Children's Book Reviews: Week of 6/30/2008

Poor Fanny—she has one of those mothers who will never let her daughter have a Connie doll. Her best friends have them, but “They're just too... much,” says Mom, who, in fine children's book tradition, is seen only from the neck down. Parents will know what Mom means—Connie is based on the wildly popular, huge-eyed and full-lipped Bratz dolls. Desperately longing for a Connie, practical Fanny wins her mother's heart, if not her friends', by making her own from rags and then, after further minor discouragement, by embracing and pursuing an interest in sewing. The message of fostering individuality and creativity will be welcomed by most adults, though many children will probably sympathize with Fanny's predicament and not quite believe her contentment at the outcome. Relying on a palette of bright pastels punctuated by lively orange, and varying hues of lavender for the nighttime scenes, Hobbie renders Fanny's story in a cartoon-like style. While her watercolor illustrations here lack the affectionate warmth of her acclaimed Toot & Puddle books, the sparser style, as well as the unadorned language, add needed spunk. Ages 3–6. (Sept.)

The pair behind Birdsongs tackles another science topic—geometry in the animal world. Whether addressing hexagonal beehive cells or a snail's spiral shell, brisk rhymes draw attention to nature's math, as in this description of moth wings' symmetry: “Notice the colors/ and stunning 'eyes,'/ perfectly matched/ on either side.” The layout of text frequently echoes the subject under discussion, e.g., words circle around the sphere of an inflated puffer fish or grow larger and bolder when pointing out, among peacock pairs, “the male's the one with all the flair.” Jenkins's cut-paper collages are every bit as stunning here as in his previous books. Striking color combinations make the illustrations pop. This inviting book is bound to spark more careful observation of the shapes and colors in the reader's natural world. Ages 3-7. (Aug.)

Denise's (The Great Redwall Feast) vibrant, old-school acrylic-and-ink pictures dominate this simple story of a mother cat who knits winter gear for her three kittens. There's not a speck of white space; every lush illustration stretches across a full-bleed spread, enveloping readers in the golden warmth of the kittens' fire-lit home and the enchantment of the winter wonderland beyond its windows. Whiskers bristle and tails have a life of their own; in one picture a curious kitten is distracted from a ball of yarn by the sight of its mother's tail uncurling from beneath her dress. Elliott (And Here's to You!) tells the story in economical, repetitive and rhythmic words and phrases that further lull and comfort: “Clickety-click. Lickety-split. Knitty Kitty sits and knits.” The minimal plot has the kittens giving away the cozy hat, scarf and mittens their mother has fashioned to the naked snowman in their yard before settling into their pillowed basket at bedtime, needing only their mother to keep them warm. A book as “cozy, comfy and toasty” as the objects it describes. Ages 4–8. (Sept.)

In this mischievous follow-up to her comical metafiction, Chester, Watt—who is both character and author—thinks she's hit on a way to keep her cat's huge ego in check: make him the star of his very own fairy tale. But as Chester once again makes clear, scrawling in red marker over almost every page (only the endpapers are left unscathed), he's not going to be easily placated—or dismissed. Being a picture book star has gone to his already swollen head: “Dear admirers,” he begins, “Due to an overwhelming amount of fan mail, I, Chester, am back....” Colorful envelopes below this message are addressed to Chester from Shakespeare (“Your #1 Fan”), Einstein and Picasso; a “typed” note from “M.W.” next to an author photo reads, “Please forgive Chester. He's forgotten to mention that he wrote all those fan letters himself.” A tiny mouse (Chester labels him his butler) provides running commentary, sometimes through gestures only. Readers will be dazzled by the cat's rampant self-regard (he claims to have invented the wheel) and tickled by his ongoing battle of wits with his owner/creator. Ages 4–8. (Aug.)

Spradlin (Texas Rangers: Legendary Lawmen) and Hoyt (I'm a Manatee) deliver a thrilling adventure about famed 18th-century frontiersman Daniel Boone. The storytelling is immediate and swift: “Suddenly the woods went still.... Boone looked behind him and saw a fearsome sight. Four Shawnee warriors were riding through the trees toward him.” Gripping prose relates Boone's experiences as the Shawnee hold him captive from February to June in 1778, until he makes a daring escape to warn fellow settlers of an impending attack. Hoyt's skillful blend of close-ups and eye-level perspectives pulls readers right into the action. Maintaining the tight-as-a-drum tension, the watercolor-and-ink scenes show the escapee hightailing it through thick forests, even hiding inside a log at one point while a pursuer obliviously jumps it on horseback. Spreads with multiple vignettes emphasize the nonstop movement (Boone is said to have run day and night, barely stopping, for four days), as well as endowing the book with a contemporary, graphic-novel–style feel. An epilogue adds further dimension, pointing out that Boone was accused of treason for his initial surrender to the Shawnee. Ages 5–8. (Aug.)

