Children's Book Reviews: Week of 3/2/2009

Hurd’s artwork is as exuberant as ever—his portraits of mischief-making amphibians have a ripped-from-the-easel sense of fun, with colors that look like they dried only minutes before readers opened the book. But those who have grown up with Cartoon Network and Nickelodeon may find Hurd’s idea of defying social norms tame: riding motorcycles, burping, “Smelling yucky. Talking crummy. Wearing bad hats. Wearing dark glasses.” (This is not to say that parents will wholeheartedly approve of riding skateboards down the banister or spilling water out of the bathtub.) Curiously, Hurd (Mama Don’t Allow) doesn’t include a larger society being shocked by these actions—if the frogs live in a world where everyone breaks the rules, what’s the biggie? Even the concluding reassurance that these frogs are unapologetic in their behavior (“They’ll fight with their toothbrushes. They’ll fall out of bed. They’ll be... bad frogs forever”) doesn’t make up for their wimpiness as rebellious role models. Ages 3–7. (Mar.)

When Edward, a city-slicker dog, arrives at his canine relatives’ farm for a visit, Teague provides the perfect setup for this goofily sweet fish-out-of-water tale. As fans familiar with the antics of Teague’s other pooch—Ike from the Dear Mrs. LaRue books—might expect, the narrative nature of the crisp oil illustrations reveals a much more entertaining version of the story than does the straightforward text. The line, “In the woods, Edward helps make maple syrup,” accompanies a spread showing Edward stumbling through a clearing with his paw stuck in a bucket. And when “Edward and Judy go outside to tend the sheep,” Edward is shown petrified, having somehow hooked the leg of one unhappy looking ram. Young readers will find plenty to revisit in the humorous bucolic scenes of barnyard creatures at work and play. And though Edward never quite gets the hang of farm chores, kids will take heart that his bemused hosts are ever-tolerant of his botched efforts. Ages 4–8. (Apr.)

Reworking Ernest Thayer’s poem “Casey at the Bat” for Little Leaguers, Preller (Along Came Spider) and Cordell (Righty & Lefty) knock out a spirited celebration of a team with the right attitude, if not skills. The Delmar Dogs have not had a good season: “Yes, it’s true, the Dogs had guts,/ and the Dogs had heart;/ but catching the baseball, well/ that was the hardest part.” Even on a team of misfits “one player stood out”: Casey Jenkins (“the worst by far, no doubt”). But it’s Casey who proclaims, during a game that seems as doomed as the rest, “The game is not yet done!” spurring his team on to their first victory. Preller’s couplets are full of clever wordplay and humor (“When Jinn Lee clubbed a homer,/ the fans stood and cheered./ The Dogs scored at last./ Said Lee, 'That’s, like, sooo weird’ ”). Set against ample white space, Cordell’s endearingly geeky kids take center stage (mid-game distractions include tree-climbing, a bee sting and a bathroom break on the left field fence). It’s hard to envision a reader who won’t take to these underdogs. Ages 4–8. (Mar.)

This promising if rocky debut lets readers eavesdrop on a class at a world-famous “School of Dessertology,” where Chef George, an imperious owl instructor, is whipping both egg whites and his hapless anthropomorphized students into shape (“What’s an ingredient?” whispers one student, after the chef unveils a chalkboard with a whirlwind of information for them to absorb). There’s a retro-chic sensibility, visual wit and good sense of character in Stein’s gray-toned brush-and-ink drawings (a vain poodle is shown weighing herself on a digital scale when George commands, “Take the time to measure carefully”). But despite these strengths the story falls short. The titular bunny, distinguished by her diligence and rose-hued skin (nearly the only use of color in the book), never emerges as a character worth following. And the story feels more like a series of similar incidents strung together—the common thread being the contrast between the teacher’s instructions and the students’ incompetence—rather than a truly satisfying narrative arc. Ages 4–8. (Mar.)

This lighthearted early chapter book, which launches the Horse Crazy series, is set in Lester’s (Are We There Yet?) and Harvey’s (In the City: Our Scrapbook of Souvenirs) native Australia. Horse-loving best friends Bonnie and Sam detect a change in Drover, the mare that Sam’s father rides on his police rounds. Longing to run free, Drover, it turns out, has swapped places with an identical brumby (wild horse) that prefers the safety of the paddock (“Both horses saw the life they wanted, with only the fence in their way”). After the girls secretly break in the “new Drover” to prepare her for her job, the horse takes some humorous missteps—following a baker into his shop—before finally getting a chance to save the day. Harvey’s ink and watercolor pictures cheerily depict life in the bush and capture the personalities of the heroines and their equine friends. Off to a snappy start, the series continues with The Circus Horse, also out. Ages 5–8. (Mar.)

