Children's Book Reviews

In a magical blessing for unconventional girls, Gaiman (The Graveyard Book) addresses the “ladies of light and ladies of darkness and ladies of never-you-mind,” asking them to shelter and guide an infant girl as she grows. “Help her to help herself,/ help her to stand,/ help her to lose and to find./ Teach her we're only as big as our dreams./ Show her that fortune is blind.” Sinuous, rococo lines—the flowing hair, drooping boughs, winding paths that inspired the pre-Raphaelites—spread their tendrils throughout Vess's (The Ladies of Grace Adieu) full-bleed spreads, potent mixtures of the charms of Arthur Rackham, Maxfield Parrish and Cecily Barker's flower fairies. An Art Nouveau–ish font in a blueberry color compounds the sense of fantasy. On each page a different girl—short, tall, white, brown, younger, older—runs or jumps or swims, accompanied by animals meant to guard and protect her. Fans of Gaiman and Vess will pounce on this creation; so too will readers who seek for their daughters affirmation that sidesteps traditional spiritual conventions. All ages. (Mar.)

Husband-and-wife team Henkes and Dronzek (Oh!) record random thoughts about birds, enlivened by vignettes of thickly outlined bird shapes feathered with primary-school paintbox colors. Observations as spare as haiku—“Sometimes, in winter, a bird in a tree looks like one red leaf left over”—are pictured wistfully; here, a cardinal perches, leaf-like, on a high branch of a leafless tree. The appeal throughout is Henkes's ability to channel the way young children think (“If birds made marks with their tail feathers when they flew, think what the sky would look like”) and see (“If there are lots of birds in one tree and they all fly away at the same time, it looks like the tree yelled, 'SURPRISE!' ”). Although the artwork most often follows the text's lead, richer moments come when Dronzek steps forward and does the imagining. “If clouds were birds, the sky would look like this,” Henkes writes; with a dry, loosely wielded brush, Dronzek paints bird-shaped silhouettes of clouds tinted the same color as the setting sun they soar over. A kind of book of meditations for the very young, its reflective tone and peaceful illustrations make this an excellent bedtime choice. Ages 2–5. (Mar.)

Taking his title from Gertrude Stein's famous saying about a rose, Winter (Frida) crafts a Steinesque “word portrait” of the modernist author. Stein wears a serene smile in Brown's (Soup for Breakfast) patchy acrylic images, and by her side is an enigmatic Alice B. Toklas: “And Gertrude and Alice are Gertrude and Alice. Well it's like this. You walk up the stairs, and there they are.” Readers reassured by closure will not find it here. Winter's nonlinear prose echoes The Autobiography of Alice B. Toklas, and his fugues suit a poet fond of repetition (and babble). Brown's idiosyncratic visuals and complementary palette—likewise not customary biographical fare—befit this impresario of experimental artists and writers on the Rive Gauche. At Stein and Toklas's famous salons, “Everybody talks. Talk talk talk talk. Laugh laugh. More talk. Laugh. Okay. Enough.” Brown aptly pictures Stein's close friend Picasso surrounded by minotaur-themed cubism imagery, and Matisse framed by leafy shapes. Although purists can quibble that Matisse's cutouts came later and Hemingway lacked his white beard when he and Stein were rivals, this salute mimes Stein's mischievous voice and cultivates its own literary audience. Ages 4–8. (Feb.)

McElligott (Absolutely Not) is a triple threat: a sturdy storyteller, a stylish draftsman and a thoughtful wit who makes math funny. Eight animal guests devour the cake served at the lion's royal feast, each taking half of what's on the plate as it is passed; by the time it reaches the lion king, his portion has been reduced to crumbs. The virtuous ant volunteers to make amends by baking a cake, whereupon the others, anxious not to be shown up, successively double her offer, finally reaching a bid of 256 peanut-butter pound cakes from the elephant (McElligott lays out all 256 as a visual aid). The math content enriches the story but doesn't overshadow the hero, the gentle and considerate ant. Grids and square panels of diminishing size used as design elements reinforce the content and are attractive in their own right; subtle grids can be found within the compositions as well. Able characterizations multiply the laughs; the gorilla, in sunglasses, looks a lot like Jack Nicholson. Ages 4–8. (Feb.)

