Children's Book Reviews

Taking a tip from MAD magazine’s fold-ins, longtime collaborators Yorinks and Egielski (Hey, Al; Sid and Sol) create a book with two trick spreads. Their title refers to a boy’s mysterious drop “into another dimension” after tripping on the sidewalk, and it also implies the groovier meaning, since young Mel has a hallucinatory experience: “The bushes and the trees and the houses seemed the same.... But wait! Everything was pointy!” When Mel accidentally exits this “pointy dimension,” he longs to prove it exists. However, his friends mock him, and when he trips himself on purpose, his parents send him to “a specialty camp for klutzes.” A first scored page closes over the middle quarters of a spread to show Mel re-entering the dimension; when the spread is unfolded, readers see Mel’s surprised father, who was with him a moment before. A second spread finds Mel menaced by his doppelgänger “pointy family,” then folds in to hide Mel, as if the dimension has sealed. Beyond the gimmickry, the pointy dimension offers little; the comedy is in Yorinks’s shtick-heavy language (“Oh, where’s my Melville?” shrieks Mel’s mom) and Egielski’s vaudevillian scenes. All ages. (Oct.)

Not since Five Little Peppers or, perhaps, The Waltons has poverty been quite so romantic as Hesse and Watson (previously paired with Hesse for The Cats in Krasinski Square) make it seem in this nostalgic book, narrated by the middle of three fatherless children. As their ma leaves to work the night shift, the three sneak out to glean potatoes left on a neighbor’s field after the harvester has been through it. Hesse leans on readers to appreciate her use of language: “some high-beam car came flying ’round the bend” and the children dive down, “three tater-snatchers, flat-bellied in the dirt, till the tire buzz faded. Then, rising up in the moonlight, we commenced to cockadoodlin’, revelin’ in the pure pleasure of a close call.” Watson’s art roots this story pleasingly: inside their house, her characters look neat and flattened, the humble cousins of Kate Greenaway; the palette and props say Great Depression or earlier. The children’s illicit harvest carries with it a moral, of course, and the narrator eventually realizes that their mother’s love is so big that it “could turn even three little spuds like us into something mighty fine.” Together, the story and pictures create an appetite, then satisfy it. Ages 4–8. (Sept.)

A nonstop barrage of idioms baffles a boy on the first day of school in this small-format book, best for its insouciant illustrations. On each page, the child hears a figure of speech (“My mother said I got up on the wrong side of the bed) and, as the illustrations show, he takes the words literally. Told he’d “be in a real pickle if we missed the bus,” for example, the boy envisions himself riding with other latecomers in a vehicle made of a pickle slice; this image, like the others, combines a photo with larkish pen-and-ink drawing, and Bloch (I Can’t Wait) packs an outsize amount of comedy into each stroke of his pen. Adding minimal facial features, he imbues half a dozen bananas with the thrill of victory and the agony of defeat (the “top banana” preens above the wannabes). Although the boy’s feelings are on target—he fears school, misses his dog, dreads lunch but trades grins with the boy at the next desk—the one-note lines can grow thin; the book may be better browsed than read through. Ages 4–up. (Aug.)

Like its companion volume, Poetry Speaks to Children, this eclectic collection is accompanied by a lively CD; the focus is on hip-hop, broadly defined as “poetry with a beat.” In practice, Giovanni’s definition yields a diverse crop of poems chiefly by African-Americans. Not all the works have a strong beat: the quiet lyricism of Hope Anita Smith has little in common with the pronounced rhythms of the Sugarhill Gang. The volume includes not only contemporary artists like Mos Def and Queen Latifah but poets from the Harlem Renaissance, W.E.B. Du Bois, Paul Laurence Dunbar and Elizabeth Swados. Even an edited version of Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech is offered. Altogether, there are 51 selections from 42 poets, with about 30 performances on the CD, some original to the collection. The illustrations, by six different artists, compete for attention in a crowded design; readers may be better off availing themselves of the CD, which, with its archival recordings of poems read by the poets themselves, reminds everyone that poetry springs from an oral tradition. Ages 6–up. (Oct.)

