Children's Book Reviews: Week of 3/23/2009

A charismatic group of French mice enjoy a night out in Wright’s dreamy, muted debut. “Somewhere, deep in the city of Paris, there is a circus that is so small, and so secret... only the mice know how to find it.” The pointy noses and dumpling bodies of the mice are inked in spidery lines against a dusty nighttime backdrop on rough canvas. Each line of text teases readers with a secret (“Only the mice know what to wear”), and each spread reveals it: in this case, mice help each other into patchwork yet fancy dresses, shirts and hats. Beside the text, “Only the mice know how to get there...,” a group of mice float through the air in a hot-air balloon, the lights of the city below and the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the distance. More spreads reveal a miniature circus under a carousel, with jugglers, a clown and a cat-taming act. There’s magic in the air, as bright lights and stars twinkle, but Wright keeps the events and the repeating form low-key and lullabylike—just right for bedtime. Ages 2–6. (Apr.)

It’s bedtime, Papa’s away, and noises threaten from the forest that opens, Wild Things–style, from the walls of Liam’s bedroom. “What could Liam do? He was just a boy (thump thump), too small to fight off forest things.” Nonetheless, Liam resolves to defend Mama, who is “snore asleep.” Alert readers will notice that the enormous bear—the source of the recurrent “roawr!”—looks suspiciously like Liam’s teddy bear, right down to the pirate eye-patch. Many “imagining” stories end when the child’s play is revealed as make-believe and the child is jolted back to reality. Joosse (In the Night Garden) lets Liam vanquish the bear and return to bed in his own good time. Dutch artist Jutte’s ink, watercolor and acrylic spreads, which recall the work of Crockett Johnson, energize this swashbuckling adventure, from the leafy jungle wallpaper made real to the lumbering, snaggle-toothed bear. Joosse’s consistently inventive prose (“One dark and snarly night”) builds suspense (as does the repeating “thump thump” of Liam’s heartbeat) and is a worthy counterpart for Jutte’s artistry—the two share a solid understanding of small boys. Ages 3–5. (Apr.)

The brash claims of a young narrator appear beside portraits of his amazing goldfish in a kind of literary vaudeville act. Each picture is a subtle variation on the basic fish-in-the-bowl image, and the humor lies in the changes. “My goldfish is the strongest goldfish in the world,” the narrator declares, while the picture shows the puny goldfish poised on the table, holding the fishbowl up with its nose. The fish is not painted in detail, but rather a fish-shaped outline within an area of red paint, which gives it a solemn, almost hieroglyphic appearance. The goldfish dresses up as a skeleton for Halloween, goes on vacation and comes back sunburned and, once, forgets where he lives (the picture shows him in a drinking glass). The narrator’s love for the goldfish is laced with humor yet poignant (“I’ve told him a hundred times not to speak to strangers, but my goldfish never listens”). Barroux’s (Where’s Mary’s Hat?) story comes across as a meditation on a life well lived, and the laughs are just as good the second time around. Ages 3–7. (Mar.)

The team behind The OK Book again plays with perspective and visual trickery, this time using a classic image that looks like either a rabbit (with long ears) or a duck (with a long bill). In a series of spreads that show the boldly outlined duck/rabbit against a blue sky, two offstage speakers, their words appearing on either side of the animal’s head, argue their points of view. The snappy dialogue makes for fine read-aloud: “Are you kidding me? It’s totally a duck.” “It’s for sure a rabbit.” Though the main image is basically static, Lichtenheld has fun with the details and setting, placing the animal behind green leaves (“Now the duck is wading through the swamp.” “No, the rabbit is hiding in the grass”), near water (“Look, the duck is so hot, he’s getting a drink.” “No, the rabbit is so hot, he’s cooling off his ears”), etc. The creature’s disappearance brings a brief moment of reconciliation, but the twist ending puts the speakers at odds again. Duck? Rabbit? As kids will readily see, it depends on how you look at it. Ages 3–up. (Apr.)

