Children's Book Reviews: Week of 5/11/2009

Sierra and Sweet (Schoolyard Rhymes) collaborate on an alphabet rhyme about rambunctious lower-case letters who won't go to bed (“h tries standing on her head./ i and j jump on the bed”). Bookstore shelves may be crowded with abecedarian offerings, but the bounce of Sierra's meter, the time-for-bed theme and Sweet's offhand pencil and watercolor drawings make the story feel fresh. Throughout, Sierra inserts vocabulary items that incorporate the letters (“u takes off his underwear”) while Sweet provides the laughs (u's gleeful bucktoothed grin as he tosses a pair of outsize polka-dot bloomers in the air). The adults are pictured as capital letters, as they attempt to shepherd their children through their nightly routines. Sweet fills each room with alphabetically appropriate accessories: the X and Y family has a framed yo-yo championship award, while the Ts have a telephone, a tortoise and a tea set. Textiles, loose-leaf binder paper and newsprint are used judiciously for visual interest, while the letters' goggle eyes, toothy smiles and emotive expressions all spell F-U-N. Ages 2–6. (June)

Combine dinosaurs and trucks and what do you get? In Gall's (There's Nothing to Do on Mars) case, a passel of grateful readers, especially those of the young male variety. With comically overheated narration and typography (think History Channel meets Ripley's Believe It or Not!), fire-roasted settings and hilariously imagined creatures that suggest the offspring of R. Crumb creations and the Transformers, Gall posits that today's trucks are really the descendants of hulking truck-dinosaur hybrids that “ruled the world” and struck fear into the hearts of cave people. Among the species: the fire truck–like Firesaurus (“SO hot tempered, he snacked on raw lava!”) and Rollodon (“he NEVER watches where he's going”), who leaves a trail of flattened reptiles in his wake (to the delight of a caveman who snacks on one, declaring it “Delicious!”). While a “flash of light and a terrible storm” wiped out many of these terrifying creatures, the survivors evolved to become the handy vehicles we all know. And now, thanks to Gall, there are even more reasons to love them. Ages 3–6. (June)

Cleminson's debut, while short on narrative momentum, is full of cheer. Eva jumps into the cardboard box she's received as a birthday present and—“TA-DAH!”—turns into a “master magician,” complete with wand and cape. Her first wish: “a pet called Monty.” (“Monty turned out to be rather large,” the narrator adds—he's a docile polar bear who sprawls across two pages.) Then she pulls a lot of rabbits out of hats and throws herself a rollicking party. When it's over, she clicks her fingers and everything disappears (“Well, not quite everything,” the narrator says, as Eva sits primly on Monty's head). Cleminson uses expressive black brushstrokes to outline her figures, and she adds dimension with gentle gray wash. Dancing, musical instrument–playing animals and an arc of airborne party food contribute to the dreamlike atmosphere, with random splotches and showers of color serving as a visual embodiment of the magic. No conflicts emerge, and Eva's magic doesn't cause any trouble. This is a fantasy about a child who gets to be in charge of everything for a while, and one readers will enter into with pleasure. Ages 3–7. (June)

In this buoyant collection of five stories, marked by peppy dialogue and pastel-hued cartoons, Tiny the elephant and Hercules the mouse help each other wiggle out of tight spots. The humorous, often-wordless solutions to the characters' dilemmas are presented pleasingly in a “big reveal” at the end of each story. When Tiny can't get the hang of ice skating (even after “seventeen days of practicing”), the story's last page shows Hercules gliding along the ice holding the elephant over his head. In the final entry, the two knit each other sweaters, but the mouse can't come close to finishing a pachyderm-sized pullover (“you are a very big elephant. And these are very small knitting needles!”). A grateful Tiny perches Hercules's knitting on his head and proclaims it “the nicest hat I've ever had.” Schwartz (A Teeny Tiny Baby) consistently portrays the characters' divergent dimensions to amusing effect—in one standout, Tiny serves as his friend's Rubenesque muse when the mouse has painter's block. But above all, it's shared affection that comes through loud and clear. Ages 4–8. (May)