Krull (Hillary Rodham Clinton) turns to the frequently failing but resilient man behind the 1900 classic, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Her very readable account begins with Lyman Frank Baum’s privileged childhood in a wealthy family and continues through his many attempted careers, such as chicken breeder, newspaper editor and window dresser. “Bad luck, bad planning, too much ambition, too much risk... ('Will he ever amount to anything?’ some people whispered).” The chatty narrative paints a well-rounded, occasionally irreverent portrait of Baum as a plucky, earnest entrepreneur and doting family man who loved telling stories to his four sons. Numerous parenthetical asides interject well-researched tidbits, such as jokes Baum recycled in his Aberdeen (Dakota Territory) newspaper. Hawke’s (Library Lion) jaunty acrylics fit Baum’s optimistic spirit, while vignettes drawn in green highlight some of Baum’s inspirations, e.g., drawings of the Tin Man accompany a passage about how the writer once made an all-metal dummy for a hardware store window. A detailed author’s note rounds out this cheeky yet informative biography. Ages 8–12. (Sept.)

A fantasy with one foot in reality, this third adventure for the mismatched team of antique porcelain Annabelle Doll and contemporary plastic plaything Tiffany Funcraft (previously encountered in The Doll People and The Meanest Doll in the World) has the daring duo running away from home, accompanied by Annabelle’s newfound baby sister and soon joined by their brothers. Regretting their decision, not knowing the way home, they eventually land in the toy department of a large store, where they face new danger—being sold to separate owners. Obeying the Doll Code of Honor, the toys must wait until closing time to spring to life, which complicates their escape. Characters and their exploits are fresh: cowgirl Dakota Jane drives a wind-up truck; Elsipad is thrilled that proceeds from her sale “will be used to fight world hunger.” The book opens with a narrative sequence of Selznick’s (The Invention of Hugo Cabret) shaded b&w pencil drawings, which lure readers into the story and anticipate the first chapter, “The Mysterious Package.” The lush illustrations—full bleeds as well as spot drawings and vignettes throughout —are integral expressions of the novel’s spirit. Fast-paced, satisfyingly developed, the book is doubly enjoyable for its foundation in a solidly imagined doll culture. Ages 8–12. (Oct.)

With its introspective mood and measured pace, this quietly captivating novel marks a new course for National Book Award–winner Horvath (The Canning Season). Newly restless with the comfortable cadences of her family’s daily routine, Jane, 12, prays for adventures and finds plenty, thanks to the inhabitants of the Massachusetts beach town where she lives. The townspeople’s eccentricities are classic Horvath, but this time the protagonist takes charge of her own self-discovery; she becomes the storyteller instead of being the audience. As she comes to realize that “everyone in the whole world is, at the end of a day, staring at a dusky horizon, owner of a day that no one else will ever know,” Jane begins to sense what lies behind often flamboyant facades, understanding that the surly woman who has blackmailed Jane into a summer of babysitting can be “touchingly proud” of her waitress uniform; that the town preacher Nellie Phipps is mostly fascinated with herself, despite her talk of spiritual growth; and that a standoffish neighbor can come through in a crisis. A compassionate spirit infuses this luminous tale. Ages 8–12. (Sept.)

Set at a luxurious summer house off Long Island Sound, Greene’s well-observed novel is part period piece, part coming-of-age story. The “lucky ones” are the protagonist, 12-year-old Cecile, and her siblings, who take their privileged lives for granted. But this summer Cecile begins to be less certain of herself and her family. Cecile recoils when her older sister kisses a boy the sister doesn’t particularly like (“What’s the big deal?” Natalie responds. “It’s only practice”). She doesn’t understand why her mother flirts with her childhood buddy, King, even when Natalie explains she’s “giving Dad the business” for sending their older brother off to a summer job in Canada. But eventually Cecile, too, interacts with boys and buys her first party dress (and bra), and starts considering what kind of woman she will be. Despite details that place the story in the past (the sisters borrow their mother’s rouge), the story is not grounded in a clear time period. While older readers will be compelled by Cecile’s strong voice, the emphasis on mood may lose the target audience. Ages 10–14. (Sept.)

In her first book for young readers, Edgar-winner Hirahara examines ruptured relationships and reinforced cultural heritage. Twelve-year-old Angela, the narrator, has been sent to spend the summer with her maternal grandparents outside Los Angeles, originally because her parents need to address the problems in their relationship. She’s uncomfortable around stern Grandma Michi, an expert on things Japanese—unlike her much warmer paternal grandmother, Baa-chan, who even with that name claims to be “100 percent American.” Taught that displays of 1001 paper cranes have become a Japanese-American wedding tradition, Angela is put to work folding cranes for her grandmother’s business. Hirahara writes lyrically of folding (at one stage the paper “resembles a gold kite waiting to be released in the wind”), and as Angela learns that her father has moved out, origami convincingly becomes a “medicine.” Throughout the summer she becomes privy to the secret wounds in other people’s hearts (a tough bride, an older neighbor, her own mother and, finally, Grandma Michi), and sustains a mild injury to her own. Although some story lines resolve too neatly, readers will respond to Angela’s contemporary voice as she discovers the value of evolving traditions. Ages 10–up. (Aug.)