Brown’s (Chowder) latest is a quiet but stirring fable of urban renewal, sure to capture imaginations. In exploring his bleak city neighborhood, thoughtful Liam—in Brown’s warm, almost fuzzy acrylic spreads, he looks a little like a friendly, redheaded wooden puppet—notices that some flowering plants have appeared on an old elevated railway track. He teaches himself to care for them (“The flowers nearly drowned and he had a few pruning problems, but the plants patiently waited while Liam found better ways of gardening”), and the garden responds by “growing restless. It wanted to explore.” In one of several wordless spreads, Liam stands against a bright blue sky, surrounded by a thick patch of daisies. Spring brings a burst of new energy: “the tough little weeds and mosses set out first. They popped up farther and farther from the railway.... but the most surprising things that popped up were the new gardeners.” In Brown’s utopian vision, the urban and the pastoral mingle to joyfully harmonious effect—especially on the final pages, which show a city filled with rooftop gardens, fantastic topiaries, windmills and sparkling ponds. Ages 3–6. (Apr.)

In his afterword, Cech (Sterling’s Classic Fairy Tale Collection series) credits Aesop’s staying power to an ability to “make a point with economy, common sense, and sharp wit.” Unfortunately, while the first two qualities are evident in this collection, there is little of the third, particularly in the often overwrought morals that cap off each entry (“Keep a steady pace, and even the slow can win the race,” follows “The Tortoise and the Hare”). These retellings of the familiar fables (36 in total) feel schematic, as if they’re the notes for better versions to come. All of this puts a heavy burden on Jarrie’s (ABC USA) folk art–styled acrylic panels, and these consistently handsome, quirky images almost succeed in carrying the day. Jarrie’s flattened perspectives suggest a world where the moral order is clear and fools are not suffered gladly; his animal portraits exude both a totemic charisma and a comically misguided single-mindedness. But with so many Aesop adaptations available, this one isn’t likely to stand out. Ages 4–7. (Apr.)

The affable, always-up-for-a-meal sheepdog from Johnston’s long-running comic strip “For Better or for Worse” takes a star turn. Smelling hot dogs grilling at a nearby house, Farley bolts from home without his collar. More smells—nicely conveyed through a rush of words in wavy typography (“pineneedleswetdirttomatoesmint and... toasted marshmallows!”)—beckon him further afield, although Johnston and Cruikshank (who is also a vet) are careful to portray the wider world as benevolent and responsible (teenagers refuse to give Farley their marshmallows because “Dogs’ stomachs aren’t made for such sweet stuff”). Dog lovers of all ages will appreciate how the authors resist overanthropomorphizing their hero: when Farley reunites a lost boy with his family, it’s because the dog smells hot dogs, lemon cake, apple juice and popcorn on him and figures there’s more of the same at the boy’s house. The warmhearted comic energy and Johnston’s genial, knowing cartooning make the pages fly by; readers are sure to root for Farley getting his own series—or better yet, his own animated cartoon. Ages 4–8. (May)

Declarative, rhyming phrases accompany striking illustrations in tribute to the enigmatic Chincoteague ponies that live off the Virginia coast. While several explanations for the ponies’ presence on the island of Assateague are offered in legends, Ransom (Tractor & Company) presents one of the more dramatic: a Spanish shipwreck. “Big ship wrecks./ Stormy sea./ Cargo horses/ Swimming free.” Accentuated by storm light, the ponies meld into the sharp peaks of the waves with an eerie green glow as they struggle for the shore. Across a narrow channel from where they land a seaside town grows over time, smudgy pastels by Zahares (Lucky Jake) suggesting an Impressionist landscape. After a fire, the human settlers must raise money for a new fire truck, and cowboys round up the ponies for auction. Lit by the flaming red sunset, the ponies have a regal demeanor as they “race through town.” With the money raised, the town purchases a “shiny engine,” and the crowd cheers, “Bring back ponies/ Every year!” A parting image shows the ponies galloping on the beach, “wild and free,” at sunrise. Lovely. Ages 4–8. (Apr.)