From the glitter on the jacket and Barbie-pink endpapers to the catchy rhymed descriptions of Princess Bess's “loads of” beautiful clothes, Cuyler's (100th Day Worries) sprightly story brims over with little-girl appeal. Princess Bess, depicted in debut artist Maione's zesty ink-and-watercolor art with carrot-colored ringlets and apple-red cheeks, leads a busy life (together with her omnipresent puppy, whose doings add an extra note of humor). Every activity of Bess's day, from ballet lessons to art class to jousting and chess, demands a different outfit. Even mealtimes require a costume change: “for luncheon with the prince/ she wore pink pantaloons of chintz,” writes Cuyler; Maione shows her lounging barefoot in a treetop with an equally casually clad boy prince as a footman on a ladder holds a tray. But only when she has “closed her curtains, locked her door, dropped her dress upon the floor” is Bess finally free to dress as she likes—in her underclothes. The well-crafted rhymes roll easily off the tongue; Maione's droll pictures, balancing fashion-loving detail with Bess's brio, are a skillful accompaniment. Ages 4–8. (Feb.)

Nelson's (We Are the Ship) jacket portrait of Coretta Scott, monumental and tender at the same time, sets the tone for this intimate picture biography. The artist's full-bleed paintings, powerfully molded and saturated with color, depict crucial moments in Scott's life: the morning when a “white school bus/ left a/ funnel of dust” in Coretta's face as she walked five miles to school; her marriage to Martin Luther King Jr., “two minds attracted in prayer,” their faces joined in double profile; the March on Washington, a mass of humanity around the Washington Monument, viewed from the air. Shange's (For Colored Girls Who Have Considered Suicide/ When the Rainbow Is Enuf) rhythmic lines and formal syntax roll like waves—“over years/ learning and freedom/ took hold of Coretta's soul/ till she knew in her being/ that the Good Lord intended freedom/ for the Negro”—carrying readers on a soul-stirring ride through Coretta's coming of age in the Civil Rights movement and her time as King's partner in it. “Singin' always singin',” Shange ends; Nelson shows the couple at the head of a line of marchers, and then, on the final page, in tight close-up, their faces patient and strong. Ages 4–9. (Jan.)

With the flair for which she is known, Hopkinson (Abe Lincoln Crosses a Creek) chronicles the early life of John Avery Lomax, a pioneer of folk musicology who got his start collecting cowboy songs. The colorful narrative devotes several spreads to the song collector's childhood in Texas. Glimpses of his thoughts and emotions (e.g, “The songs went straight to John's heart, and he made up his mind to write down each and every cowboy song he heard”) as well as dialogue help personalize the story. Short, chapter-like segments begin with lyrics from cowboy songs, like “Poor Lonesome Cowboy,” although it may take a more sophisticated reader to connect the songs' themes with Lomax's life. Schindler's (The Story of Salt) realistic illustrations, painted with a light touch in muted hues, ably capture the expressions of skeptical cowboys (“I'm not goin' poke my face up to your blamed old horn and sing,” says one at the sight of Lomax's Ediphone) or the eagerness with which Lomax goes about his work. Concluding author notes read more like a standard biography and sketch out Lomax's later years. Ages 6–8. (Jan.)

Three children encounter kidnappers, a mysterious carpet and a thieves' market in Haven's (Two Hot Dogs with Everything) entertaining but slight novel. Oliver's father, a newspaper reporter, has moved his family to the tiny Middle Eastern nation of Balabad. Oliver, 12, and his best (and only) friend, Zee, relieve their boredom by visiting a carpet seller, Mr. Haji, who entertains them with stories of Balabad's history. When a series of unusual crimes that begins with the theft of the 500-year-old Sacred Carpet of Agamon culminates in the disappearance of Haji, Oliver and Zee, with the help of a girl named Alamai, set off to find their friend and discover the secrets of Balabad. The brief adventure is exciting but ends too quickly, and with too few opportunities for the protagonists to put their intelligence to use. There's much to like, including smart, realistic characters, a fascinating back story and solid action sequences, but the strong writing doesn't compensate for the structural problems. Illustrations not seen by PW. Ages 8–12. (Jan.)

Conway (The Melting Season) shoehorns a whole lot of story into this middle-grade drama, and barely pulls it off. About to graduate from fifth grade, best friends Katy and Anna, the narrator, still play imaginary games. But the real world is intruding. As Anna dreads losing her 15-year-old genius brother to Harvard in the fall, Katy's profoundly developmentally disabled brother suddenly needs to be institutionalized. (On top of this inequity, Anna's parents are happily married; Katy's, bitterly divorced.) An additional story line involves a classmate whose father has recently died; he and Anna like each other. Given so many developments, it's not surprising that Anna's emotional responses seem a little blunted, even when Katy inexplicably turns on her. But the writing is simple and clear, and gently delivers the message that growing up is inextricably linked with change. As Anna concludes, “I just miss us, Katy and Anna, those girls who played and are gone now.” Ages 8–12. (Dec.)