Rocking out on her banjo, the bodacious Catfish Kate gradually adds members to her band (“Hum strum/ rattle-rattle/ tootle-ootle croon/ scritch-scratch/ zing zang/ underneath the moon”). But conflict arises when the girls' music interrupts the quiet that Skink and his Skunktail Boys need for reading. Smith (See How They Run) adds plenty of comical visual details to his cartoonlike illustrations of the swampy nocturnal setting—flashlights attached to branches allow the skink and skunks to read, while band member Spider hangs by a thread to “scritch-scratch” a record. The rhythm of the narrative stumbles briefly when Weeks (Bunny Fun) sets up the feud, which escalates until “Kate said, 'WAIT! There has to be a way/ for you to have your quiet, while we still get to play./ We have to find a compromise,/ that's what we need to do.' ” A skunk asks, “What's a compromise?” but Weeks defines the term only by example—cattail fluff as earplugs lets the two groups coexist peaceably. Weeks's morality tale has bounce, but kids may remain confused about what a compromise entails (besides plugging one's ears). Ages 4–8. (May)

Think of that axiom about teaching a man to fish—switch rhinos for the guy and sweet potatoes for fish, and the result, unfortunately, breaks no new ground. The hero, a redheaded boy named Roy, not only saves his village of Sweet Potato from marauding rhinos, but spares the misunderstood beasts from being massacred by the angry townspeople. “Now on one side of the river/ The rhinos eat what they've grown./ And nowadays on the other side/ The villagers have their own,” writes Prose (Bullyville). Audience participation is invited by the catchy verse and two recurring songlike stanzas, one about root vegetables (“Sweet potato January, sweet potato June./ Sweet potato, hear our happy little tune”), the other a “rhino lullaby.” Armstrong (The Chronicles of Narnia Pop-up) makes a valiant effort to give this material some crackle; his rhino gang, with long knobby snouts, dimwitted eyes and lumpy bodies, is impressively intimidating as miscreants and adorably ugly as Roy's new BFFs. But it's not enough to buoy the preachiness of the premise or the by-the-numbers personality of the protagonist. Ages 4–8. (May)

O'Brien (Captain Raptor and the Moon Mystery) takes an inventive leap into the future, bringing readers on a journey to Mars. Made captivatingly real by stunning, photographlike digital art, the adventure begins as a child boards an “elevator car” that ascends along cables to reach an elaborate space station. A “Nuclear Thermal Rocket” docked there then embarks on a four-month journey to a space station orbiting Mars, from which a “lander” ship delivers the crew and young passenger to the planet's surface. The thrilled kid finally gets to explore the planet (“Gravity on Mars is less than half as strong as on Earth, so you take big, bouncing steps”), making his way to a habitat that houses scientists. O'Brien generates dramatic graphic particulars: sophisticated robotic machines perform various tasks and a sleek “MarsPlane” flies over the breathtaking Valles Marineris canyon. Though the second-person narrative makes the action feel immediate, when coupled with O'Brien's depiction of the protagonist as a Caucasian boy, it may leave non-white, non-male readers unable to connect. Still, this intriguing vision of space exploration should set imaginations soaring. Ages 5–up. (May)

The aliens that have landed in the town of Willoughby are mean and ugly—and they eat people (everything except their feet)—in this opening volume in Simmons's (Vandal) Chronicles of the First Invasion series. Twelve-year-old William Aitkin “didn't particularly mind” when the aliens ate his stepparents—after all, they weren't very nice to him and they “despised his violin playing” (he dreams of being a famous violinist). William is on his way to visit his eccentric Uncle Maynard, however, when he discovers that the parents of his crush, Sophie, have been kidnapped by the aliens, possibly to help cure a killer virus that stands between them and world conquest. Worse still, the mayor seems to be in cahoots with the invaders. Soon William, Sophie and Uncle Maynard are off to the mayor's country estate in a desperate bid to rescue Sophie's parents. Fortunately for them, “aliens are not quite as smart as you'd think.” With its fair share of ray-gun battles, hairbreadth escapes and mild gross-out moments—often involving detached human feet—this lightweight tale is enjoyable and, at times, genuinely funny. Ages 8–12. (May)

Kirov sends the Magickeepers series off to a promising start with this adventure starring a boy whose life takes a dramatic turn on his 13th birthday. Gazing into a crystal ball at a magic shop, Nick, who lives with his father in a Las Vegas hotel, discovers he can see into the past and then learns that his late mother belonged to a family of powerful Russian magicians dating back to ancient Egypt. Nick is taken in by her eccentric kin, who train him to perform in their elaborate magic show at an enchanted casino. The intricate, well-paced plot involves ancient spells and riddles, historical figures including Rasputin and Harry Houdini, and sinister Shadowkeepers seeking precious talismans, including the crucial ingredient of an hourglass that can stop time. Readers will hear intermittent echoes of another young hero with a magical legacy who is targeted by dark villains (in the magicians' casino, images in paintings move, Hogwarts-style). Still, with dashes of Russian culture and language, Kirov's story feels plenty original, and kids will be charmed by her brand of magic. Ages 9–up. (May)