Pages tinted with green at the margins, monotone photos printed in green and simulated newspaper clippings and ephemera give a music video–like pop to Dahme’s first YA novel, a ghost story that is more atmospheric than scary. The first thing Courtney notices about the 18th-century house her parents have bought in historic Murmur, Mass., is the English ivy that climbs over everything. She’s also spooked that the house abuts the town cemetery—until she meets a father and daughter who awaken her interest in the 1712 tombstone of their ancestor, a 13-year-old girl who lived in Courtney’s house; the two of them tell Courtney, who is also 13, that the girl’s remains are missing and that her stone, inscribed with ivy, was carved by her father, the town stonecutter. That night Courtney finds carvings on her basement wall, “delicate vines of ivy... whose tendrils curled like baby’s hair”; the next time she looks, the carved ivy has grown and spread. Readers are likely to connect the clues before Courtney does, but on the other hand, they can enjoy Dahme’s New England–style hauntings without risking their sleep. Ages 12–14. (Sept.)

With an eye trained to the hypocrisies and conflicted loyalties of the American Revolution, Anderson resoundingly concludes the finely nuanced bildungsroman begun in his National Book Award–winning novel. Again comprised of Octavian’s journals and a scattering of other documents, the book finds Octavian heading to Virginia in response to a proclamation made by Lord Dunmore, the colony’s governor, who emancipates slaves in exchange for military service. Octavian’s initial pride is short-lived, as he realizes that their liberation owes less to moral conviction than to political expediency. Disillusioned, facing other crises of conscience, Octavian’s growth is apparent, if not always to himself: when he expresses doubt about having become any more a man, his mentor, Dr. Trefusis, assures him, “That is the great secret of men. We aim for manhood always and always fall short. But my boy, I have seen you at least reach half way.” Made aware of freedom-fighters on both sides of the conflict (as well as heart-stopping acts of atrocity), readers who work through and embrace Anderson’s use of historical parlance will be rewarded with a challenging perspective onAmerican history. Ages 14–up. (Oct.)

With overtones of Chasing Vermeer and The Borrowers, this inventive mystery involves two families that inhabit the same Manhattan apartment: the Pompadays—a slick, materialistic couple, their infant son and thoughtful James, from the wife’s previous marriage—and a family of beetles, who live behind the kitchen sink and watch sympathetically as James’s charms go unappreciated. Careful though the beetles are to stay hidden, boy beetle Marvin crosses the line, tempted by a pen-and-ink set James receives for his 11th birthday. Marvin draws an intricate picture and then identifies himself to a delighted James as the artist. Before James can hide Marvin’s picture, Mrs. Pompaday loudly proclaims her son’s talent and even James’s laid-back artist dad compares the work with the drawings of Albrecht Dürer. A trip to a Dürer exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art follows, James stowing Marvin in a pocket; before long a curator is asking James to forge a Dürer miniature of Fortitude as part of an elaborate plan to catch an art thief (can a tiny virtue defeat big lies?).

Broach (Shakespeare’s Secret) packs this fast-moving story with perennially seductive themes: hidden lives and secret friendships, miniature worlds lost to disbelievers. Philosophy pokes through, as does art appreciation (one curator loves Dürer for “his faith that beauty reveals itself, layer upon layer, in the smallest moments”), but never at the expense of plot. In her remarkable ability to join detail with action, Broach is joined by Murphy (Hush, Little Dragon), who animates the writing with an abundance of b&w drawings. Loosely implying rather than imitating the Old Masters they reference, the finely hatched drawings depict the settings realistically and the characters, especially the beetles, with joyful comic license. This smart marriage of style and content bridges the gap between the contemporary beat of the illustrations and Renaissance art. Broach and Kelly show readers something new, and, as Marvin says, “When you [see] different parts of the world, you [see] different parts of yourself.” Ages 8–13. (Sept.)