While this story about unlikely friends is full of imaginative details and delightfully quirky illustrations, the narrative arc is not always clear. The story opens with Prudence (a prudent, reserved moose) disapproving as Moxie (a raccoon with an equally apt name) makes “kissy faces” at sharks during a class trip. “Moxie must look funny to the fish, thinks Prudence,” but readers may not be sure why Moxie’s behavior seems wrong to Prudence. Prudence continues to stew as Moxie accepts dare after dare. “It’s always the same: 'I dare you, Moxie’ and 'I bet you won’t.’ She will, thinks Prudence. She always does.” Both friends have their respective fears—for Prudence, thunder; for Moxie, Prudence’s horse (named Thunder)—and both overcome them, a bit too easily, with the other’s help. The pacing is erratic, and a number of red herrings and oddly placed likes and dislikes muddy the waters considerably. Cantone’s (Three Little Ghosties) watercolor and ink illustrations, full of animals with devious grins and kinetic red scribbles, enliven with witty humor. The eccentric characters have appeal, but readers may find the story a struggle. Ages 5–8. (Apr.)

The sibling stars of Hotel for Dogs embark on a tamer adventure in this disappointing companion novel, arriving nearly 40 years after its predecessor. When Bruce, Andi and two friends publish a newspaper for dog owners, the business takes off. Profits multiply when the kids move the paper online, enabling Bruce to buy the dog of his dreams, but the threat of a lawsuit (one man is livid when exposed for neglecting to scoop poop) shuts them down. The story switches gears as local pets, including Bruce’s dog, begin disappearing, and the kids, aided by their detective great-aunt, vow to catch the dognappers. Readers will quickly pick up the scent of the villains—an Eddie Haskell–like bully and his equally unctuous cousin—which derails the tale’s suspense. Dog devotees will appreciate occasional animal antics (one pet dines in a high chair). But overdoses of staid prose (“Bruce was an honorable boy, and when he made a promise he kept it”) and dated dialogue (“ 'What a horrid thing for those boys to do!’ Andi cried angrily”) make for a sluggish read. Ages 8–12. (Apr.)

The impressive debut novel from French playwright de Fombelle deftly weaves mature political commentary, broad humor and some subtle satire into a thoroughly enjoyable adventure. The people of the Tree are two millimeters tall or less, but their society mimics ours. Industrialists keep digging holes, politicians play dirty games and scientists conduct research to discover the nature of the world in which they live. Toby Lolness, the son of a renowned scientist, is forced to become a fugitive when his father’s discoveries reveal the dangers presented by the continued development of the Tree. Toby’s story is revealed in flashbacks as he runs from the cronies of Joe Mitch, a builder who has rapidly become a political powerhouse. Mitch’s machinations have turned the Tree into a totalitarian society in which reading and writing are banned, and only Toby remains free to try to rescue his parents and bring down Mitch and his crew. It’s hard not to see some of the book’s antecedents—the Borrowers, the Littles, etc.—but de Fombelle has built a unique world with a fully developed social and political structure. Ages 9–up. (Mar.)

Lucy lives a suffocating life in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, in Yohalem’s debut, which was inspired by true events. With her mother working constantly as a U.S. ambassador and her life in Bethesda, Md., far away, Lucy is lonely and confined to the house because of her somewhat reckless nature. Most of her time is spent at school or with the house servant, an elderly Ethiopian man named Iskinder, who tells her stories of the country’s history, traditions and power struggles. More than anything, Lucy wants to explore, free to discover the animals of the African forest and the Simien Mountains (“Africa is the only place I’ve ever been where human beings feel like just one small part of a vast and complicated earth”). When Lucy is kidnapped and held for ransom, she is finally given the chance to use her strength and wildlife knowledge to survive. Lucy’s past and present are gracefully woven together, through well-integrated flashbacks, into a powerful picture of the life of a foreigner in Ethiopia. The story should appeal to all with a sense of adventure. Ages 10–up. (Apr.)

First-time author Morrison offers her take on the theme of forbidden romance in this moving novel. Leesie, a devout Mormon, lives by her church’s teachings (“No parking. No necking. No petting. No fornication”) and is looking forward to attending Brigham Young University, where there will be “thousands and thousands of the hottest guys on the planet who all live by the same rules.” But that’s before she falls in love with “outsider” Michael, a scuba diver. Michael awakens a passion in Leesie that she doesn’t know she possesses, and Leesie provides a soothing distraction for Michael, who still has nightmares about the hurricane that killed his parents. Through Michael’s dive-log journal entries, Leesie’s poetry and online chats, Morrison conveys underlying tensions that threaten the teenagers’ relationship and test their moral codes. By contrasting Leesie and Michael’s often opposing backgrounds and points of view, she handles the topics of religion and premarital sex gracefully without passing judgment. The message has less to do with religion than learning to respect and cherish others while staying true to one’s own beliefs. Ages 12–up. (Mar.)

