Children's Book Reviews: 7/13/2009

In Andreasen's (The Baker's Dozen) wordless double-page spreads, a wide-eyed boy's evening bath turns into an underwater adventure fantasy. Spattered with cake batter after helping in the kitchen, the boy finds himself in the tub, pushing his toy tugboat listlessly across the suds—clearly, he'd rather be somewhere else. But suddenly colorful fish leap from the water and lead him to the bottom of the tub (now the bottom of the ocean), where a map points the way to a treasure chest filled with soap and shampoo. In the next spread, an energetic octopus scrubs the boy's head while an eel holds him firmly in place. The experience doesn't appear to make a convert of the boy; squeaky clean, he scolds the sea creatures before reappearing in the tub looking rather stunned (though he is plenty excited about the piece of cake that awaits him). Andreasen borrows motifs from comic-book art—extra gleam on objects, squared-off, blunt-cut hair and the humans' doll-like postures—and combines them with Disney-esque cheer to create amiable scenarios with just a hint of irony. Ages 2–6. (Aug.)

Alone again on her birthday, a witch bakes a magical girl out of cake, the demure, yellow-skinned creation clad in an orange princess-like gown and a tiered cake headdress. The witch orders Cake Girl to sing “Happy Birthday,” dance for her and do the housework. “ 'And then,' said the Witch, 'I'll eat you.' ” Cake Girl is understandably worried. When the witch bemoans her lack of friends, Cake Girl has the novel suggestion of being nice to people and offers some suggestions, which the witch takes to with wide-eyed earnestness (“And perhaps you don't have to eat me?” Cake Girl adds). They celebrate the witch's birthday by using her magic for fun, changing their shapes until, at last, the witch turns herself “into a big comfortable armchair and Cake Girl turned into a cat.” Spangly sugar stars and sparkles decorate the pages, as scenes of the witch's gloomy house give way to cupcake flowers and trees garlanded with pretzels and candy. Lucas (Halibut Jackson) writes and paints with quiet affection for his characters. Watching Cake Girl teach the witch new social skills is a treat. Ages 3–6. (Aug.)

In this droll parade of embarrassments, a nerdy donkey in glasses and a bow tie asks his pal to discuss “the big elephant” in the room. “I was expecting this!” his buddy screeches defensively. But he isn't quite sure which humiliation to address, going into a litany of grade-school goofs that Smith (Madam President) pictures in blush-inducing detail. “Is the big elephant your video game? I was going to return that! Eventually,” he says. “Is the big elephant that you laughed so hard you peed your pants? Is [it] that I told Haley you laughed so hard you peed your pants?” Smith times the gags to perfection, slowly at first and then several to a page: “the super glue 'accident' ” shows the unfortunate donkey stuck to a chair, and “the talent show mishap” pictures his clothes flying off his body during his friend's magic trick. Smith concludes with a smirk—a literal pachyderm is watching TV around the corner (“Oh, that big elephant! That's Stanley”). With these two donkeys, if the big elephant is in doubt, the identity of the big jackass is crystal clear. Ages 3–7. (July)

There's a new kid in town, and he's a walking cautionary tale. As his peers listen raptly, he launches into a series of flashbacks, all designed to reinforce the lesson of the title. Sure, he says, a monster of one's own is fun at first (it turns out monsters are not averse to wearing drag when playing dress-up), but pretty soon the monster's enormous strength and relentless energy make it clear that emulating Victor Frankenstein is never a good idea (“He'll chase away your friends... and your pets... and he'll break all your toys”). Numberman is a nimble, funny writer, and he opts for showing rather than telling, his naïf watercolors scoring a punch line every time (the monster's vague resemblance to a giant green Homer Simpson on steroids makes the joke all the funnier). After a terrific debut as an illustrator this spring with the graphic novel–style Joey Fly, Private Eye, Numberman demonstrates his versatility and proves that he can deliver as both author and artist. Ages 4–8. (Aug.)

Brown Bear and White Bear, “except for their colors... exactly the same,” are each given to young Alice by her grandmothers, who bicker over which bear Alice likes more. Soon the bears themselves are pushing and shoving in an effort to win Alice's love. Forced to play mediator, Alice confines Brown Bear to a high shelf and White Bear to a dark closet, and the bond between the bears is revealed, with Brown Bear carrying out a courageous rescue. First-timer Petrovic creates a morality story about the anguish children cause their parents when they fight, and the love that lies beneath most rivalries. Belgian artist Hardy's polished artwork adds depth to the somewhat plodding tale, with smoky blues and grays that soften the atmosphere of conflict. Inset panels illuminate the bears' secret activities and provide a wealth of domestic detail. While Petrovic leans heavily on description (“[White Bear] pushed Alice's school bag off the desk and watched it land on Brown Bear's head”) rather than letting the illustrations speak, Hardy's work doesn't suffer for it, nor does the book's message. Ages 4–8. (Aug.)