All princesses are not alike. Some are clever, some are spoiled, some are loyal, some are even ugly—so readers learn in Tym's collection of seven familiar folk and fairy tales from different cultures. The title is slightly misleading in that not every story stars a princess (Does the tale of King Midas, who turns his beloved daughter into lifeless gold, qualify?). Tym narrates in a chatty, occasionally arch voice, generously sprinkled with “believe me” and “I think you'd agree,” and she often addresses the reader directly: “Are you with me so far?” The British spellings, turns of phrase and sentence structure immediately peg this book as an import (it was first published in the U.K.). Williams's soft, highly romanticized illustrations, featuring many flowing-haired girls in long gowns, can be an odd match for the sometimes vinegary tone (“Sometimes, good looks, royal blood and pots of money are a recipe for only one thing—a spoilt little madam”). However, the lushness of the many full-spread pictures and ample vignettes exert an undeniable charm. Ages 7–9. (Aug.)

Profiling 21 Jewish Americans, Drucker (The Family Treasury of Jewish Holidays) comments that although many of her “heroes” were not particularly religious, “their lives reflect the high value that Judaism places on making an unfair world fairer.” The author manages to kvell without lapsing into gooeyness, and she's always perceptive, honest and fair. She notes that Golda Meir had a troubled marriage and “always regretted that she hadn't been a better mother to her children”; of Leonard Bernstein, she writes: “A chain smoker, a lover of both women and men, he lived hard and fast.” Her subjects and readers might have been better served, however, if Drucker were more consistent in establishing a context for each hero early on (readers learn midway through Henrietta Szold's bio that she was the first president of Hadassah, and not until the end of Abraham Joshua Heschel's do readers see him as a leader). Rosen's (Two Scarlet Songbirds) solemn portraits reflect a modernist aesthetic, but there are enough intriguing departures to give variety to the flow of visuals: a collage of Haym Salomon, built on wood, is reminiscent of Joseph Cornell; Levi Straus gets a denim canvas; and Gloria Steinem becomes a pop art diva. Ages 9–up. (Aug.)

In his uproarious send-up of all things purgatorial, debut novelist Basye gives readers a new lease on afterlifes. Milton, a blameless 11-year-old bookworm, and his “blue-haired, thirteen-going-on-thirty-year-old” sister, Marlo, are at the Mall of Generica (in Generica, Kans.), when they meet their demise in a ludicrous accident (Milton's nemesis plants a stick of dynamite in a 20-foot-tall statue made from marshmallow: “Smoke, noise, and burning marshmallow fused together to create a sickeningly sweet moment, one that was both ridiculously tragic and tragically ridiculous”). Unfortunately, Marlo has been shoplifting and stashed her goods in Milton's gear, so both get sent to Heck—a hell for the under-18 demographic. Never mind that Milton is technically innocent: “The devil's in the details,” snaps Heck's principal, Bea “Elsa” Bubb. After a series of ill-fated yet deliciously documented attempts to escape, one sibling succeeds in returning from the Underworld, but the finale is almost beside the point. The author's umpteen clever allusions—characters' eternal fates are decided by standardized “Soul Aptitude Tests”; Mr. R. Nixon teaches ethics to evildoers in room 1972—make this book truly sparkle. Ages 9–12. (July)

Using 1790 London as a backdrop, Golding frames this delicious historical thriller as a play; fittingly, her heroine, Cat, has lived in the Theater Royal ever since she was abandoned in infancy and taken in by Mr. Sheridan, the Royal's owner. A prologue sets the fast pace as theater-goers riot in response to an egregiously bad production, which Cat, surreptitiously following Mr. Sheridan as he makes a getaway, realizes he has deliberately staged to provide a cover for a secret meeting with a man who passes him a valuable diamond. Readers will embrace Cat for her great heart and her spunk: she is fiercely faithful to her friends, including Pedro, a former slave boy, and Johnny, who takes Cat under his wing and whose true identity is revealed slowly. Her loyalty remains intact even when she doubts these friends' fidelity to her—a trait that leads her into an electrifying series of scrapes that will leave readers biting their nails, wondering if she can outsmart her way past trouble yet again. Happily, this novel is the first of a series; the audience can be sure of encores. Ages 10–14. (June)

