Children's Book Reviews

Working in the burnished, crackle-varnished surfaces that are her signature, Jay (1-2-3: A Child's First Counting Book) takes the idea of a cageless zoo to the extreme, imagining humans and animals mingling with all the privileged coolness of habitués of a five-star resort. Pairs of self-possessed raccoons and humans in chic sunglasses regard each other as fellow hipsters; families and a panoply of bear species tuck into some al fresco snacks with impeccable manners; and a monkey buys ice cream from a vendor. As in many of Jay's works, there are virtually no words. Richly populated tableaux are threaded with ministories, and readers can follow the respective trails of a runaway balloon and bonnet, as well as the vain attempts of a zookeeper to corral an ostrich. But the overall effect falls short of Jay's best titles with fairy tale or nursery rhyme themes. The more ordinary setting (however extraordinary some of the elements) results in an emotionally flatter impression; the experience is more cerebral than beguiling. Ages 3–5. (Oct.)

In stunning linoleum block prints, debut artist Yum imagines a little girl who dreams of a night in the forest with her teddy bear. Pleasure and anxiety intertwine through the wordless spreads; the prints are like a diary in which Yum records everything the girl feels. Rough-cut figures are backlit with eerie pinks and yellows. Full-bleed spreads give the sense that there's nowhere to hide. Hunched in a corner, addressed by a mother represented only by her looming shadow, the girl is sent to bed for not finishing her dinner. As she sleeps, her teddy bear grows huge and awakens her. After a moment's doubt, she follows him into the woods, where, in a series of joyful double-page spreads, they cavort with two foxes, and the bear feasts on fish. Soon, though, the girl longs for home. An owl startles her in the dark. Instead of cuddling up to her furry companion, she lies awake in the forest until morning finds her back in her bed and eager for a hug from her mother. Some picture books are written for children; this one gives a sense of what it's like to be one. Ages 3–6. (Oct.)

“Growl” refers to both the title character—a diminutive purple monster—and the ear-shattering sound she loves to make. Growl's growling isn't an issue as long as she leads a solitary life within the confines of her impressive castle. But when her well-meaning growling spoils teatime for the neighbors, the spiny heroine suddenly finds herself on the receiving end of a NIMBY movement—until she proves her worth as a one-monster neighborhood watch. Horacek (illustrator of Where Is the Green Sheep?) draws goofy cartoons with a genial, contemporary look, and Growl exudes a Pokémonesque charm: her saw-toothed smile is hard to resist. The text leaves little to the imagination (“Growl was the saddest she'd ever been.... She tried to run around her garden, but running is hard when you're trying not to cry”), but frequent cues to say “growl” as loudly as possible will invigorate readers. Ages 3–8. (Sept.)

Even the most unreasonable child will concede that Spencer, Shannon's young hero, has too much of a good thing. But what's a kid to do? The toys just keep coming: from well-wishers, from birthday party hosts, from fast food joints, even from school, where they're rewards “for having lots of Peace Person Points.” When his exasperated mother decides to cull the herd, Spencer's not-so-delicate negotiations give Shannon (No, David!) plenty of opportunity to display his flair for kid-friendly expressionism and domestic satire (one of the most annoying toys turns out to belong to dad). But what will ultimately keep kids glued to the page is the sheer breadth and depth of the overflowing inventory. Toys 'R' Spencer is a sight to behold, encompassing the tried-and-true (teddy bears, dump trucks), the spoof (a miniature Titanic) and the flat-out weird (a poultry monstrosity with Alfred E. Newman ears and a propeller head). Warning: do not administer to kids close to Christmas. Ages 4–8. (Oct.)

Exuberant and self-proclaimed “really happy kid” Katie Honors, the tantrum-thrower from Sometimes I'm Bombaloo, now explains what happens when she gets an attack of night terrors, otherwise known as “the jibberwillies.” When her own coping mechanisms don't quite work, her mother comes to the rescue by suggesting she catch the jibberwillies in a bucket. As they refine the strategy together, Katie finds the team approach both calming and empowering. Children (and parents) are certain to pick up that same vibe and will come away with new approaches for facing their own anxieties. Katie's personality leaps off the page via Vail's evocative language (“My friends yell 'Katie! Katie!' as soon as they see me.... I sometimes twirl instead of walking”) and Heo's bright and kicky mixed-media compositions. Playful arrangement and coloring of the type and a variety of perspectives and patterns in the art lend a sense of fun and movement to the overall design. Ages 4–8. (Oct.)

When Frazier's (Stanley Goes Fishing) recurring hero, Stanley, and his snake friend, Hank, go to the big city in search of inspiration, it's readers who benefit the most from their discoveries. The artist's signature high-intensity graphics exert their usual force field on readers' attention: Frazier's sophisticated compositions combine style with kid appeal. Although the playfulness and whimsy of the visuals are subdued in comparison with previous books, the approach underscores the message of the text: the deceptiveness of the straightforward. Hank travels from one destination to the next, each time explaining that someone has sent him there for inspiration, and each time being sent someplace new. Hank finds his own bliss, but there's nothing predictable about the conclusion, a perfect union of art and text. Ages 4–8. (Sept.)

