Children's Book Reviews

Debut author Crow’s hip ode to jazz (and scat in particular) will sweep up its audience in its catchy beat as kinetic cartoon art adds verve and wit. Blue-gray rats with bulbous snouts and ever-expressive eyes star in the animals-only tale. Bass player Cool Daddy Rat, in his rose-colored jacket and black beret, heads out to perform in the big city, but his son, Ace, stows away: Daddy Rat “got to scat for a fat cat/ witty kitty shoo bat/ went an odd way/ down Broadway/ hippy zippy/ zee zat/ and found Ace in his bass case!/ peeky squeaky who dat.” After being made to phone his mother (Ace’s rats-will-be-rats expression is alone worth the cover price), the little rat tags along to the various gigs, among them a rooftop party and a cruise. Lester’s (A Is for Salad) computer-assisted watercolor illustrations in a heady palette show characters seemingly in perpetual motion—jumping, dancing, moving ahead in the line outside a club. (Ignore the cover image, which seems defaced by the lettering for the title.) The undercurrent of scat, always printed in a colored font, will be read-aloud heaven for jazz-loving adults, giving kids an addictive first taste of the pleasures to be had. Ages 3-up. (Mar.)

Reaching out to the YouTube generation, Milgrim (Cows Can’t Fly) introduces a highly organized young auteur. Amelia, her auburn hair in a no-nonsense ponytail, scribbles on a clipboard and lines up shots of her pet dog, cat, rabbit and frog: “A script’s the first thing that we’ll need./ We’ll choose a cast. I’ll play the lead.” As Amelia paints a backdrop and cuts a paper crown for her starring role, her smiling younger brother demands attention. She allows him to join the crew and envisions him staying behind the scenes. Each time Amelia calls, “Action,” Milgrim switches from full-page illustrations to framed comics panels. He works in digital media, yet his draftsmanship suggests traditional pen-and-ink.His casually sketched characters demonstrate the basics of video production, from scripting to staging to animal wrangling to editing. Milgrim also recommends cooperation and spontaneity as things take an unexpected turn despite Amelia’s micromanagement. The brother proves a natural actor and scene-stealer, and with his (and their parents’) input, Amelia diplomatically decides, “Let’s take five, discuss the end,/ rewrite the script, and shoot again.” An entertaining and practical how-to. Ages 3-up. (Mar.)

Uegaki and Jorisch (previously paired for Suki’s Kimono) bring poise and polish to a well-worn subject. At first Rosie’s perfect life seems even more perfect when little sister Buttercup arrives. Rosie sings and plays with her and teaches her to dance. In time, Rosie becomes disenchanted and gives Buttercup away—to her sitter, Oxford (in a typically fresh touch, Oxford is a middle-aged male). Predictably, she is soon sorry. A few basics are confusing: the well-dressed creatures do not belong to a recognizable species (possibly they are mice, but sans tails), and the passage of time is naggingly unclear—the story seems to unfold over the first months of Buttercup’s babyhood, yet she quickly becomes a surefooted toddler. Still, the book’s graceful treatment overcomes both uncertainties. Uegaki’s assured text assumes an intelligent reader: “One morning, Rosie woke up feeling peevish... a tiny idea that had been smoldering in her head burst into flame”; and offers offbeat images (“Rosie’s heart jumped like a poked frog”), which, like her well-chosen details, provoke giggles. Jorisch’s watercolor illustrations, uncluttered but dense with patterns, are crisp against generous fields of white space. Flowers and bumblebees loom big from the mouselike perspective; Rosie’s colorful toys, clothes and furniture bear cheerful witness to her pleasurable life. Ages 3-7. (Apr.)

Hayes, creator of the Otto and Uncle Tooth mysteries, chooses mouse siblings as the subjects for this comic book cum easy reader, first in a planned series (see Silly Lilly, reviewed p. 69). Jazzy, multipanel layouts add a contemporary dimension to simply worded episodes about an eager younger sister and standoffish brother who relish their rivalry more than they admit. Benny fashions himself as a buccaneer with a black tricorn hat and a wooden sword; when he stands in a crate, a thought bubble shows him aboard a galleon that flies the Jolly Roger. Sweet-natured Penny, clad in baby-blue princess gear, wants to play, too, and he automatically rebuffs her: “No! Pirates are brave, and you are a cry-baby.” At last Benny initiates a game of hide-and-seek, with no intention of seeking—at least, until Penny disappears. Hayes’s colored-pencil pictures set the action near the ground, in cozy panels depicting a secure woodland space. Shallow backgrounds ensure that the outside world never intrudes, except when Benny is startled by bugs that don’t faze his sister. A close-range perspective gives readers a good look at Benny and Penny’s facial expressions, supplying the context for the dialogue. These skillful drawings do just what they attempt: they lever beginning readers right into the story. Ages 4-up. (Apr.)