Rylant (All in a Day) hones six myths into clear, accessible stories for younger readers. Plainspoken and captivating, they draw readers into the sagas of Pandora, Persephone, Orpheus, Pygmalion, Narcissus and Psyche. The stories grab attention with intriguing introductions, e.g., “In winter, when ice coats the thin arms of small trees and flowers die... Persephone can be found among the dead. She is their queen. She did not ever mean to be so, but it happened.” Rylant's observations about the characters and their foibles focus the brisk-paced retellings (“Perhaps it was not love that Pygmalion wanted so much as notice”). At the heart of each is a soul-stealing kind of love that demands extremes from its participants, for example, Psyche enduring Aphrodite's impossible tests to prove her love for Eros. Ellis, illustrator of the Mysterious Benedict Society books, employs delicate pencil drawings to render the characters amid the organic: flowers, fruit, leaves and twisting vines. The small format reflects the book's purpose: to be a pleasurable sampling of some well-known Greek myths, their ideas and morals distilled to their core. Ages 10–up. (May)

In her engrossing first novel, Cross introduces Avery Pirzwick, a misunderstood teenager with mysterious superpowers he keeps secret. Avery tries to use his super-strength and flying ability to help others, but mostly they just cause him grief (“the only 'super' I've been to my friends lately is super lame”). He quit the wrestling team after accidentally breaking another wrestler's arm, and after additional mishaps his parents send him to an alternative school. There, he meets other misfit kids with secret abilities, like Sophie, who can stick to walls, and Catherine, who has razor-sharp claws (and a temper). Unfortunately, Avery is also being dogged by Cherchette, a superpowered adult who aims to recruit Avery and his friends for her own purposes. Like the best superhero stories, Cross's novel has crisp action sequences and a good sense of humor, but also gets deep into the fears and struggles of teenagers who simply don't fit in. “Every single one of us has secrets,” Avery reflects as the group grows more close-knit. “Only now we have them together.” Ages 12–up. (May)

Pike's debut novel—a faerie story with a touch of Arthurian legend—offers a botanical twist on the genre. Laurel Sewell, the new girl in town, discovers a strange “zit” on her back, which blooms into a flower. With the help of her friend and growing love interest, David, with whom she entrusts this information, Laurel finds out that she is a faerie, and that faeries are really highly evolved plants (Pike gives readers hints: Laurel prefers to have lunch outside and eats little besides vegetables and Sprite). Tamani, her sexy faerie guardian, completes the love triangle, as he protects Laurel from encroaching dark forces and fills in the blanks about her past. As Laurel and David never muster much chemistry, her rocky journey of self-discovery is the main draw (“It makes me want to go home and go to sleep and wake up to find that all of this is a dream. That the flower, the bump, even public school never happened”). Pike's novel mythology should win fans for this book, billed as the first in a series. Ages 12–up. (May)

This debut novel is deceptively quiet—the story of a recent high school graduate, Dade, struggling to come out and yearning to get to college and away from his parents' marital troubles and stifling suburban peers. Yet in the same way that Sarah Dessen allows readers to lose themselves in the ordinary, Burd takes a familiar plot—boy struggles with his sexuality, then meets a love interest who changes everything—and makes it fresh. Dade's inner monologues and interactions with others feel real, and bear a poignant honesty (after shopping for college: “It occurred to me that these things made of plastic, glass, and metal would become the foundation for my new life”). With the arrival of Alex, Dade's first real boyfriend and one catalyst behind Dade's coming out, the story moves into sweet, romantic territory, which balances some of the deeper, more painful issues brewing in Dade's life (including his father's affair and his friend/ex-hookup Pablo's inner turmoil). The novel's one flaw is its unsatisfying ending, which feels both melodramatic and abrupt. Aside from this, Burd is an author to watch. Ages 14–up. (May)

In Whitman's debut, a retelling of the Persephone myth, Persephone feels trapped by her overbearing mother, Demeter (“Mrs. Even-the-grain-greets-me-with-lowered-head”), who wants to keep Persephone a child forever, confined in a “world devoid of men.” When Hades lands his chariot in her valley, Persephone is immediately attracted to him and after a brief courtship, she chooses to be his bride and queen of the underworld. Persephone is a relatable character—her first appearance as queen has her tripping in front of the entire court. Though Hades calls her powerful and she does have an impressive ability to grow plants, Persephone's relationship with him is very much that of the child bride, with Hades protecting her from knowing of the damage her mother is inflicting on earth and his allowing her to make policy changes in the underworld, rather than her doing so of her own accord. Her attempt to stop her mother's destruction has Persephone relying on those more powerful than her, in this case Zeus. Persephone's narration entertains, but overall the story does not give readers an especially strong heroine or the resonance of the original myth. Ages 14–up. (May)

Flaps, textures and die-cut pages make these books all the more appealing.

