Children's Book Reviews: Week of 1/28/2008

The answer to the title question (which also functions as a comic, liturgylike refrain) looks dicey at best. At midpoint, Savadier captures her eponymous heroine in a paroxysm of selfishness: Sheila's face is pink with rage and her eyes wide with greed as she successively refuses to part with a huge ball, a bag of cereal and a plush bunny. But sweetly overstuffed Nana knows how to melt her granddaughter's heart, and while Sheila may not be exactly altruistic by the wrapup, at least she's discovered the joys of playing Lady Bountiful. Savadier's watercolor and ink pictures are particularly energetic this time, bringing to mind the emotional ferocity of Jules Feiffer crossed with the openhearted exuberance of Helen Oxenbury. As with her other not-to-be-missed books on similar themes (No Haircut Today!; Time to Get Dressed!), the author shows a shrewd understanding of how an uncooperative child can unnerve everyone—including the kid in question. Her pithy text and expressive, economical pictures deliver a reassuring response along with solid comedy. Ages 2-6. (Mar.)

Like the star of Cecil's Gator, Duck is a carousel creature who longs for a new spin on life—she yearns to fly like the flocks she sees flapping by. When a wayward duckling adopts Duck as a mentor and friend, Duck rises to the occasion, literally, by teaching her young charge to fly. As Duckling succeeds at his lessons, however, Duck realizes that she risks never seeing her friend again.Cecil employs simple sentences and brief exchanges to infuse his quirky duck-out-of-water scenario with a plethora of universal emotions: “ 'Now remember to be polite,' she said to Duckling as she straightened some of his new feathers. 'You're going to do fine.' ” Cecil's finely brush-textured oil paintings, a mix of round spot illustrations and full-page scenes, present a Victorian-looking amusement park, which after the opening page is devoid of children, thus contributing to a mood of mysterious after-hours magic. In what has become the artist's signature style, dusky hues—grays, greens, browns, golds—prevail, helping draw attention to the whiteness of the ducks' wide wings. Ages 3-5. (Feb.)

Mother's Day brings yet another conundrum to the never-dull life of series star Gilbert (Roses Are Pink, Your Feet Really Stink; Happy Birthday to You, You Belong in a Zoo). Preparing breakfast in bed for his mother, the well-intentioned possum burns the toast, spills cereal all over the kitchen table and drenches his handmade card in orange juice. And when he delivers the food, younger sister Lola is curled up with their mother, who is admiring Lola's scribbled card. Jealous, Gilbert manages to keep his sister away from his mother all day—with unintended happy consequences. Lola is delighted by the unprecedented attention, and his mother is thrilled at the downtime. Full-bleed, large-scale illustrations convey the intermittently disgruntled and long-suffering hero's moods. Even without the peer tension that propels a number of deGroat's earlier Gilbert tales, this is a winning addition. Ages 3-8. (Mar.)

Stories and the people who tell them form one of the main themes of much of Lyon's poetic work, and this sumptuously illustrated book, perhaps Gammell's finest, is no exception. The narrator begins conversationally, “Once there was a old man./ I knew him/ when I was no bigger than you are.” Working in his distinctive style, Gammell (previously paired with Lyon for Come a Tide) spatters a universe of colors across the page as the child dances with the man, who tells stories on his green porch. “For starters,” the girl says, “he told me once/ he saw a star falling.” The color illustrations give way to black-and-white paintings that convey an astonishing degree of light. The illustrations morph back into full color as the old man puts the star in the girl's hands—“glassy, blackish green/ like puddles around a coal pile.” Lyon never lets readers forget that this is a story they are reading: “Now he couldn't bring home/ the rainbow/ the way he did the star./ But when he told the story/ holding out his hand/ I could feel the colors./ I could see it was true./ And how he would have to tell it/ just like I'm telling you.” Text and art are sure to evoke wonder in young readers. Ages 4-7. (Feb.)