In a much-anticipated “multi-platform” mystery, Carman (the Land of Elyon series) tells of two small-town teens who go looking for trouble in an abandoned dredge once used to find gold. Presented as the journal of 15-year-old Ryan, the book is produced on ruled paper and in a font resembling handwriting; Ryan unfolds the details of the recent accident that has left him laid up with a broken leg. Periodically, Ryan receives e-mails from Sarah, his fellow sleuth, who is still hunting down clues about ghostly sightings at the dredge, and, armed with a video camera, is posting her findings on a Web site. (Readers can access the site with the passwords in the book.) The premise is more intriguing than the execution. Clues come slowly and don't keep the reader guessing so much as perplexed: Sarah's brief clips are just as much hair-twirling musings as plot-thickeners. Readers should know in advance what the otherwise enticing package does not make clear: this is the first in a series, and anyone expecting that it will end on anything but a cliff-hanger will be disappointed. Ages 9–12. (Jan.)

With the wickedly fun undertones of Roald Dahl's The Witches, Horowitz (The Switch, reviewed below) imagines that stooped, child-hating grannies are out to take over the world. To do it, they need Jordan Warden, aka Joe, a filthy rich 12-year-old who lives in London with his self-obsessed mother; his cold, can't-be-bothered father; and a quartet of odd but affectionate servants. Joe's Granny—a kleptomaniac with peculiar eating habits—sets out to kidnap him, and Joe ends up in a hotel full of old ladies assembled for the Golden Granny Awards (one prize is for longest time spent boarding a bus). They are also clamoring for his youthful enzymes. Of course, to get those enzymes, Joe has to die. Horowitz resorts to the lights-going-out-at-the-right-moment trick to get Joe out of his predicament, but even that old chestnut doesn't detract from the excitement. Although some parents may cringe at the blackness of the humor, kids who can shudder through the explosions will love the campy ending. Ages 8–12. (Jan.)

Maybe only a 10-year-old would find the zanily sinister world here plausible, but Horowitz (the Alex Rider adventures) writes about it with such zeal that older readers will get sucked in, too. Rich, spoiled Thomas Arnold David Spencer, or Tad, goes to bed one night on his goose feather pillow and Irish linen sheets wishing for one split second to be someone else. Thanks to some alignment of planets (or maybe just a weird carnival gypsy, it's never really clear), 13-year-old Tad gets his wish, and he wakes up in the body of Bob Snarby, the son of carnival workers, who has a penchant for sniffing glue. The ensuing chain of events has Tad, Bob and readers questioning whether anything is what it appears to be. Horowitz has fun describing both the squalor of Snarby's caravan and its hard-knock occupants as well as the upscale, anything-can-be-bought world of the Spencers. Spinning an action-packed story, Horowitz also slyly tosses in some pretty deep questions about life. Ages 10–up. (Jan.)

Tension builds just below the surface of this energetic, seamlessly narrated first novel set in small-town Alabama in 1917. Twelve-year-old Harry, aka Dit, has been looking forward to the arrival of the new postmaster from Boston, said to have a son Dit's age. The “son” turns out to be a girl, Emma, and to everyone's surprise, the family is what Dit calls “colored” and others call “Negras.” Emma, bookish and proud, impresses Dit with her determination (he calls it stubbornness) when she decides to learn to throw a ball or climb, and when Emma's mother upbraids him, Dit begins to rethink what he's been taught about the South's sorrowful defeat in the War Between the States. Levine sets up a climactic tragedy that will challenge the community's sense of justice; although hair-raising Mockingbird–esque events are becoming common in YA novels about inequality in the segregated South, Levine handles the setting with grace and nuance. Without compromising the virtues and vices of her characters, she lets her readers have a happy-enough ending. Ages 10–up. (Jan.)