Chloe, the 15-year-old narrator of this opener in the Darkest Powers trilogy, Armstrong's (Women of the Otherworld series) first YA novel, hasn't seen ghosts since she was a little girl—until the day she finally gets her period and starts seeing ghosts everywhere. Almost immediately Chloe is sent to a small group home, Lyle House, and diagnosed as schizophrenic. Readers will forgive these familiar and even formulaic plot devices, however, given Armstrong's well-timed revelations of paranormal activity at Lyle House. What is the eminently sane Chloe to make of her new peers, especially the antisocial Derek and his foster brother, who offer their own diagnosis—that she is “supernatural” like them? Are they psychotic or scheming to get her in trouble, or could their idea help explain why certain disruptive teens are mysteriously transferred from Lyle, never to be heard from again? Drawing on elements dear to horror lovers (secretly buried corpses, evil doctors, werewolves, telekinesis), Armstrong adds a stylish degree of suspense. The ending, while still a cliffhanger, brings with it a chilling closure. Ages 12–up. (July)

Baldini and Biederman make a powerful debut with this painfully realistic tale. Amanda Himmelfarb, 15, has good reason to feel rejected by her sniping, bitter mom, whom she's privately dubbed the Captain. Her dad, aka La La Man, and younger, seemingly perfect sister are of little help in Amanda's constant struggles to please. As Amanda narrates, the coauthors expertly calibrate the family dynamics, letting the audience see far in advance of Amanda herself why she sets herself up for rejection: in an early scene, a boy pressures her into giving him a blow job, then dumps her; later, the boy she likes at school fools around with her in secret while openly preserving his relationship with his girlfriend. When he trades Amanda a date to the homecoming dance in return for sex, the tension results from readers' certainty that she'll agree—it's like watching a train wreck about to happen. For great stretches, the verisimilitude is almost heartbreaking; luckily, Amanda speaks with wit and not self-pity. The only false note is an overly dramatic, quasi-tidy resolution–a forgivable flaw in an ambitious, timely first novel. Ages 14–up. (July)

Reviewed by Scott Westerfeld

In most ghost stories, a house is haunted, or perhaps an object, the echoes of past tragedies captured in musty rooms or a threadbare doll. In Bell's intense if uneven debut novel, however, the haunting occupies not so much a physical space as the broken bonds between fathers and sons.

Thirteen-year-old Michael Kimmel's family is wealthy, but hardly comfortable, and in many senses undernourished. Facing an upcoming ballet recital, his older sister, Julia, is too nervous to eat—fearing that her daughter is anorexic, their mother stops eating in turn. Their overworked father thrives on protein shakes, perfectionism and canceling the family vacations at the last minute. Michael retreats from all this stress into the rule-governed chaos of video games.

Then one night Michael's father comes home with cracks in his armor: “My dad is someone who is never late, who is never wrong, who is never sad. But just then, he looked like he was maybe all three.”

Michael's grandfather is dead.

The family's reaction is strangely muted. Michael hasn't seen his grandfather for years, since a break between father and son that he's too young to remember. But as in any ghost story, the past isn't dead. Soon the grandfather's spirit is haunting Michael, drawing him into a demimonde of the restless dead, where family history (and family secrets) are revealed.

Being haunted is not healthy. Michael returns from these “slips” shaken and half-frozen. Without meaning to, his grandfather is sucking the life out of him.

Ghosts, of course, always want something—the trick is finding out what. Ghost stories are puzzles, games played to uncover a hidden past. So it feels both inventive and logical when Michael approaches his haunting like a new video game.

He collects an assortment of allies: his former best friend, his big sister, a bully, a paranormal geek and a professional psychic. He learns the rules of the afterlife, and braves deeper levels of his grandfather's memories. Ultimately, Michael discovers the roots of his unhappy relationship with his own father, and the truth of what the ghost is looking for.

Bell's spare prose evokes a tightly wound family, and elegantly renders the world from Michael's gloomy, nescient point of view. But the book's paranormal set pieces often feel muddled—the mechanics and geography of the demimonde don't become clearer as the game is played. (There's a River of the Dead, and tunnels under the river, I think.) But the story succeeds in that its paranormal dynamics echo the real world's. Breaks between father and son, parent and child, do play out in the next generation.

Families really are haunted by the past, in a way that houses are not.

Scott Westerfeld is the author of the Uglies, Midnighters and Peeps series. His next book is Bogus to Bubbly, an Insider's Guide to the World of Uglies (Simon Pulse, Oct.).