Tough-minded and poetic, this biographical sketch draws much of its power from what it leaves unsaid, obliging readers to align themselves closely with the narrator. The speaker is Matthew Henson, who joined Robert Peary in planting the flag on the North Pole in 1909; the words Weatherford assign him testify to a lifetime spent in resolute pursuit of his ambitions. “I did not start as cabin boy, climb the ranks to able-bodied seaman... and learn trades and foreign tongues to be shunned by white crews who thought blacks were not seaworthy,” he states. “My dreams had sails.” Setting forth a dramatic list of what Henson “did not” do, the story points to extraordinary reserves of courage and perseverance: Henson sails with Peary, “again and again,” through the frozen seas, starves, returns to the U.S. and marries, and tries once more to reach the North Pole. Where the text adopts Henson's perspective, Velasquez (previously paired with the author for Jesse Owens: Fastest Man Alive) generally views Henson at an ennobling distance, envisioning him communicating with Eskimos (alone of Peary's men, he learned Inuit) or shielding his face, temporarily a railroad porter in the segregated South. His pastels are especially well suited to the polar scenes, where they suggest both the cold hard surfaces of snow and ice and the frozen colors of the skies. An endnote amplifies Henson's life and accomplishments. Ages 6-11. (Jan.)

Although the red-tailed hawk of Fifth Avenue has inspired at least two other picture books, this version stands out for its urbane, reportorial prose and stylish watercolors (according to jacket copy, Schulman wrote with So specifically in mind; the pair also worked together for A Bunny for All Seasons). To Schulman, Pale Male and his family, who became a cause célèbre when they built a nest on a ledge outside one of Manhattan's toniest apartment buildings, deserve to be thought of as “true-blue New Yorkers—tough, resourceful, and determined to make it in the city.” So seconds that emotion with deft, impressionistic brushstrokes and splashes of color reminiscent of fashion illustration; her images capture not only the cool majesty of the bird, but also the tentative half-flights of the chicks and the eclectic élan of the city that lobbied for them. The politics of the Pale Male story are confronted head-on: the privileged residents of 927 Fifth Avenue, who tried to evict Pale Male by destroying his nest, get a gentle but thorough drubbing. Formidably dressed, clutching highballs and generally scowling, they're in clear violation of Big Apple spirit (the author notes that they took advantage of “a time when many conservation and wildlife laws were being relaxed by President George W. Bush's administration”). By the final page, even readers who live far from Manhattan will appreciate that Pale Male's significance and stature rise well beyond those of media darling. Ages 6-12. (Mar.)

The author of the Chet Gecko mysteries launches a new series, billed as half comic/half novel—Hugo Cabret, however, this is not, nor, for that matter, is it Captain Underpants. A trio of kids discovers Underwhere, which, as narrator Zeke feels compelled to specify, is “the place, not the tighty-whities. I already know about those.” It seems that Zeke, his twin sister and best friend tumble into a “black hole” in a partially constructed house and land in an underground realm, where the zombie-like Undies (who wear their underwear on the outside) proclaim Zeke the “lost prince of Underwhere” and give him a 21-bun salute, then explain that he must “free the land from under the Underlord's cruel butt.” The text cedes to a gray-scale graphic novel style whenever the kids descend to Underwhere; the pictures, surprisingly, skimp on humor and try for heavy-duty action. For readers who find wedgies, mooning and the like intrinsically funny, this book is good news; everyone else, stand warned. Ages 8-12. (Jan.)

Adults hoping to share their own enthusiasm for Donofrio (Riding in Cars with Boys) with younger readers may not get what they want from the author's first work for children. The story line is classic: narrator Ally starts fifth grade only to discover that her best (and only) friend, Betsy, has ditched her for the girl they both loved to loathe. Enter the kooky new girl who glues herself to Ally, a low-level class bully to bother them and two other outcasts to befriend them, and then throw in a school talent show (in which, despite the contemporary setting, everyone wants to sing Simon and Garfunkel or Beatles songs, or disco-dance. Unfortunately, Donofrio succeeds too well in building Ally's class-reject personality: her inability to read Betsy's social cues might invite some sympathy, but her manner and style (inserting “Thank you, Lucky Stars,” as an expression of gratitude, an uncontrollable penchant for a dance move she calls the “heebie-jeebie”) come across as immature, detracting from an otherwise personable narrative and jeopardizing the bond that readers may form with her. New girl Tina's gratingly over-the-top behavior is explained by the gradual, realistically rendered disclosure that her mother is bipolar and off her meds, while Ally turns out to have a sibling who died before Ally's birth, a circumstance that never fully dovetails with Ally's family dynamics. The ending, neat and feel-good, seems wishful and out of sync with the lifelike portrayals that precede it. Ages 9-12. (Jan.)

