Children's Book Reviews: Week of 4/21/2008

Pages washed with pale green and covered with squiggly line drawings and watercolors instantly identify this book, an interpretation of the traditional English folk song “The Green Leaves Grew Around,” as the work of veteran illustrator Voake (Hello Twins). The minimal textinvites a read-aloud—and even before arriving at the musical score on the final spread, readers are likely to find themselves singing. The language is circular: the chorus “and the green leaves grew around, around, around, and the green leaves grew around” returns on every other page, until the pattern is interrupted by a triumphant “Tweedle-Dee-Dee!” from a just-hatched bird. The rhythm echoes the visual one of the pages—in subdued hues of green, brown, gold and peach—that is suddenly disrupted by a colorful blast of three turquoise robin's eggs. Adding interest to the enormous tree and its many leaves that dominate the art, a girl and boy enjoy a picnic, then play with forest creatures. Their presence and activity offer a secondary plot that should help retain the audience's interest. Ages 3–5. (May)

Every dog has its rough day now and then, which in this high-energy picture book calls for a letter to Mr. Mutt, Canine Counselor. Whether addressing a dog put on a diet by his people, or a pooch who's scolded for barking too much, Mr. Mutt offers a written note of nuts-and-bolts advice (to the hungry dog, he recommends searching the trash, etc.) and anti-cat commentary. His snooty, tiara-wearing cat companion, The Queen, takes issue with his “catty remarks,” writing rebuttals on pink stationery. Similar to Mark Teague's Dear Mrs. LaRue: Letters from Obedience School in both theme and epistolary format, this sister act's (The Great Fuzz Frenzy) effort lacks LaRue's narrative flow and clever situational humor. Stevens's mixed-media scenes of the pets' ultimate altercation contain the most fun: The Queen demonstrates her prowess with a digitally manipulated ball of yarn as she, taking umbrage at a feline insult, keeps her canine cohort too “tied up” to help his correspondents out of the doghouse. Ages 3–7. (Apr.)

An ugly duckling of a different feather—one with a rubber leg—turns his deformity into an asset in this quirky and triumphant picture book. Five, the fifth duckling born to Mama Duck (she ate a rubber band before laying her eggs), bounces instead of waddles and says “Bing-boing!” instead of “Quack quack.” But steady encouragement from his mother helps Five draw on his unique stretching abilities and outwit a lurking fox. Debut author Keller, the former publisher of Little, Brown's children's division, skillfully balances silliness and heart in a well-paced text that will entertain as well as reassure readers who are discovering what it means to be tolerant and confident. In his signature style, Cole (Shiver Me Letters: A Pirate ABC) creates a cast of creatures with particularly emotive expressions who wrest the humor from Keller's premise (“Five let Three strum on his leg while they sang a duet. 'Thrum, thrum... bing-boing... quack!'”). This peppy outing should prove a welcome addition to the self-esteem-building canon. Ages 3–7. (Apr.)

Steig's (A Handful of Beans) shaggy dog story, like the swapping stories found in folk or fairy tales, takes readers on a hilarious journey with a farmer named Quantz. “Patta pim, patta pum, the day has begun,” says Quantz. “Pitta pom, pitta posh—there's a dog in the squash!” Although the constantly changing nonsense expressions can seem intrusive, the story is pure fun: Quantz ingeniously trades the fleas which he gets from the dog for an uncle who never stops talking, the uncle for a huge Limburger cheese, and so on until he ends up with the now flea-free red dog at a flea circus frequented by all the characters who have gone before. In Spencer's (Make Your Mark, Franklin Roosevelt) capable hands, the intrepid hero looks like Ichabod Crane, and part of the joy is in seeing each new outlandish personage. Although the narrative tension stems from readers' attempts to anticipate just how Quantz will get rid of the next useless item—be it a red wig, a rabbit or a bare bone—the true magic emanates from Quantz himself, who looks for a “barrel of fun” and finds it. Ages 3–up. (May)

The winning team behind I Stink! and I'm Dirty! trade garbage trucks and bulldozers for another machine-size marauder: a green-and-blue T. rex with an attitude. “Are you bad?” taunts the Tyrannosaur, uncannily eye-to-eye with the audience. “I'm really bad... Got rip-'em-up claws. Got bite-'em-up fangs. Bad breath? Yeaaahhhhhhh.” At first, the T. rex fills the full-bleed, tropical spreads in a riot of orange, purple and yellow. A proud bully, he shows off “a swivel neck for watchin' my back,” then whips around to confront the reader again: “Did you just call me Baby Arms? Long as yours, pal.” Despite his posturing, this T. rex is a little defensive, and although he stalks prey, he never catches anything. When he throws a weepy tantrum (“I need chow right now... owowow”), a vertical gatefold pictures a much larger T. rex towering over him. “Mom?! I wasn't crying,” he chirps as she supplies a dead lizard (“Awright—takeout!”). The McMullans play their cards just right—kids will love the joke of the tough guy who still needs his mother. Ages 4–8. (May)