The fast-paced first book in the Mysterious Mr. Spines series opens at the sinister boarding school Edward has attended since his mother’s death (classes include “Care and Maintenance of Sewer Pipes” and “Bottle Cap Production”). When a pair of feathered wings suddenly erupts from the teenager’s back, Mr. Spines, a “gnarled creature” with prickly quills and a stovepipe hat, springs the boy from the school. He reveals Edward’s true identity: he’s a Guardian, one of the winged protectors of the Woodbine, where humans go after they die and where a nefarious fallen Guardian, the Jackal, has a fortress. Mr. Spines is determined to transport Edward to the Woodbine to reunite him with his mother. Lethcoe (The Misadventures of Benjamin Piff) introduces a cadre of inventive mixed-species characters and offers several gripping, split-second escapes from villains. Clearly a setup for future installments, little is resolved by the end of this volume. Some readers will readily embrace Lethcoe’s fantasy world (an included glossary helps somewhat), but others may not find enough to keep their attention. Ages 10–up. (Mar.)

Emily’s life reeks of the ordinary: she lives in suburban New Jersey in a posh gated community and hangs out at Starbucks with her friends in a town where “most of the buildings are old, and if they’re not, they’re eventually made to look that way.” When Emily heads to Philadelphia for a summer art institute—complete with an eclectic cast of funky classmates and one dreamy teaching assistant—she faces the classic teen dilemma of whether to choose the familiar over the new and exciting, while figuring out who she really is: Emily from Cherry Grove or Emily the aspiring artist? (“I look like two halves of two different people mashed together,” she reflects during a trip to the beach. “Is it possible to be a poseur in both worlds?”) Vivian (A Little Friendly Advice) serves up the story with vivid description and dialogue; the author’s talent for scene-setting and evocative imagery is especially effective for a story about a girl just discovering her eye as an artist and herself as a person. Ages 12–up. (Mar.)

In Regency London, Alexandra is about to embark on her first season of balls and dinners, and while nothing “would steer her mother from the course of marrying off her only daughter,” 17-year-old Alex is put off by men’s seeming lack of interest in women with “any amount” of intelligence (“Evidently, it scares eligible gentlemen off”). Her opinions about romance change when she develops feelings for her brothers’ friend Gavin, who is mourning the sudden death of his father (making Gavin the new earl of Blackmoor). Mac-Lean’s debut is well paced, and as readers fill up on descriptions of dresses and society’s rules, another plot line develops: Alex overhears a conversation proving that Gavin’s father was murdered, and she puts her relationship, reputation and life in danger to help him. Readers will appreciate the clique lit/historical romance hybrid: headstrong Alex rolls her eyes and gossips with friends, but still knows the steps to the quadrille. Clever conversation in the spirit of Jane Austen makes this quite a page turner. Ages 12–up. (Mar.)

Barnes crosses Greek gods with faeries in her addition to the teens-with-special-powers-and-destinies genre. In this companion novel to Tattoo, Bailey, aka the Fate of Life (“single-handedly responsible for weaving the lives of the entire world”), is back and joined once more by best friends Delia, Annabelle and Zo. With the help of mysterious pendants (Bailey’s friends have lost the powers they possessed in the first book), they must help Bailey face the Reckoning, when she must choose between her world and the Otherworld. Barnes has her mythical realms covered with the Otherworld, “also known as Faerie, Olympus, Avalon, and the Beyond,” where Bailey spends her nights while her less-mythic friends dream. Bailey’s upbeat narration adds flair to this story of girl power and friendship, though her Otherworldly trips (which are, unfortunately, italicized) cover large swaths of the book and can feel like a disruption. Readers who hang tight to the friendship arc, though, will find this story pulpy but fun. Ages 12–up. (Mar.)

The last normal moment that Mia, a talented cellist, can remember is being in the car with her family. Then she is standing outside her body beside their mangled Buick and her parents’ corpses, watching herself and her little brother being tended by paramedics. As she ponders her state (“Am I dead? I actually have to ask myself this”), Mia is whisked away to a hospital, where, her body in a coma, she reflects on the past and tries to decide whether to fight to live. Via Mia’s thoughts and flashbacks, Forman (Sisters in Sanity) expertly explores the teenager’s life, her passion for classical music and her strong relationships with her family, friends and boyfriend, Adam. Mia’s singular perspective (which will recall Alice Sebold’s adult novel, The Lovely Bones) also allows for powerful portraits of her friends and family as they cope: “Please don’t die. If you die, there’s going to be one of those cheesy Princess Diana memorials at school,” prays Mia’s friend Kim. “I know you’d hate that kind of thing.” Intensely moving, the novel will force readers to take stock of their lives and the people and things that make them worth living. Ages 14–up. (Apr.)

This compelling first novel is structured as a confessional, with 15-year-old Noelle and her twin brother, Nadio, alternately telling their sides of a story. When their best friend, Keeley, returns from a summer abroad, the twins view her differently. Noelle has become resentful of the opportunities awarded to her wealthier, strikingly beautiful friend; Nadio now finds himself attracted to Keely. He and Keely soon become involved in a secret romance while Noelle strikes up an unlikely relationship with archetypal-bad-boy Parker, a cook she meets at a party. The story’s appeal lies mainly in its unveiling of secrets, but Stone also offers insight into feelings of jealousy and lust. Noelle’s growing bitterness is clearly defined, as is Nadio’s chilling realization that he possesses the same “animal instinct” as a boy who sexually assaulted Keely in England (“Just for one second, I knew what he felt like. That’s the part I can’t get rid of”). Readers will likely guess that poor judgments made by both siblings will lead to explosive confrontations, but that won’t lessen the story’s dramatic impact. Ages 14–up. (Mar.)