In the same family as this season's Pandora Gets Jealous (Reviews, Jan. 21) but for a younger audience, this witty romp through Greek mythology pictures Medusa in childhood, persecuted by the popular crowd—Theseus, Perseus and “gorgeous but pessimistic” Cassandra. The self-styled Champions torment “freaks” like Medusa, who has snakes instead of hair, and her friends Chiron the centaur and the bullish Minotaur, whose dad got carried away adding on to the house, which is now so complicated that Mino can go for days without finding his parents. Medusa has the family ability to turn her enemies into stone, but her sensible parents won't let her: “You have to work out other ways of dealing with people who get on your nerves,” they counsel in characteristically contemporary language. In his first novel, Collins (Alvie Eats Soup) extends the joke with plenty of brio. Medusa doesn't like to read, because “her headsnakes had a habit of turning the pages back when one of them had missed an important plot point”; Medea appears as a nasty teacher; and the three-headed dog, Cerberus, plays a vital role as Medusa's pet—but readers don't need to know the myths to enjoy the rousing plot. Imaginatively laid out pages that incorporate energetic b&w illustrations of varying size welcome readers. Ages 9-12. (Jan.)

Steve Trapp, nicknamed “Steel” for his photographic memory, is leaving Chicago for a science competition in Washington, D.C., when he sees a passenger detrain without her briefcase. The attempt to return it ensnares Steel in a scheme to rig the lottery on behalf of a terrorist group, and gets him tailed by Roland Larson, the U.S. marshal from Pearson's adult novel Cut and Run. Pearson's smooth writing isn't enough to paper over the many illogical elements in his plot. Why do the Trapps take their large dog on a two-day train trip for a three-day weekend? Why has the boy genius, Steel, not figured out by age 14 that his father isn't a salesman? Moreover, the event that triggers Steel's involvement just isn't convincing: by looking through a tiny hole in the bottom of the briefcase, he spies a Polaroid of a woman gagged and tied to a chair; later, he is able to find the building where she's being held by matching its windows to the background in the photo. Pearson mentions some intriguing science (for example, the use of cell phones and microchip technology to make balloons fly) and the adventure has its moments, but his mystery gets derailed by a plague of MacGuffins. Ages 10-up. (Mar.)

Exactly what this British first novelist is up to in this elaboration of the Hans Christian Andersen tale “The Wild Swans” is not clear. Does the royal heroine, Alexandra, have magical gifts? A special destiny with the enaid—”currents of life”—and a connection to the sacred place called the “Circle of Ancestors”? Alexandra, the ugly duckling of the family, and her three brothers lose their beloved mother to an attack by a frightening creature in the forest, but only when the mysterious Zella arrives and bewitches Alexandra's father and his entire kingdom does the story's pace quicken. Zella threatens the four siblings—Alexandra is exiled and her three brothers turned into swans—an interesting but inopportune development. Just as readers find that they, too, are enthralled by Zella and the havoc she wreaks, Alexandra is banished from the action. Luckily, the handsome Gabriel enters, adding romance and intrigue, reigniting that page-turner impulse—but his appearance, too, is brief. Readers will be impatient for both Zella and Gabriel to return and reinvigorate what is otherwise the solitary story of Alexandra's struggle to understand herself, her powers and how she might wrest her family's kingdom back from the evil Zella. Even with the uneven pacing, however, the mix of magic, royalty and romance will compel many teens. Ages 12-up. (Mar.)

Readers with a romantic bent will be drawn to this story, which pushes the notion of eternal love to its limits: two spirits find each other again and again, at different moments in history. The cycle begins at the brink of civilization as a man and a woman from different clans scuffle over the possession of a valuable green stone. Their battle ends as their intertwined bodies tumble over a cliff toward death, whereupon the female character briefly describes the path her soul takes: “That part of me that is me at its center gives way. I am scattered, dispersed among the stars.” Each subsequent episode recounts a similar pattern, with a green stone and a tragedy preventing the union of the couple. Weyn (The Bar Code Tattoo) keeps things interesting with bits of history about ancient Egypt, colonial America and 1937 Paris. However, the suspense diminishes as the outcome of each chapter becomes increasingly predictable. Readers (along with the ethereal hero and heroine) will breathe relief when the spirits find peace as a pair of contemporary high school students who meet in New York City's American Museum of Natural History—where they can tour the gem collections and get another perspective on mysterious green jewels. While this love ballad plays on a little too long, the inventive ending redeems it. Ages 12-up. (Jan.)