Akin to The Eleventh Hour, this über-puzzle of a picture book asks readers to crack codes and find hidden pictures, all in aid of solving a mystery relayed in rhyming quatrains. Young Bertie Badger arrives at the opulent country home of his grandfather, “a conjurer of note” known as Gadzooks the Great, anticipating an extraordinary magic show, but—horrors!—Gadzooks's and the other performers' props have disappeared. Readers could simply hunt for the missing objects, which Base conceals within elaborately detailed paintings, but then they would miss out on the tricky fun of mastering several codes also embedded in the book—not to mention that finding those hidden pictures without benefit of the encoded clues isn't easy, not even for alums of Where's Waldo? For the impatient, Base supplies a huge hint; where Eleventh Hour forced the desperate to break a seal to get answers, readers need not alter anything to avail themselves of help, making this volume a cinch to share. A set of bonus challenges will keep kids (and older siblings) poring closely over the pages for weeks, enthralled. Ages 5–10. (Sept.)

Inspired by facts surrounding the inventors of the teddy bear, Newbery Medalist Hesse (Out of the Dust) applies her gift for narrative voice to this memorable story set in 1903 Brooklyn. Fourteen-year-old Joseph Michtom's parents, Jewish immigrants from Russia, are the envy of the neighborhood when their toy bears make them prosperous. The principal narrator, Joe, copes with the ironies of their fortune: “Now it's like I got some special kind of power. Only I'm not doing anything good with it.” Resented by his former friends, Joe works in the bear business, gets crushes and longs to go to brand-new Coney Island. Interspersed throughout are brief profiles of street children who make their home under the Brooklyn Bridge, haunted by a ghost they refer to as the Radiant Boy. Deftly paced story lines about Joe's extended family indirectly raise questions about different types of bridges: those from the old country to America, those that cross generations, those that link the unlikeliest individuals. Not until the final chapters does Hesse produce the connection between Joseph and the street children with their ghost, and then the novel explodes with dark drama before its eerie but moving resolution. Ages 10–14. (Sept.)

Pursuing similar themes as M.T. Anderson's Octavian Nothing, this gripping novel offers readers a startlingly provocative view of the Revolutionary War. Isabel Finch, the narrator, and her five-year-old sister, Ruth, are to be freed from slavery upon the death of their mistress in Rhode Island, but the mistress's unscrupulous heir easily persuades the local pastor to dispense with reading the will. Before long Isabel and Ruth are in New York City, the property of a Loyalist couple, whose abusiveness inspires Isabel to a dangerous course: she steals into the Patriot army camp to trade a crucial Loyalist secret in exchange for passage to Rhode Island for herself and Ruth. But not only does the Patriot colonel fail to honor his promise, he personally hands her over to her Loyalist mistress when she runs away, to face disastrous consequences. Anderson (Speak; Fever 1793) packs so much detail into her evocation of wartime New York City that readers will see the turmoil and confusion of the times, and her solidly researched exploration of British and Patriot treatment of slaves during a war for freedom is nuanced and evenhanded, presented in service of a fast-moving, emotionally involving plot. Ages 10–up. (Oct.)

When a summer scholarship frees her from her Grey Gardens–like house and the burden of tending to her severely anxious, agoraphobic mother, high school student Vidalia is thrilled to be studying painting in Paris. First-novelist Watson throws Vidalia some easy pitches: the cute young (and good-hearted) Frenchman at Shakespeare & Co. immediately makes an overture, and when the art teacher trains his Gallic scorn on her, another student helps her shrug it off. But instead of embarking on a flowers-and-baguette romance, Vidalia chooses darker territory: a seductive bad boy pushes her limits, beginning with ditching a restaurant bill on their first date and escalating to art heists. The story lines support each other gracefully. For example, Vidalia repeatedly sketches a single painting all summer, unable to get the girl's face right, which mirrors her own search for self. And even though the crime element never entirely convinces, it energetically drives the plot and forces readers to understand Vidalia's need for escape. Plus, the ripe scenes of dinner on a Paris rooftop, beaches in Cannes and quiet interiors of out-of-the-way museums provide readers with an escape of their own. Ages 12–up. (Oct.)

