsening behavior, including drunkenly swearing at paparazzi, makes her the target of a politician “committed to improving teenage morality in America.” Mendle (Kissing in Technicolor) convincingly builds Annie’s transformation from nice small-town girl to big-city wild child (after she blows off young fans in one of her first diva acts, she feels bad, saying to herself, “Maybe I could complete my transformation into Cruella DeVil by ingesting live newborn puppies”). There’s never any doubt about the path Mendle or her narrator will take, but the amusing narration and wishful premise will keep readers following along. Ages 13-up. (Nov.)