Esbaum (Ste-e-e-e-eam-boat a-Comin'!) and Gordon (Smitten) whisk readers to turn-of-the-century days when a circus could take a small town by storm. When a circus hand asks Benny, the narrator, and his friend Sam if they know where he “can find me a couple of strong boys to help with the elephants,” the two land jobs as junior roustabouts (“We lugged water till our shoulders ached,”) and earn themselves a nickel each and two free tickets. As Esbaum moves the duo from backstage to the choice seats in the Big Top, she handily captures the flavor of pre-electricity days, especially in her use of vintage vernacular (Benny remarks at one auspicious moment, “I was so bumfuzzled I couldn't unwind my tongue”). Gordon's human characters are vanilla, but the circus animals have an appropriately exotic majesty, and his big scenes—the unloading of the circus train, the big parade down Main Street—bustle with a sense of sweep and heady pleasure. Ages 5–8. (May)

An idiosyncratic mash-up of canine lore, astronomy and the romance of the railroad, Sweet's (Carmine) tale wanders—much like its titular character. Callously abandoned by the side of the road, a forlorn dog named Tupelo searches for a new home. She finds kindred spirits in a pack of dogs known as the BONEHEADS (the Benevolent Order of Nature's Exalted Hounds Earnest and Doggedly Sublime), who trust a friendly hobo known as Garbage Pail Tex to escort them, via boxcar, to better lives. Though events don't initially turn out as hoped, Tupelo eventually discovers where, and with whom, she belongs. The narrative momentum goes off track with a subplot about wishing on Sirius, the Dog Star. The small, crowded scenes in cheery watercolors and mixed media showcase Sweet's unusually expressive canine cast. A bounty of design extras include several fold-out spreads, a detailed timeline in dog years of dog heroes (from Balto to Lassie, from Old Yeller to Superman's dog, Krypto) and elegant endpapers featuring various constellations in the night sky. Ages 6–10. (Apr.)

Future students of Homer get a handy checklist of muscle-bound Greek gods in this combo of mythology, comics and loose rhyme. Like a contemporary troubadour riffing on the ancients, Smith (Twelve Rounds to Glory) furnishes poems on 12 immortals, including Zeus, Apollo, Artemis and Athena. (A concluding “Who's Who” indexes the characters and explains why the Gorgon Medusa is included rather than, say, underworld goddess Persephone.) An uppercase comics typeface, peppered with bolds and italics, emphasizes Smith's parallel between jealous Greek gods and American mythic figures in the Superman mold. Graphic novel illustrator Russell, working in the relatively muted palette of his Fairy Tales of Oscar Wilde series, pictures the heroes and villains with flowing hair, ripped bods and strategically draped togas—or, in Zeus's case, a well-placed eagle's wing. The characters' dramatic, pouty-lipped poses are undeniably mannered, and the loquacious rhymes can overstretch. Even with the excesses, however, Smith and Russell make the pairing of classical material and a comics-like format look completely natural, with a gee-why-didn't-we-think-of-that simplicity. Ages 8–12. (Apr.)

This short novel about a father and son's journey from rural China to San Francisco in 1922 will firmly grip the target audience. The nine-year-old narrator, who is modeled on Laurence Yep's (Dragonwings) father, describes his shy reintroduction to his own father, a “Guest of the Golden Mountain” (someone who lives in America) who has returned to his family's village in China, this time to bring the narrator back to San Francisco with him. The narrator perceives his father as rich and successful, but he also sees that his father sticks out “like a flagpole” in his village. As the journey begins, the boy slowly learns hard truths: the father's impressive clothes have been rented, and he works as a houseboy (“The clan would have laughed at the notion,” the son notes grimly). All the while the two prepare for immigration tests to be administered at Angel Island outside San Francisco, knowing that failure means deportation; only during this test do readers finally learn the boy's name. Yep's use of the boy's perspective enables the reader to experience a spectrum of emotions (curiosity, homesickness, fear) in tandem with learning historical facts—a trick that lends the book both authenticity and charm. B&w photos not seen by PW. Ages 8–12. (Apr.)