Two teenage girls from vastly different backgrounds alternately narrate this complex, gritty story about an international kidnapping and prostitution ring. Oksana, poor, cold and hungry, is easy prey at 13 when a man comes to her Russian village, promising a good job in London; raped and shamed, she tells her story from a vantage point of two years, in pained flashbacks. A chance meeting on the ferry from France to England acquaints her with Hope, a wealthy 15-year-old, who is returning from a vacation. As Hope and her dad disembark, she discovers Oksana hiding in their van, pleading for help; Hope knows her materialistic parents well enough not to alert them to Oksana's presence. But Hope will soon regret her decision: Natasha's pimp captures both girls, and Hope's nightmare begins. Suggestive rather than graphic, this story is heavy with grim details. The satisfying conclusion, with the protagonists reaching safety, doesn't dispel the realistically depressing atmosphere the British author has labored to build. Ages 12-up. (Jan.)

Hernandez (A House Waiting for Music), an award-winning poet, turns for the first time to fiction with a beautifully executed, frequently brutal coming-of-age story. Marcus, the narrator, stakes out his position from the opening sentence: “At the funeral for Oliver's father I daydreamed about killing my own.” The 17-year-old is keenly aware of his losses, beginning with the index finger that got severed during a Rollerblading accident and including the departure of his father, who walked out after Marcus finally stopped him from beating up his younger brother, depressive Enrique. He is equally aware of the space these losses create for rage. This is not an easy or comfortable novel to read: Marcus gets wasted frequently, Enrique turns increasingly cruel and few of the characters have viable options. Their suffering is palpable; as Marcus says of his home, “Our dad's rage followed us after he left. It trailed behind our footsteps from room to room, invisible.” When Marcus and Enrique's mother informs them that she is thinking about letting their father move back in, she galvanizes their anger, and the plan they hatch resolves in an unforeseeably violent, life-altering climax. The author's imagery, sometimes subtle, sometimes searing, invariably hits its mark. Ages 14-up. (Jan.)

As Newbery Medalist Paterson (Bridge to Terabithia) distills key events in the life of Jesus, her unfettered prose is sure to prove inviting to young readers. Blending accessible language and memorable, age-appropriate imagery, she skillfully encapsulates familiar Bible passages and parables: “Jesus was hung on a cross on a hill outside the city, between two men who were thieves. His frightened friends had run away. He felt very alone./ When Jesus died, darkness covered the earth. The light of the world had gone out.” Roca's (The Yellow Train) stylized oil paintings, a series of warm-hued portraits and scenes deceptively spare in their composition, seem to use light as an organizing motif, too. Sun illuminates Jesus as he leads his disciples across tawny desert, and light from an unseen source falls upon the lame man whom the offstage Jesus heals; the palette darkens when Roca shows disbelievers and as the crucifixion nears. The illustrations, unconventionally, preceded Paterson's text, originally appearing in a French children's book and inspiring this book's editor to seek out an American author. The pairing works seamlessly, with both author and artist highlighting elements of the story (the cup of wine, the bread eaten when Jesus “gathered his closest friends to celebrate the feast of Passover”), and illuminating them anew for children and adults alike. Ages 4-8. (Jan.)

A mother leads her son through a conversation about God in this smoothly conceived if slightly bland picture book. The boy begins by asking where God lives, and when told that God lives in his heart, the boy concludes, reasonably enough, that God must be extremely tiny. The mother's responses use kid-friendly language to point to the mysteries of God (“Think of him like sand, small enough to make its way into your sock. Or big enough to make a whole dune”). Alternating between traditional layouts and the occasional vertical spread for emphasis, Bryant (previously teamed with Bergren for God Gave Us You) depicts the talk as action unfolding over the course of a day, in an enticing array of settings, from snowy fields hemmed in by mountains to the bottom of the ocean, from outer space to a waterfall. Despite the range of scenery and an abundance of patterns, the sameness of the palette and of the characters' pared-down expressions tends to dampen the visual interest. On the plus side, Bergren's nondenominational approach presumes little; parents can be anywhere from vaguely spiritual to active in a religious community, and still want to share this book with their children. Ages 3-7. (Jan.)

Now available as a board book, Warnes's interpretation of the popular hymn racks up big points for its beguiling watercolors of a friendly bear family whose straightforward piety is rooted in the affection among parents and child. Young audiences will gravitate to the cozy scenes: a parent encircles the cub in his arms to read in bed from “My First Bible,” the bears dye Easter eggs (“as He loved so long ago”), garden, make gingerbread bears and roast marshmallows, among many enviable activities that frequently show them in tune with the natural world. Rounded corners and padded covers make this volume extra-safe; gilt edging cues in kids to its special contents. Ages 2-5. (Jan.)