Food allergies get an understanding appraisal in Howe and Walrod's third picture book starring Horace, Morris and Dolores. The three school-age mice naturally adore cheese: “They ate string cheese and Swiss cheese on Sundays. They ate Muenster with mustard on Mondays.” These rituals end when Dolores breaks out in itchy blue spots and starts sneezing. Dr. Ricotta performs a series of tests—accurately pictured in a comic-strip array of shots, urinalysis and eye/ear checks—and pronounces Dolores allergic to cheese. Dolores and her mother look aghast. The Everything Cheese Festival is nigh, and Dolores can't get cheese off her mind. With Dolores's exclusion from cheesy activities, Howe and Walrod indicate how food taboos influence not just children's diets but their social lives: alone, Dolores binges on cheesecake, only to regret it when she sees her blotchy face in a bathroom mirror. Wordless images and word-balloon dialogues show Dolores's struggle and her realization that she can concoct tasty cheese-free recipes to share (or sell) at the cheese fest. In addressing this timely topic, Howe and Walrod encourage the no-gluten and nut-free crowd to seek opportunity in a common setback. Ages 4–8. (July)

With stories like Ginger Bear and The Adventures of the Dish and the Spoon, Grey specializes in pathos around inanimate objects. This poignant nonsense tale concerns an egg that longs to fly. “The Egg was young,” a hen tells a cluster of attentive yellow peeps. “If only it had waited.” Working in stained-glass gouache hues and snippets of paper collage, Grey pictures the egg at an airport in aviator goggles, the pages scattered with feathers and (later) a foreboding postcard of the Hindenburg and a physics diagram (the Egg “didn't know anything about aerodynamics or Bernoulli's principle”). Suspense builds as the Egg (more proactive in his own doom than the complacent Humpty Dumpty) climbs a tower, takes “a step into space” and mistakes falling for flying. Grey pictures attempts to reset its shell with string, nails or (worst) blood-red tomato soup. “Luckily, the egg was not wasted,” comments the hen, as the hero lies on a plate (optimists will notice it is sunny-side up). Grey balances humor and tragedy in her tale of naïveté, but those of fragile constitution should proceed with care. Ages 4–8. (July)

In this campy graphic novel series debut, Krosoczka (Punk Farm) introduces Lunch Lady, a scrappy, permed crime fighter with rolled-up sleeves, yellow dishwashing gloves and an apron. Down in the school's boiler room, she and her older sidekick, Betty, test gadgets (like a handheld spatula-helicopter and a banana boomerang) and keep an eye on things. Three children—Hector, Dee and Terrence—speculate about Lunch Lady's after-school life and follow her when she jumps on her moped, in hot pursuit of a suspicious substitute teacher. Krosoczka's plot is somewhat thin: the title and cover illustration announce the trouble with the sub; the only mysteries are the mastermind and motive behind the sub's deployment. Yet Krosoczka crafts Lunch Lady as a tough, capable heroine who deploys such exclamations as “Nutritious!” and bon mots like “Should I serve up some whaaamburgers and cries?” when on a robot-destroying tear. With plenty of silliness and slapstick in the text and panel art alike, this comic should alleviate lunch-line boredom with visions of servers wielding fishstick-nunchucks and growling, “Today's special is a knuckle sandwich.” Also available: Lunch Lady and the League of Librarians. Ages 7–10. (July)

In this quirky and appealing British import, down-to-earth Jane, 11, who has six unruly brothers (and is often mistaken for a boy herself), finds her ordinary life changing when peculiar Staffa enrolls in her class and chooses her for a best friend. Staffa's mother, enormous Lady Matilda, is even stranger: wealthy, generous and yet frightening, she invites Jane to journey home with them for vacation. Jane is intrigued by their obsession with a painted box, which turns out to be the portal to a miniature kingdom where they reign, to which she is transported with them. Jane is drawn into what appears to be a fairy tale come true and is mesmerized by her ball gowns and jewels (“She looked like every girl's secret idea of a princess”), but she soon picks up forebodings of ill will and evil deeds. The fairy tale turns into a fast-paced story of political revolution, in which Jane plays an important role. This well-blended mix of romantic fantasy and gripping adventure, starring heroic girls, will speak to a broad audience. Ages 8–11. (July)