Sixteen-year-old Ellie Wrigley is desperate to find her unconventional, beloved older sister, Nina, who disappeared two years ago, seemingly without a trace. When Ellie uncovers a clue in a local secondhand shop—a drawing that Ellie recognizes as Nina's work—she is determined to investigate, even without her family's support. Ellie's father left years earlier, and her mother is remarkably uninvolved: “Your sister's not missing,” Ellie's mother has told her. “She's just not here.” Without telling anyone where she is going, Ellie sets off on a cross-country chase with her new crush, Sean, who has also lost a sibling, and seems to be the only one who understands her. The cast of convenient characters also includes Ellie's gay boss at the coffee bar and her suspicious best friend. The story is largely unbelievable, however, debut author Weingarten's fast-paced, chatty style will keep readers tuned in. Ages 14–up. (Feb.)

The bicentennial of Charles Darwin's birth on February 12, 2009 (yes, the same day as Lincoln's) has not escaped publishers.

Distilling tough concepts into light, conversational prose, Lasky (John Muir) gives middle-graders a just-right introduction to Charles Darwin. In colorful, cut-to-the-chase language ( “He found anatomy class disgusting, and he once rushed out of an operating room, unable to stand the sight of blood”), she highlights Darwin's insatiable curiosity, his failures at school and his voyage aboard the Beagle. The author invites readers to follow Darwin's reasoning and the questions that led up to his theory of evolution. Taking advantage of the large trim size, Trueman (Noah's Mittens) up-ends perspective with multilayered mixed-media illustrations; mostly paint, these also incorporate bits of flowers and weeds as well as string, paper and fabric. Like the text, they aim for a homely, friendly style, as when young Darwin and his brother are shown gleefully exploding things in their homemade lab. Highly accessible. Ages 7–12. (Jan.)

Focusing on Charles Darwin's youth, this historical novel hooks readers with a revelatory opener: Darwin's nose almost kept him off the Beagle—the captain believed that facial features indicated character and the 22-year-old Darwin's honker bespoke a lack of energy and determination. Entertaining her audience throughout, Meyer (Mary, Bloody Mary) keeps Charley likable and easy to relate to, from his hatred of school food and fear of bullies to his anxiety over choosing a career. The pacing is particularly good, and readers get a full sense of Darwin's relationships and his joy in his discoveries. A well-told story that will appeal to all readers, not just those drawn to science. Ages 12-up. (Jan.)

This rewarding biography of Charles Darwin investigates his marriage to his cousin Emma Wedgwood. Heiligman (the Holidays Around the World series) has good reason for this unusual approach: as deeply as they loved each other, Emma believed in God, and Charles believed in reason. Embracing the paradoxes in her subjects' personalities, the author unfolds a sympathetic and illuminating account, bolstered by quotations from their personal writings as well as significant research into the historical context. We meet Charles as he weighs the pros and cons of wedded life—but then seeks his father's advice (Darwin père urges him to conceal his religious doubts); Emma becomes a more fervent believer after the death of her favorite (and more religious) sister. Heiligman writes for motivated readers, and her style can be discursive (mention of a letter can introduce a few sentences on the British postal system). Her book allows readers not only to understand Darwin's ideas, but to appreciate how Emma's responses tempered them. Eight pages of photos, not seen by PW. Ages 12–up. (Feb.)

These adaptations of Greg Mortenson's adult bestseller, Three Cups of Tea: One Man's Mission to Promote Peace... One School at a Time (Viking 2006), present the story for young (and younger) audiences.

In 1993, while climbing one of the world's most difficult peaks, Mortenson became lost and ill, and eventually found aid in the tiny Pakistani village of Korphe. He vowed to repay his generous hosts by building a school; his efforts have grown into the Central Asia Institute, which has since provided education for 25,000 children. Retold for middle readers, the story remains inspirational and compelling. Solid pacing and the authors' skill at giving very personal identities to people of a different country, religion and culture help Mortenson deliver his message without sounding preachy; he encourages readers to put aside prejudice and politics, and to remember that the majority of people are good. An interview with Mortenson's 12-year-old daughter, who has traveled with her father to Pakistan, offers another accessible window onto this far-away and underlines Mortenson's sacrifice and courage. Illustrated throughout with b&w photos, it also contains two eight-page insets of color photos.

The picture book, while close in content to the longer books, is written in the voice of Korphe's children rather than providing Mortenson's view, making it easier for American kids to enter the story. Roth (Leon's Story) pairs the words with her signature mixed-media collage work, this time using scraps of cloth along with a variety of papers. Her work has a welcoming, tactile dimension—readers would want to touch the fabric headscarves, for example. A detailed scrapbook featuring photos from Three Cups of Tea and an artist's note firmly ground the book in fact. A portion of the authors' royalties will benefit the Central Asia Institute. (Jan.)