Waters's strong first novel introduces a cast of memorable characters—both dead and alive. For unknown reasons, American teenagers who die are coming back to life. Known as the “living impaired” or “differently biotic,” these teens walk among the living and even attend school, but face massive prejudice. Phoebe Kendall, a junior at Oakvale High in Connecticut, is alive and well, but shockingly, she has a crush on Tommy Williams, who's dead. Her best friend, Margi, thinks she's crazy, and her friend and neighbor Adam, who has a secret thing for Phoebe, can't understand what she sees in the dead kid. The situation gets worse when school bully Pete Martinsburg's hatred of the undead leads him to lash out violently. The dialogue can be stiff and Waters leaves many questions unanswered (Do the dead teens age? Can they be hurt and then heal? Why do they go to school?). In balance, however, the creepy premise is solid enough, and will easily capture the reader's imagination. Ages 12–up. (May)

Set in a small New Mexico town along the Rio Grande River, Voorhees's debut novel puts a fresh and often funny spin on a familiar plot line, the awkward teen boy who desires the hot girl. Rebecca Sanchez, says Frankie Torres, is biracial, “a coyote like me, but unlike me, she got the best of both worlds.... Eyes such a deep shade of blue that sometimes you want to lean in close so you can see the bottom. Cheesy as hell? Definitely. But I'm telling you.” If only Frankie can find the right words to ask her to the homecoming dance! But not all is light: Frankie worries about his bad-ass older brother Steve's taste for macho violence, especially after Frankie gets beaten up by rich white boy John Dalton—how far will Steve go to get revenge? Strong secondary characters round out this sexually charged story, which is peppered with Spanish words and phrases. Frankie's observations on life, friendships and family loyalties wittily punctuate the narrative, ensuring that readers will listen closely to this unlikely hero. Ages 14–up. (Apr.)

Doyle's debut novel is a Georgette Heyer–style, light-as-a-feather romance with supernatural overtones. Ball after ball and visits to Kensington Palace and brushes with royalty await twins Persephone (Persy) and Penelope (Pen) in their first season “out” in early Victorian London society. But when their beloved instructor of magic/governess Miss Allardyce (Ally) is kidnapped by a handsome stranger as part of a devious royal plot, her two devoted wards set out to discover the truth about Ally's disappearance and save the day. Luckily, the plot relies little on magic (it's difficult for “cloaking spells” and cries of “repellere statim!” not to seem like pale imitations of Harry Potter), except as a device to conjure court intrigue. The story hinges instead on the will-they, won't-they budding romance between Persy and her handsome, all-grown-up childhood friend, Lochinvar (Lord Seton). This diverting melodrama will likely please older middle-grade readers more than teens reared on Gossip Girl—its bubbly heroines, however spirited, are innocents, not schemers. Ages 14–up. (Apr.)

Inspired by the experiences of her great-aunt, Fletcher (Tallulah Falls) imagines two years in the life of a scrappy girl from a working-class community in Chicago during WWII. Just 15 and saddled with the responsibility of supporting her ailing mother and younger sister, Ruby Jacinski quits school to work in a meatpacking factory but is soon dazzled by the prospect of earning big money as a taxi dancer (professional dance partner)—an idea she picks up from her neighborhood crush, mobster wannabe Paulie. Fletcher sustains the narrative with the ongoing tension between Ruby's buttoned-up family persona and her desire for a real romance, the glamour of dressing up and dancing to jazz, and baiting “fish” (customers) for dinner dates and money. Ruby's ability to skate away from an entanglement with an older, very crass client, a disillusioning relationship with Paulie and a brush with the mob can strain credibility; however, the depiction of Chicago nightlife in the '40s and Ruby's deft observations (“the look on his face, like the music itself had put on a dress and come up to him and said hello”) add depth and complexity. Ages 14–up. (Apr.)

In first novelist Gehrman's inventive retelling of Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing, the setting is Sonoma, Calif., where Geena looks forward to a summer with her wild best friend, Amber, and prim cousin, Hero, who has just returned from boarding school. They do not automatically bond, as Geena had hoped, but when Hero and Amber become targets of a deceptive golden boy, they learn to depend on each other. There is plenty that is true to Shakespeare (including clever exchanges and a surfeit of romantic confusion), and the author has made some smart updates. The girls, for example, work together in a drive-through coffee shop; a subplot has Hero's good-girl reputation put in jeopardy when the supposed golden boy posts faked sexy pictures of her on MySpace. Readers may find the girls' revenge scheme a bit outrageous, but will root for them anyway, especially strong, skateboarding Geena, who, when her new boyfriend refuses to help, bravely tells him, “Then you're no friend of mine.” Even those unfamiliar with the Elizabethan model will enjoy this savvy remake, with its traditional ending, where everyone gets exactly what they deserve. Ages 14–up. (Apr.)

It's difficult to pinpoint just what makes this British debut so quietly disturbing yet so compulsively readable. Valentine simultaneously attempts a detective caper, a commentary on euthanasia and a youth's pithy send up of an unfair world—and succeeds. Despite its oddball plot, in which 15-year-old Lucas inadvertently stumbles upon an abandoned urn of ashes in a cab depot and, in an uncanny twist of fate, unearths the truth about his father, who disappeared five years earlier, the novel raises serious questions about death even as it exposes the entrails of a broken family. Even with the heavy subject matter, Valentine gives humor free reign, as Lucas mouths off in cheeky British twang about his annoying sister, his lack of friends and his sense that he is the only one still holding a torch for his father. Ages 14–up. A memorable new voice. (Apr.)