Inspired by the Salzberg Marionette Theatre, Stanley (Joan of Arc) frames this engaging and well-paced biography of Mozart as a three-act puppet play. Sprinklings of dialogue and witty anecdotes—such as the prank Mozart plays on a singer mid-performance—flesh out the life of this wunderkind (“What a strange and magical childhood it must have been for Wolfgang... being praised, petted, and covered with kisses by the greatest nobles of Europe”). Painting gessoed wood panels with egg tempera in soft tones, Stanley achieves an authentic sense of place, while augmenting the historic mood with musical staffs that wind through the scenes and informational asides presented by angels. While the three-act structure serves the through story well, some may find the marionette strings attached to every character distracting. Endnotes include an extensive chronology of Mozart’s life. Ages 8–12. (Feb.)

With the synergy of a veteran jazz duo, debut author Weinstein and Christie (Jazz Baby) pay rollicking tribute to Satchmo and the singing style he popularized. Freewheeling verbal and visual riffs elevate the simple plot: after a mother and daughter dance to the radio before bedtime (“We spin an’ twirl around, waggle our heads an’ wiggle our hips”), the girl learns to sing scat—about her bubble gum—when Armstrong visits her in a dream. “Rippety wrapper/ glittery new/ pinkety sweet/ stickety chew.” Children can both giggle at the bouncy non sequiturs (“Cricket’s throne/ puppy’s bone/ bug’s umbrella/ mozzarella???”) and absorb some musical history from endnotes on Armstrong and scat. Christie’s vibrant acrylics offer a pleasing, surreal fluidity. Floating purple trumpets, a winding musical staff and appearances by some hep-looking animals all jell with the anything-goes nature of the subject. Ages 5–9. (Feb.)

Implementing pop-ups, tabs and flaps, these clever books offer kids more than meets the eye.

A factory line of buck-toothed mice work together to build a secret-something in this energetic book. Carting an assortment of colorful shapes in a caravan that continues on to the last page, the toylike mice’s enthusiasm never wanes, despite a few near-disasters. “Bumpy-bump! Clumpy-clump! Squeaky-squeaky... Bash!/ Hoppy faster, leg in plaster, trippy-trippy... Crash!” Readers can feel the textures of the shapes in relief: golden “scaly stuff” feels like a lizard’s skin; “scratchy stuff,” like sandpaper; and “wrinkly stuff,” like crepe paper. Though they are “very busy,” several mice still take a moment to stare, with deadpan expressions, at the reader. Although the two titular mice don’t really stand out from the pack (they are all equally appealing) the pop-up finale feels satisfying, after the buildup. All ages. (Feb.)

Created in the style of 2007’s Dog, this compact photographic book showcases as many varieties of cats as it does interactive components. Tabs enable playful motion: on the cover, a gray cat dips his paw into a fish bowl; inside, a Bengal swats at a ball of yarn and a “swishing slinky cat tail” twitches. Other cats are pictured next to descriptive titles: a fluffy “aristocat” sits on a tuffet while a “nice cat” dozes next to a parrot. A “scraggly cat” features a furry cutout, while a hairless, “scary cat” (a Sphynx) lives up to its moniker. The final panels offer portraits of the cast of characters, with their names and breeds. The lively diversity of felines makes this as appropriate on a coffee table as in a playroom. Ages 2–up. (Feb.)

In honor of the 40th anniversary of Eric Carle’s The Very Hungry Caterpillar comes the first-ever pop-up edition of this book. When the familiar, tiny caterpillar pops out of his egg, a dial lets readers help him chug across Carle’s earthy color palette. Next, the caterpillar eats his way through a week’s worth of pop-up fruit, as well as a full-page display of sweet and savory treats, (resulting in a stomach-ache), before his eventual transition into a butterfly. The pop-ups, particularly a half-cylinder tree trunk that sprouts from the center of the spread and a large accordionlike cocoon, are well executed and engaging. While the prominent use of white space lends a sparser feel than in the picture book, the shimmering wings of the pop-up butterfly dazzle on the final spread. Ages 3–up. (Mar.)

This pop-up book is a cartoony guide to the circulatory and respiratory systems with plenty of boogers, blood and germs—as well as tabs, levers and flaps that provide pertinent information about the body. A giant proboscis invites readers to “Pick Open!” panels, which reveal factual tidbits about the functions of the nose; a stream of snot that readers can pull out of a nostril offers the official name for “compulsive nose-picking” (rhinotillexomania). Readers can also “Crack open” a pair of ribs to see how air fills the lungs; on subsequent pages, a cartoon boy shows off his circulatory system and heart. The grand finale offers a pop-up roller coaster ride and additional facts underneath flaps. The lighthearted humor and emphasis on all things gross entertain and inform. Ages 6–8. (Feb.)