Which is more important, remaining loyal to ideals or loyal to friends? This is one of the questions high school sophomore Tabitha faces in this first novel featuring five Christian girls, who have vowed to remain virgins until marriage. When the girls received their purity rings at age 12, right and wrong seemed clear-cut to Tabitha, but now that she is in high school and dating a boy she really likes, the lines are blurring. The girls’ friendships are thrown into flux when one member of the group breaks her promise of chastity, with two hard-liners basically abandoning their former friend, while Tabitha remains compassionate. The story hits at several issues relevant to teens, including freedom of speech, and while some peripheral characters come off a little plastic, Tabitha’s relationships, particularly with her new boyfriend and her parents, are well-executed. (“Dad’s neuroto-perfections and their early intelli-romance aren’t really what I want to be discussing right now,” Tabitha thinks during a heart-to-heart with her mother following a fight.) Readers will likely admire Tabitha’s openheartedness and unwillingness to see things in black and white. Ages 14–up. (Apr.)

Hunter LaSalle, 13, might as well be named Hunted: his foster mother, two of his foster sisters and the school bully are all out to get him. His best friend was his foster dad, Mike, and the story opens at Mike’s funeral. But when a motorcycle roars through the burial service, Hunter can’t shake the feeling that the rider is connected to a vision of the angel Gabriel that he had at age four. On impulse, Hunter prays to Gabriel for help out of a few jams and immediately good, nearly magical things start happening. Hunter wonders if this really is divine intervention or if he is losing it (“We all go crazy in different ways, I guess. Being religious is better than getting a handgun and shooting up the family, right?”). Sweeney (Headlock) solves the mystery partway through, but replaces one source of tension with another to keep the pages turning. The plotting doesn’t quite pass the plausibility test, but Hunter is a sympathetic hero, and his honest narration and the plentiful action will pull readers through to the end. Ages 14–up. (Mar.)

This young reader’s adaptation of Bourke and Rendall’s A Lion Called Christian (Doubleday, 1971) concisely relays the story of an unorthodox pet: a lion cub the authors find in a cramped cage in a London store. As the friendly lion grows, his owners reluctantly acknowledge that Christian belongs in his natural habitat, and they arrange to have him released into the Kenya wilderness, thanks to several remarkable coincidences. Some readers will be familiar with the story’s affecting conclusion—Christian joyfully greets his former owners when they visit Kenya a year after his release—since it is depicted in a popular YouTube video. Ably and excitedly streamlined for the audience (“Christian pulled on his lead like an excited puppy.... he wanted to get outside!”), the narrative includes numerous light, endearing anecdotes about Christian’s accomplishments and missteps, both as a pet and while adapting to his new life in Africa. Enhancing the volume’s kid appeal are a 16-page color photo insert of the lion and the authors, plus facts about African lions and other species. Ages 8–10. (Mar.)

Cyrus divides her candid if somewhat circuitous autobiography into three sections or “miles.” Incorporating details about her time in and out of the spotlight, the teen discusses, with considerable dramatic flair, both the high notes (landing the title role on Hannah Montana, her close family bonds, her much ballyhooed 16th-birthday celebration at Disneyland) and the low (the “social hell” of sixth grade, the death of her beloved grandfather, her breakup with “Prince Charming”). Cyrus’s reflections on her celebrity status are also balanced. She acknowledges missing out on the “fun parts of being a normal teenager” yet concludes, “I found my dream early. I’m living it.” Tween-pleasing flourishes include behind-the-scenes Hannah Montana minutiae, lyrics, lists of her likes and aspirations, “handwritten” asides in the margins (“Let’s keep that between us, though”) and the occasional sentence that runs in large bold type, lending the effect of a magazine pull quote. Cyrus doubles back over some terrain—following one’s dreams is a recurring theme—but fans will find this an effortless and entertaining read. Ages 8–12. (Mar.)