This mixed-media board book has an organic, arts-and-crafts quality. Die-cut pages form wavy contours that mimic ripples; inside the “pond,” attached to the book's last page, is a yellow and orange fabric fish finger puppet. Readers can wiggle the fish as it describes its home: “In my pond there are shiny stones... lily pads floating on splashy blue water.” The layered pages surrounding the pond and smiling fish have collage-like patterns that range from woven to Chinese type to topographical maps. In all, this book is a delicate gem. In My Nest is also available. Ages 6 mos.–4 yrs. (May)

This touch-and-feel board book has textures galore. As a little boy prepares for bed, he says a singsongy goodnight to all the objects around him: “Night-night train and orange horse/ Night-night Mr. Giraffe, of course” (Mr. Giraffe has red furry polka dots to feel). Even nontactile sections of the pages feature patterns that evoke cozy rugs, blankets and sweaters. Before going to bed, the boy peeks through red curtains made of ribbons, to see the “great big leafy tree” and the “sleeping birdies: 1, 2, 3.” The snuggly, tactile tone will soothe readers. Ages 1–3. (May)

This board book is an exuberant appeal to eat colorful fruits and vegetables: “Eating a variety of different colors helps us get all the nutrients we need,” reads Karmel's (The Toddler Cookbook) note to parents. The rest of the book has kid appeal, with sections organized by color and featuring bright photographs of fruits and veggies, some transformed into animals. The “Blue and purple” pages showcase an elephant made from beets, eggplant and cabbage, while the orange spread offers mango “porcupines,” “zesty kumquats” and a “yummy pumpkin” (“You can eat the seeds, too!”). Enthusiastic without being didactic. Ages 1–6. (Apr.)

Full-page flaps unfold vertically, then horizontally, to create bold, large-scale images of city fauna in a sturdy guessing book. “Who am I?” asks one animal. “I make friends with people” (only a pair of legs appears at first, then another clue after lifting a flap: “I have a collar, a tag and a leash”). By folding out the third flaps to complete a square, the full picture is revealed: “I'm a dog!” Taback's animals are accentuated against bold blocks of color, and there's humor, too: the creatures' expressions range from alarmed to goofy to just plain vacuous. Also available: Simms Taback's Safari Animals. Ages 2–5. (Apr.)

This clever book about opposites stars a cast of eclectic snakes. One kind of snake stretches across a spread (a pink “Skinny snake” wears a leotard as she feverishly exercises on a treadmill), and its opposite is unveiled by unfolding a pair of gate-fold flaps (“Plump snake” clutches a chicken drumstick, while still digesting its other meals and belching. A “quiet snake” reads, a “loud snake” recalls Slash from Guns N' Roses; a scarf-wearing “cold snake” resembles a snowcapped mountain range and a “hot snake” lounges on the beach. Fresh and funny. Ages 3–6. (June)

This amusing guide to good manners features earnest cartoon animals whose habits leave something to be desired. Flaps show the animals in bad form (three puppies “gobble up” their food and “it looks gross”) and a turn of the flap reveals the preferred alternative (“Use a fork or spoon to bring food close”). Kids will delight in the details of the animals' bad manners—the art keeps the text from feeling preachy. At the end, there's a “manners chart” with categories like “Using Your Napkin” and “Washing Your Hands,” complete with gold stars so kids can track their progress. Ages 4–6. (June)

This fun book offers a lesson on opposites: “I'm nice,” says a cheery pink flamingo to a somber-looking blue gorilla, adding, “You're grouchy.” Elsewhere, a green alligator balances on a floating log (“I'm on. You're off,” he explains to a nearby buzzing bee) and a giraffe leans over a cluster of penguins (“I'm tall. You're short”).The opinionated animals, who come across as (surprisingly likable) know-it-alls as they shout at their companions, finally go to sleep. “I'm awake. They're asleep. Whew!” says the zookeeper. Ages 4–8. (June)