Ferrari's novel, which won the Delacorte Yearling Prize for debut middle-grade authors, takes readers on a high-flying, nail-biting historical adventure that is uplifting and just good fun. Set during WWII in a sleepy Rhode Island town, Ferrari's story is narrated by an imaginative preteen girl whose nothing-can-stop-me attitude will appeal to readers of both sexes. Sixth-grader Bird McGill loves flying airplanes with her dad. But when he joins the war effort, Bird feels like she's lost her only ally. Then Kenji, a guarded Japanese boy, shows up in her class. As he becomes an even bigger outcast and bully-target than her (“Why don't you go home to Japland,” sneers a classmate), Bird reluctantly befriends him. Together, Bird and Kenji stumble upon suspicious activity in their hometown and vow to unravel the mystery. Ferrari weaves in period details, but wisely keeps the focus on the duo's antics and fragile, budding friendship. As danger grows, so does their trust in and reliance on each other. Readers will be anxious to learn the fate of these two daring kids and the spy they are determined to derail. Ages 8–12. (July)

Weissman (Standing for Socks) delivers a tried and true plot: two boys, archenemies at first, are forced to work together until they grudgingly form a friendship. The newfound trust is shaken when one betrays the other, but by the final page, all is forgiven. What gives this story its cleverness and humor is that both 11-year-old boys are named Mark Hopper; because Weissman tells the story in third person, the reader is constantly deciphering which Mark she is referring to. One Mark, a pompous know-it-all, who “wasn't smart enough to know that nobody wanted to be reminded all the time of how smart he was,” dearly wants to win the prestigious Mastermind tournament and, hopefully, his dad's affection. The other Mark, a shy kid who exudes kindness but struggles academically, longs to fit into his new sixth-grade class and surprise his grandfather with the top-notch portrait he's created in art class. The Marks clash until they realize that their complementary strengths make them a strong team. Weissman has a lot of fun with her two Marks—as will readers. Ages 9–12. (July)

The type of down-home humor and vibrant characterizations Peck fans have come to adore re-emerge in full as Peck resurrects Mrs. Dowdel, the irrepressible, self-sufficient grandmother featured in A Year Down Yonder and A Long Way from Chicago. Set in 1958, his new novel is told from the point of view of 12-year-old Bob Barnhart, Mrs. Dowdel's new neighbor, who is distraught about having to move from Terre Haute to a “podunk” town, where his Methodist minister father has been called to shepherd a meager sprinkling of parishioners. Mrs. Dowdel is a source of entertainment, and some fear, for Bob and his sisters (“she could be amazingly light on her big pins. We'd already seen her take a broom and swat a Fuller Brush man off her porch”). But more important, she proves useful in outsmarting bullies and attracting new members to Mr. Barnhart's fold. Not all of Grandma Dowdel's gifts to the Barnharts (and in some cases the entire community) are as tangible as the windows she donates to the church, but her actions exude as much warmth and wisdom as they do hilarity. Ages 10–up. (Sept.)

Coping with loss and uncovering secrets are staples of YA fiction, but Kephart (House of Dance) skillfully uses nuanced characters and resonant imagery to make the familiar feel new and magical. Sixteen-year-old Katie D'Amore and her father live in an old “heirloom” house, one that's far too large following the recent death of Katie's mother. Her father restores paintings—bringing torn, stained and begrimed canvases back to life—and Katie has taken a summer job as a gardener for the town recluse, Miss Martine, which offers another kind of resurrection. But neither can leave grief behind. Orders to excavate an unlikely spot for a new gazebo lead Katie to investigate the mystery behind Miss Martine's sudden withdrawal from the world. Her search parallels her father's current restoration project, which also gives tantalizing glimpses into an old tragedy and the still-open wounds it left behind. Kephart's evocative writing and gentle resolution offer healing and hope as her characters come to terms with their losses. As Katie says, “Things disappear and vanish... and after that all you can do is keep the idea of them bright inside yourself.” Ages 12–up. (July)

Sixteen-year-old Cordelia (Delia) Truesdale is forced into the role of private detective when her genius mother, founder of the Internet company TrueTech, disappears on a research trip somewhere between South America and Antarctica. Delia is sent, against her will, from her home in Silicon Valley to Manhattan to live with her dramatic and charming Aunt Charley (“It would be a while before I realized that just about everything Charley did turned out all right,” Delia says). Meanwhile, her uptight Aunt Patience has been left in control of Delia's schooling and social schedule. Despite having her life turned upside down, Delia remains logical, stubborn and focused on proving that her mother is still alive. Delia contacts both a psychic and a private detective as she attempts to solve the mystery and determine the culprit, who could be anyone: her mother's trusted assistant, Thad; oil company executives; or her crush's father. Mystery novelist Sturman's (The Hunt) YA debut treats readers to intrigue and taut dialogue, and while Delia does get some answers, the “to be continued” ending leaves the door wide open for a sequel. Ages 12–up. (July)