A first novel with a voice that sings.

When Audrey breaks up with her musician boyfriend, Evan, he is inspired to write a song about it, a catchy tune that launches his band to the top of the music charts—and that makes Audrey the target of paparazzi and gossip magazines—and the queen bee at school. Although Audrey tries to hide from fame, it finds her anyway (a first date with a co-worker ends with a police escort from a record store, where a crowd has trapped them). Audrey's phenomenal celebrity seems unlikely but she herself feels completely believable, and readers will find her both sympathetic and funny. Benway displays a keen ear for dialogue; this first novelist has a knack for showcasing her characters' wit as well as their sincere concern for one another. Right after Audrey hears Evan's song for the first time, for example, she asks her best friend, “So do I kill myself now, or do I wait and do it in front of Evan so he feels really, really, really bad?” “You're not going to kill yourself,” the friend replies. “Remember in health class, when they talked about how adolescents drink to mask pain? That's what you're going to do.” (Note to worried adults:they drink a milkshake.) Irresistible. Ages 12–up. (Apr.)

Here it is at last—the novel that will allow American teens to grapple intelligently and thoughtfully with the war in Iraq. Robin Perry, nephew of the soldier central to Myers's Vietnam novel Fallen Angels, has joined up because, as he fumblingly writes to his uncle on the eve of the invasion in 2003, “I felt like crap after 9-11 and I wanted to do something, to stand up for my country.” Massing in Kuwait, assigned to a Civil Affairs unit, he finds that his motives continue to elude him as he assesses his fellow soldiers, all of whom seem tougher, braver, better directed. Even as the author exposes Robin's ambivalent feelings and doubts, he re-creates the climate of the earliest days of the war, when victory seems definable and soldiers credibly talk in March or April of being home by Christmas.

Robin serves more as a lens on the war than as a narrator whose voice surprises or compels the reader. His comrades, too, conform to type; rather than individuals, they are representatives of characters familiar to war movies and genre fiction: the soulful musician whose awareness of irony does not stop him from heroism; the medic who defies military protocol in her humanitarianism; the tough-talking gunner—female—who quips her way through danger. In this novel, the conventions are helpful: they ground the reader. For as the Civil Affairs unit moves from a mission of winning “hearts and minds” to having to apologize for the “collateral damage” of having bombed a school and killed children in the “fog of war,” the characters realize they are in the middle of many wars, none of which they understand. Readers will get a sense of the complexities of the war, and of the ways the rank-and-file, as represented by Robin, are slowly drawn into covert or morally dubious engagement. The action builds toward a climax that is affecting despite being easily foreseen. At the end, when Robin writes his uncle one last letter, asking, “[A]re there really enough words to make [kids] understand [about war],” the book itself dares readers to lift that question off the page; it is a forceful bid for their hearts and minds. Ages 12–up. (May)

This oversize (about 10½”×12½”) book announces on its flyleaf that it is by Cocagne, Strevens-Marzo “and you”—as if Taro Gomi had created Scribbles for a preschool set, its engagingly patterned, warmly colored pages rely on reader participation for completion. Type with a hand-lettered feel encourages readers to add to pictures in progress, reinforcing educational concepts at the same time (“This little zebra loves stripes, even on his clothes and bags!” reads a caption accompanying a picture of a largely white zebra; “Hang on monkeys!” read the words underneath a view of four monkeys in a car. “You have to put at least four suitcases on the roof of the car before you leave”). The childlike illustrations belie a nuanced understanding of the target audience: this book and a box of crayons will make any four- or five-year-old who loves to draw extremely happy. A penultimate spread involving a Christmas tree and reindeer also signals a good (if unseasonable) holiday gift. Ages 3-6. (Apr.)

Beautifully made books demonstrating optical illusions are no rarity; this well-designed title goes one better. Packaged with 40-some punch-out puzzle pieces (these come in a resealable bound-in envelope), the book asks readers to test and create visual puzzles, from the very simple (parallelograms that look to be of greatly varying sizes when viewed horizontally and vertically) to the more sophisticated (color theory, although not named as such) to visual tricks that look like pure magic. The ability to re-create an optical illusion, even one with which a reader is previously familiar, provides an ideal learning opportunity—kids can experience what they would otherwise simply observe, and when puzzle master and mathematician Gardner (The Annotated Alice) offers an explanation, they'll be genuinely curious to master it. Ages 10-up. (Apr.)