A reptile rushes to the rescue to ensure that candy gets made in this companion to Mañana, Iguana and Fiesta Fiasco. Iguana stubs her toe and is in too much pain to make her dulces, or “yummy cactus butter candies,” so Culebra (snake) orders Conejo (rabbit) and Tortuga (tortoise) to attach different-numbered sets of culinary objects onto un rope tied to Iguana’s tail. “ 'Seis pie tins AND siete cups are necessary.’ 'Necessary for what?’ asked Tortuga. Culebra raised himself high. 'Necessary for dulces.’ ” Soon Iguana is parading around with cookware and cutlery dragging behind. The situational humor of her weighty predicament will appeal to kids, and Paul and Long play it to the hilt by devoting several spreads to the noisy spectacle of kettles, skillets, pots, pans, knives, forks and spoons trailing behind a hapless Iguana (“clink clank clang klatter klitter...”). However, an anticlimactic resolution ends the story on a flat note, and the use of the Spanish numbers never feels organic. A glossary of the Spanish words and a recipe for cactus butter dulces are included at the end (should cactus butter be unavailable, substitute melted butter plus peanut butter). Ages 4-8. (Mar.)

Unlike many counting books that seem to stomp decisively through numbers one to 10, Gorbachev (Heron and Turtle) camouflages the concept in a story about a gentle rabbit named Christopher who simply falls in love with counting. After a successful lesson at school, Christopher counts everything—pencils, fish, toys, plates, cups, shoes, steps and flower petals—and although the pages are not accompanied by numerals, there are plenty of opportunities for readers to count along with Christopher. Pen and watercolor paintings sweetly capture Christopher’s wide-eyed, slightly screwball delight. The dialogue grows somewhat stilted (“ 'Hey, Christopher! We are going to play basketball with the Herons. Come play with us!’... 'Not today. I’d rather count how many baskets you make’ ”) and the plot a little pale. However, the exhilaration Gorbachev conveys in his paintings of Christopher is infectious, and readers may very well be tempted to join in this protagonist’s numbers game. Ages 5-up. (Apr.)

The bestselling author of You Might Be a Redneck If... and the host of the TV show Are You Smarter Than a 5th Grader? turns his hand to versifying with this innocuous collection of rhyming poems about ordinary childhood experiences: “I like to play and splash and sing/ When I take my bath/ But it’s the bubbles that I make myself/ That always make me laugh!” The humor stays mild-mannered and stresses the bonds of friendship and family, as in “Friends,” which begins, “Friends come in all colors/ And sizes and shapes/ Friends share their jump ropes/ And friends share their grapes.” Björkman (Aliens for Breakfast) punches up the text with plentiful illustrations in a cheery cartoon style. “Friends,” for example, pairs with a picture of a grinning cat and dog, dressed up like pirates and together carrying a small treasure chest. A poem about sitting in a grandfather’s lap gains interest when Björkman envisions it taking place in a small fishing boat, grandpa and grandson napping, a huge fish just about to bite on their line. As a bonus, a note at the front challenges readers to find the 30 creatures depicted in the book’s most lavishly illustrated poem, aptly titled “What Do You See?” Ages 4-7. (Mar.)

Nash’s (1902–1971) invincible heroine, memorably incarnated in James Marshall’s 1991 picture book with the same title, kicks off the publisher’s Poetry Telling Stories Collection. Isabel is a good candidate for showing kids the storytelling prowess of a poem: confronted with a child-eating bear, “Isabel, Isabel, didn’t worry./ Isabel didn’t scream or scurry./ She washed her hands and she straightened her hair up,/ Then Isabel quietly ate the bear up.” (She dispenses similar treatment to a wicked witch and a “horrid” one-eyed giant.) Two elements stand out: this edition includes an audio CD of the poem as read by Nash, and it omits the moralizing stanzas that appeared in Marshall’s book (“Don’t scream when the bugaboo says, 'Boo!’/ Just look it in the eye and say, 'Boo to you!’ ”) on the grounds that they were written decades later and are excluded from the official version by Nash’s estate. Where Nash reads in an elegant deadpan style, Taylor’s watercolors go for outsize gestures and a high-contrast palette. She throws in a visual story line to connect all of the “adventures”; children will enjoy finding the links, even though one simply vanishes at the end. The AMA might appreciate Taylor’s sunny conclusion, too: instead of vanquishing a “troublesome” doctor, Isabel befriends him. Ages 4-8. (Apr.)

