Children's Book Reviews: Week of 2/9/2009

Alda (Here a Face, There a Face) attempts to enter a very crowded shelf with her photography book of opposites. For “push” and “pull,” she uses the example of a street crew trying to move a huge stone statue of Buddha; on the left side of the spread, they're shown exerting their weight behind the statue, while on the right, they've tied ropes around it in an attempt to haul it. The Buddha's unperturbed expression and the glimpse of an advertising model's quizzical blue eyes on a passing bus add a bit of comic commentary. Unfortunately, this pair and a few others are exceptions to what is otherwise a collection of largely unremarkable images that do not always illustrate the concepts strongly (a lion statue with its mouth open is “hungry” while another lion with its mouth closed is “full”; a sunrise and a sunset for “hello” and “good-bye” could easily be reversed). With so many choices available (photographic or otherwise), this one misses its mark. Ages 2–5. (Mar.)

Despite its eye-catching cover and offbeat viewpoint, the “Wrinkled Rhymes” in this collection of poems about clothing have a few too many wrinkles. Each verse is written from the perspective of an article of clothing talking about its relationship to its owner, but too often the rhythms miss beats and the narratives are forced: “I am Violet's hiking hat./ I live on Violet's head./ 'I never take off my hiking hat,'/ Violet said.” Still, Schertle does provide clever turns of phrase and perspectives (Tanya's old T-shirt complains, “Now she's big as a sofa!/ She's tall as a tree!/ She's out of control, and they're dusting with me!”), but a lack of strong imagery and the haphazard meter are distracting. Mathers's watercolors—alternating spot art with full-spread paintings—depict a plethora of animal characters that are not lively enough to consistently provide the needed energy. But toddlers will enjoy picking out animals from previous poems, swimming as Wanda and her swimsuit do a cannonball or dressing up as ghosts for Halloween. Ages 3–7. (Apr.)

With bold watercolors and fanciful characters, Levert (The Princess Who Had Almost Everything) depicts a fairy's heartache over the loss of her pet. Tulip, a watering fairy wearing a wide skirt that resembles her namesake flower and a watering can on top of her head, has a best friend, Lupin, a honey-making dog bee (part dog, part bee). The two of them spend their days flying through fields and their nights howling at the moon, but “after a thousand and a thousand more days together,” Lupin slows down and eventually dies. Missing Lupin mightily, Tulip travels to sea, and over the course of a lengthy, introspective journey, she comes to understand that “she will never forget Lupin.” And upon returning home, she discovers a baby dog bee to take under her wing. Despite the fairyland setting, Levert does not sugarcoat Lupin's death (he is shown in a cardboard box before Tulip buries him) nor Tulip's emotions. The pacing is a touch erratic and the straightforward prose slightly distancing, but overall Levert offers a whimsical but honest story about grieving. Ages 4–7. (Mar.)

In this follow-up to 2006's SheetzuCacaPoopoo: My Kind of Dog, the mixed-breed, mischievous Max, who is driving his family crazy with his digging and barking, gets sent to doggy day care. Initially unhappy, Max tries his hand as a community organizer, uniting his fellow small dogs against the big bullies (“We deserve to eat at the same time as the big dogs, to nap in the sunny spots, and to get a crack at the ball,” Max shouts from his soapbox, a stack of dog dishes). When the larger dogs push back, Max shows them how useful small dogs can be—scratching hard-to-reach itches, retrieving lost toys and serving as the occasional pillow (“I guess you're worth having around after all, little guy,” says big dog Brutus). Though the story is slight, Behar's text has heart and charm—like hearing a story from a favorite if overexuberant aunt. Similarly, Barretta's characterizations can seem reminiscent of birthday party caricatures, but the artwork and story have plenty of energy. Ages 6–8. (Mar.)

A rare gift for young and old alike, this exquisite book about birds combines delicate verses and stunning watercolors that celebrate the natural world. Designed as if it were a birder's notebook, the book provides an intriguing haiku for each bird, dazzling paintings of the species in their habitats, as well as notes about their behaviors and traits. The double-page spread about American goldfinches shows them perched on a thistle feeder, “above gold jonquils/ feeding finches stacked like coins/ April's alchemy.” (A handwritten note adds, “funny—their song is 'potato-chips, potato-chips.' ”) The poems are arranged by seasons, and Rosen's words conjure dramatic images—in winter the dark-eyed juncos are “phased like tilted moons/ half shadow, half reflection” while the blue jay is “December's bugler/ jay! jay! jay! your one carol.” Fellows revels in the iridescent sheen of a blackbird or a field of summer wildflowers as he accurately yet expressively varies the point of view, settings and design elements for each page turn. Text and images, like a well-rehearsed duet, balance and echo each other's beauty. Ages 6–10. (Mar.)