Fans who mourn the loss of TV's Veronica Mars are in for a treat as Perez (Unexpected Development) delivers a wise-cracking, boy-lusting, determined sleuth of a high school protagonist named Daisy Giordano. Daisy comes from a crime-solving family of female psychics—Mom gets premonitions, sister Rose can listen in on people's thoughts and sister Poppy has the gift of telekinesis. To Daisy's chagrin, she's the only “normal” in the family—a nonpsychic. She doesn't let this unfortunate genetic deficiency stop her from investigating the mysterious deaths of high school girls around Nightshade, Daisy's wacky hometown, especially when sleuthing gets her face time with Ryan Mendez, Daisy's hottie crush and son of the town police chief. With a suspect cheerleading coach and an even more suspect cheerleading captain—beautiful Samantha “the Divine” Devereaux, who shows up for school pale and dragging a coffin everywhere—this quick, lighter-than-air spoof of the undead, cheerleaders and popularity is pure pleasure. Teens will be glad to know two sequels are already in the pipeline. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

Hartnett (Surrender) introduces an unlikely protagonist for a one-of-a-kind love story. When 75-year-old Matilda Victoria Adelaide, or Maddy, comes home to find a mysterious boy awaiting her, she thinks it “odd, but also somehow flattering, as when a stray cat chooses your house to call home.” She tells him about her youth and about falling in love. Thus begins a tale that revels in profound questions (“How... does one craft sturdy happiness out of something as important, as complicated, as unrepeatable and as easily damaged as a life?”; “What is the world's most beautiful thing?”; is life “settling for what you can get, if you can't have what you really want?”) and Maddy's tireless pursuit of their answers as they unfold through her relationship with Feather, a youth who captures her heart so totally that she is forever changed. Those who enjoy fables or magical realism will be spellbound by this redemptive story of a search for love, love lost and love (of a sort) found again. If the emotional distance created by the narrative frame proves a barrier for other readers, the exquisite prose may yet hold them. Ages 14–up. (Oct.)

Teens in a psych ward populate a novel that overcomes a predictable beginning to make a powerful emotional impact. Regaining consciousness after an aborted suicide attempt, the 15-year-old narrator thinks his parents have “overreacted” by placing him in a 45-day program in the “nuthouse” (“you know, where they keep the people who have sixteen imaginary friends living in their heads”). Readers might need patience as Jeff, the protagonist, goes through a period of denial, delivering sarcastic answers to his shrink, Dr. Katzrupus (Jeff refers to him as “Cat Poop”) and holding himself aloof from the four other patients. But as Jeff begins to form relationships with these teens, Ford's (Alec Baldwin Doesn't Love Me) own strengths emerge: his characterizations run deep, and without too much contrivance the teens' interactions slowly dislodge clues about what triggered Jeff's suicide attempt. That Jeff's recovery depends on realizing and accepting that he's gay isn't explicit until the novel is almost over, that this novel goes beyond gay issues to address broader questions of identity is clear all along. Ages 14–up. (Oct.)

Adapted from last year's Hungry Planet, this brilliantly executed work visits 25 families in 21 countries around the world. Each family is photographed surrounded by a week's worth of food and groceries, which Menzel and D'Aluisio use as a way of investigating not only different cultures' diets and standard of living but also the impact of globalization: why doesn't abundance bring better health, instead of increased occurrences of diabetes and similar diseases? These points are made lightly: delivered almost conversationally, the main narrative presents friendly, multigenerational portraits of each family, with meals and food preparation an avenue toward understanding their hopes and struggles. A wealth of supporting information—lush color photographs, family recipes, maps, sidebars, etc.—surrounds the text (superb design accomplishes this job harmoniously) and implies questions about global food supplies. Pictures of subsistence farmers in Ecuador cultivating potatoes from mountainous soil form sharp contrasts with those of supermarkets in a newly Westernized Poland. Fact boxes for each country tabulate revealing statistics, among them the percentage of the population living on less than $2 per day (47% in China, where the average daily caloric intake is nonetheless 2,930 per person); the percentage with diabetes; number of KFC franchises. Engrossing and certain to stimulate. All ages. (Sept.)

No one with even a marginal interest in true crime writing should miss this page-turner, by turns shocking and almost unbearably sad. In 1979, in an underworld-style hit, a gunman shot John Busby, a policeman in Cape Cod; a fluke saved John's life, but he was permanently disfigured and disabled, and the family placed under 24-hour protection. Eventually the family went into hiding in Tennessee, but arguably their “disappearance” takes place long before they move—as John and his daughter, Cylin, alternately narrate, readers can see how the shooting erased the family's sense of themselves. John is consumed with anger at the police's refusal to pursue the likeliest suspects (“and [I] planned to stay angry until I got back at the bastards who did this to me”); Cylin, then nine, is baffled as she and her two older brothers attract unwelcome attention (“Everyone thinks your dad is going to die,” a cousin tells her. “But you're lucky—you don't have to go to school”) and are later forsaken as classmates' parents deem friendship with them too risky. Where John's chapters provide the grim facts, it is Cylin's authentically childlike perspective that, in revealing the cost to her innocence, renders the tragic experience most searingly. Ages 14-up. (Sept.)