As in an illuminated manuscript, the artwork shimmers in this verse catalogue of creatures from mythology and folklore, a sequel of sorts to Yellow Elephant: A Bright Bestiary. Outshining the quiet poems, Paschkis’s gouache paintings adorn the title of each poem with a gracefully illustrated initial. The “P” of “Phoenix” is shaped like a wing, and the W of “Will o’the Wisp” consists of espaliered tree limbs. Although the paintings create a unified whole, stylistically each evokes the country of its beast’s origin. The firebird’s tail, for example, resembles a lacquered Russian miniature, and the Thunderbird looks like a Tlingit carved raven. The poems themselves are both thoughtful and appropriate, describing each creature’s characteristics and also nimbly drawing readers directly into the imaginary scene: “Troll arms will grab you/ and put you in a pot.” Readers unfamiliar with some of the more exotic creatures—the cockatrice, naga or hobgoblins—will appreciate the brief, historical descriptions found on the book’s last page. An altogether intriguing collection. Ages 6-9. (Apr.)

Like Jack Prelutsky and Shel Silverstein, Katz (Take Me Out of the Bathtub) revels in the kind of schoolyard humor and wordplay relished by his target audience. These 100 light verses contain references to stale gum, troublesome siblings, outwitted parents, dirty underwear, farting in church, belly buttons and enough smelly things to make a fourth-grade boy laugh out loud in the library. Although the meter frequently stumbles, the topics are quirky (“I’m writing a love song to eggs./ They don’t have eyes,/ they don’t have legs./ They cannot sing,/ they cannot dance. / You cannot keep them / in your pants./ But they’re my friends...”). They’re often contemporary, too, as in a poem that begins, “I put my brother on eBay,/ but nobody made a bid.” Koren (Very Hairy Harry), well known as a New Yorker cartoonist, amplifies the humor with droll b&w drawings in his distinctive, antically cross-hatched style. Perhaps the best section of all is in prose, consisting of 30 free-form “special bonus pages!!” called “Oops! There’s More.” Here Katz offers some of the funniest jokes in the book along with a mélange of digressions about his grade school career, advice for young writers and a tongue-in-cheek promotion for Uh-Oh, this book’s sequel. Ages 7-10. (Mar.)

As Hopkins (editor of Hand in Hand: An American History Through Poetry) takes pains to emphasize in his introduction, this anthology of 50-some poems is not about war itself but the “poetry of war” and the “emotions of warfare.” Arranged in sections corresponding to eight wars, from the American Revolution to Vietnam, the Persian Gulf War and the current war in Iraq, the entries include classic choices (Stephen Crane, Walt Whitman) and orthodox subjects (a rousing call to “press on” during the Battle of Bunker Hill; the unease of the Civil War drummer boy on the eve of a battle), as well as famous poems used unexpectedly, like Langston Hughes’s “Dreams” paired with a picture of an eagle (possibly “broken-winged” like the bird in the Hughes poem) holding an olive branch, in the Iraq War section. Over half of the poems have been commissioned for this book, however, and most of them sound prosaic next to their more distinguished antecedents (“A young widow trudges home,/ her pockets bulge with wild mushrooms./ Dare she eat them?/ What else can she feed her four hungry children?”). It may be Alcorn’s metaphor-laden watercolors, with their heavy irony and bold graphics, that hold the audience’s interest longest. Ages 8-up. (Mar.)

In a tantalizing opener to a new series, Haddix (the Shadow Children series) taps into a common childhood fantasy—that you are really the offspring of royalty or famous people, and were somehow adopted by an ordinary family—and one-ups it by adding in time travel. As the novel begins, a brand-new airline employee experiences an event that she is later told never to talk about: a plane carrying 36 babies, and no one else, not even a pilot, shows up without warning at a nearby gate. Fast-forward 13 years, and two 13-year-old friends, Chip and Jonah, are receiving mysterious notes, with messages like “You are one of the missing” and “Beware! They’re coming back to get you.” Only then does Chip learn that he, like Jonah, is adopted. Joined by Jonah’s sister, Katherine, the boys investigate and discover that the FBI was involved with their adoptions. These smart kids show initiative and do a great job using familiar technology (camera phones, photo-editing programs, etc.) to get information and track down other adoptees. By book’s end they are trapped by some shady characters; learn that they are among the most famous missing children in history (e.g., Virginia Dare, the 15th-century English princes in the Tower); and get sent back in time. Readers will be hard-pressed to wait for the next installment. Ages 8-12. (Apr.)