Lewis (The Demon Queen) throws cheerleading, higher mathematics, alternate dimensions, angels, demons and government agents into this satisfying and fun story. Ten-year-old Darby, a math prodigy, brings the other-dimensional Alpha Omega Function, also known as Bob, into the world. His 16-year-old sister, Livey, simply wants to pass math so that she can remain a cheerleader, and focus on her escalating crush on her class's student assistant. As Bob's obsession with order begins to get dangerous, both siblings find themselves forced to not only save the universe but to confront their own concerns with their parents' divorce. The lively cast of characters—which include the children's absentminded professor father, a mysterious young girl and a school bully—keeps the novel moving at a brisk pace, and Bob (who rarely stoops to pure malevolence) makes for a fascinating antagonist. Sadly, the climactic battle gets somewhat muddled, and the late addition of a key character throws off the pacing. Most readers should be able to forgive these flaws, as well as the too-pat emotional resolution, and enjoy the adventure and innovative use of math. Ages 12–up. (July)

Kids may not want to think about it yet, but back-to-school season isn't that far away. Here are a few books that just might help them cope.

This is essentially an extended blackout skit, based around a recalcitrant bunny's propensity to shout “No way!” whenever his well-meaning parents try to drum up enthusiasm in advance of the Big Day tomorrow. After a very dark night of the soul—astutely chronicled by Blake's bold cartooning—the bunny discovers school to be so much fun that his catchphrase gets turned on its head. Slight but effective, it's a story that's sympathetic to both sides of the family dynamic. Ages 3–5. (May)

As she savors her last day of freedom with her beloved mother, a puppy proves to be a cute bundle of anxieties. What if school is a series of small disasters—spilled milk, social rejection, homesickness and snoring during naptime? Mom confesses to a little anxiety herself (“We will get used to this./ We both have to try”), but adds that nothing is really changing: “My love stays with you/ Wherever you are—/ Whenever I'm near you,/ Whenever I'm far.” Carlstrom's cooing and Moore's dainty watercolors probably make this too mushy for many, but children who need big doses of comfort may find it the literary equivalent of a security blanket. Ages 3–7. (Aug.)

In this odd tale, a couple raises their pet kitten, Minifred, like a spoiled child, then unleashes her on an unsuspecting school. “I don't obey anything,” announces Minifred, “especially not rules!” Pretty soon, her classmates are wondering why they can't misbehave, too—but of course, they're not kittens. Caldecott Medalist Gerstein's sense of color and framing is faultless as he tries to establish Minifred as the antiheroine of a kooky, alternative universe reminiscent of Louis Sachar's Wayside School books. But the petulant, pinafore-wearing kitten remains more irritating than rabble-rousing. Ages 3–8. (July)

It's the first day of school for Amelia Bedelia—the concrete-thinking heroine of the long-running series, which, until now, has featured the character as an adult. As in previous books, Amelia's literalism results in amusing misunderstandings: Amelia's “name tag” has her sprinting through the room “playing tag,” and during “free time,” she does as her teacher's idiom—“Glue yourself to your seat”—requests. Readers will giggle over Amelia's mishaps, and her genuine joie de vivre may assuage first-day fears. Ages 4–8. (July)

Wilson, an ingenuous young rabbit, can hardly contain his enthusiasm for his new teacher, Miss Lovely. One rainy morning, as Wilson gets ready for school, a fold-out flap reveals a green foot with sharp claws (“Wilson, however, was not the only one up and about!”). As Wilson waits for the no-show school bus and later arrives at an ominously empty school, additional flaps ratchet up the suspense: “Yet, not so very far away, something else could be seen quite clearly. Closer, closer, and closer it came!” Not for those nervous about their first days of class, but the surprise conclusion delivers a big payoff. Ages 4–8. (June)

Rapunzel has nothing on young Zoe, whose flowing red tresses are not only her crowning glory but can also “turn on the TV, pour a glass of juice, pet the cat, and play on the computer—all at the same time.” But while Zoe's kindergarten teacher embraced the fact that the hair had a life all its own (“at nap time, the hair was a comfort”), first grade brings the stern Ms. Trisk, who is decidedly unamused. Anderson (Independent Dames) and Hoyt (Utterly Otterly Day) are comically sympathetic to the ways in which an unfortunate class placement can turn a school-age child's world upside down. But not to worry—by story's end, everyone's having a good hair day. Ages 6–10. (June)