This British import is suffused with family secrets, beginning with the geography-obsessed narrator's real name—she goes by Mini, but hates her given name (“The snows on Mount Kilimanjaro, which, as you may know, is a very high triple volcano in Tanzania, could melt away entirely, but I will still not like my name”), which isn't revealed until the end. Mini, 12, and her older sister, Kate, play a fantasy travel game together, envisioning themselves in far-flung locales, and Kate attempts to protect Mini from her tempestuous arguments with their parents, even as Mini tries to figure out what the fights are about. Unpopular at school and feeling left out of the loop at home, Mini finally learns that her parents have mishandled a situation regarding her sister's adoption, after Kate runs away. Mini's ability to track down her missing sister lacks credibility, but she is a spirited and charismatic heroine, and her devotion to her sister fuels the book's emotional core. While the story drags in spots, readers will be drawn into this portrait of an unraveling family. Ages 8–12. (Mar.)

Baskin (All We Know of Love) steps into the mind of an autistic boy who, while struggling to deal with the “neurotypical” world, finds his voice through his writing ability. Though Jason initially seemed a prodigy, by third grade he had fallen behind academically, and his parents reluctantly had him tested (“A year later the only letters anybody cared about were ASD, NLD, and maybe ADD or ADHD, which I think my mom would have liked better. BLNT. Better luck next time”). Now in sixth grade, Jason still has behavioral difficulties, but is passionate about his writing and actively posts stories in an online forum. There he strikes up a friendship with (and develops a crush on) a fellow writer, though he becomes distraught when he discovers they will both be attending the same writing conference. The first-person narration gives dramatic voice to Jason's inner thoughts about his family and his own insecurities, even as he withholds details (usually about incidents at school) from readers. Jason's powerful and perceptive viewpoint should readily captivate readers and open eyes. Ages 10–14. (Mar.)

Liam Geller's mother is a retired supermodel, his father a high-powered CEO. Liam, 17, is a world-class ne'er-do-well. He breaks the camel's back when he's caught in flagrante delicto with a girl on his father's office desk and gets kicked out of the house. Liam's softhearted mother arranges for him to move in with her husband's estranged brother, Pete, a cross-dressing deejay who lives “in a broken-down trailer park in the middle of nowhere,” per Liam's father. To regain his father's approval, Liam tries to lose his “Mr. Popularity” rep and reinvent himself as studious and nerdy (he even joins the audio-visual club), but he can't hide his charm. Darleen, a hostile classmate Liam tries to befriend, sees right through him. “You'll do what you do, which, if I'm guessing correctly, is to be wildly and naturally popular.” Going's latest (after The Garden of Eve) is full of comic moments featuring “Aunt” Pete's glam-rock band buddies and Liam's relentless blunders, as well as his uncommon fashion expertise (“You're like a fashion Einstein,” gushes one of Pete's friends). Readers—screwups or not—will empathize as Liam, utterly likable despite his faults, learns to be himself. Ages 12–up. (Apr.)

“Before Uncle Sandeep walked back into my life, I'd never cared that I was a Sikh.... But that was before 9/11.” Raised in suburban New Jersey, 17-year-old Samar has few connections to her Indian heritage. Her mother, having felt oppressed by her conservative Sikh parents, cut ties with them years earlier (“My mom spent a whole lot of time... smudging the hard lines that made us different from everyone around us”). Samar's uncle, eager to reconnect in the wake of the 9/11 attacks, helps the teenager learn about her background, taking her to a Sikh temple and reintroducing her estranged grandparents into her life. A number of acts of violence, including an incident in which some classmates throw bottles at her uncle's car while they are driving, further spur Samar's awakening, causing her to reconsider what it means to be Indian in America. Debut novelist Meminger raises complex questions of identity, but avoids moralizing or spelling out answers for readers, who will likely be hooked as Samar takes a second look at her relationships with her boyfriend, friends and family, while seeking a better understanding of herself. Ages 14–up. (Mar.)

Libby's lush historical novel chronicles the intense period during which 15-year-old Catherine Howard became Henry VIII's fifth wife. Starting when the king disposed of his fourth wife, Anne of Cleves, by annulment, and taking readers through the moment of Catherine's death for treason against the king, the story captures her powerlessness, despite her title. “You are little more than flesh and blood,” her grandmother, the duchess of Norfolk, tells her. “You are the vessel by which the Howards lay claim to the greatest power we can wield.” Catherine feels intense pressure to be the king's “rose without a thorn” and produce an heir, but she struggles under the weight of her own past and the machinations of her family: deceiving the king about her virginity, suppressing her love for one of the king's courtiers, Thomas, and contending with the arrival of a former lover and friends seeking positions in her court. The gripping story crackles with the anxiety of the young queen—her lack of control over her own life and desires will resonate most with readers. Ages 14–up. (Mar.)