Natalie Wallis, the protagonist of this accomplished first novel, is leading a very buttoned-down life with her prim parents when, on the first day of vacation between fourth and fifth grade, she is accosted by the kid who has recently moved into the neighborhood eyesore. Annie isn’t wearing a shirt, and what she’s desperate to show Natalie is a dead baby bird. While repulsed, Natalie allows herself to be guided by her voracious reading: “Sometimes in fairy tales, being nice to the strangest, rudest creature turns it into a beautiful princess or handsome prince.” She’s also secretly thrilled by Annie’s chutzpah—Annie lights candles in her hideout under the porch, tells obvious and outrageous lies, and spies on people. Overcoming her initial reluctance, Natalie joins Annie (“I propose that spies wear shirts,” Natalie says) and the two adopt code names, Elvis and Olive, to snoop on the neighbors, with predictably disastrous results. Beneath Annie’s moxie lies a huge wound that Natalie inadvertently discovers and that strains the girls’ friendship to the breaking point. The last-minute emergence of a neighbor who comes to Annie’s aid doesn’t feel fully integrated, but readers will likely focus on the way it allows Annie to strengthen her bond with Natalie and the better future in sight for both girls. Ages 9-12. (Apr.)

The title of Whittenberg’s (Sweet Thang) penetrating novel notwithstanding, life is not fine for 15-year-old Samara, who sees her future as an endless parade of days to be endured. Samara’s complaints about her mother’s loser boyfriends go ignored (“You don’t like him? Go live somewhere else,” her mother responds). “I hated my life in this cluttered, hollow house,” Samara declares early on. “I should have had my own life, but I didn’t. All I had was Dru [an orangutan she likes to visit at the zoo].” Then a substitute teacher, Jerome Halbrook, shows up in her English class and changes everything, simply by caring about what he’s teaching—poetry—and about what his students are saying. Samara develops a crush on him, never mind that he’s five times her age, and while “Mr. Brook” discourages her romantic interest, he uses it to pry open her troubles. Mr. Brook has his own demons, however, and when he falls ill, Samara, armed with newfound confidence, draws on the optimism he has taught her. Samara’s voice is sharp and convincing, and disguises any whiff of the Dead Poets Society/Mr. Chips sorts of familiarity about the plot. Ages 12-up. (Mar.)

Signature

Reviewed by Leonard S. Marcus

What is there about Comics that makes children like them so well?” An exasperated schoolteacher posed this question in an article from the 1940s chronicling the uphill battle she and her colleagues were then waging against comic books, which they considered sub-literary fare. The battle lines have long since been redrawn, the graphic novel having attained critical mass and the comics aesthetic having slowly inched its way toward children’s literature respectability on the backs of occasional forays into the genre by Maurice Sendak and others, and of more sustained efforts such as the Little Lit series edited by Art Spiegelman and Françoise Mouly. Now New Yorker art director Mouly, with Spiegelman as in-house adviser, takes the field again with the release of the first three titles from Toon Books, an innovative line of early readers presented in comics format.

On the evidence of Rosenstiehl’s initial contribution, Dick and Jane may now pack up their things and leave town for good. In this little marvel of distilled storytelling, five wee seasonal vignettes, starting and ending with spring, place a spry young girl in familiar situations that give free rein to her curiosity and love of action. As Lilly plays in the park, finds a snail at the shore, samples a basket of apples, hurls snowballs and swings on a swing, her bright thoughts and warblings appear overhead in speech balloons, in words of one to three syllables. Twice, a teddy bear serves as the straight man; in the winter scene, for example, he impassively takes a snowball on the chin (“Oops! Sorry, Teddy! I was only kidding!”). This comic moment, like others that Rosenstiehl extracts from her rigorously pared-down materials, draws us directly into Lilly’s emotional world, where attention is routinely paid to everything, from a lowly dandelion on up. To know Lilly is to want to know what she has to say.

Lilly, who is already familiar to children of the author’s native France as Mimi Cracra, is Little Lulu with dance lessons. Apple-cheeked and graceful, she’s nobody’s fool, and her expressive action poses double as telltale clues to the child poised to begin decoding the printed word independently. Rosenstiehl’s uncomplicated layouts—two panes of equal size per page, four per spread—and minimalist backdrops likewise keep the focus where it belongs: on the adventure of taking the measure of everyday things, whether it be a tiny sea creature washed up by a wave or the words “I’m flying.” Ages 4-up. (Apr.)

Leonard S. Marcus is most recently the author of Minders of Make-Believe: Idealists, Entrepreneurs, and the Shaping of American Children’s Literature (Houghton Mifflin, May).