Children's Book Reviews: 7/20/2009

The cover image of this photographic alphabet book will immediately grab readers' attention—it's an old metal sign that says “CITY,” its big orange letters against a clear blue sky. The other photographs, shot in Toronto by YA author Beam (Earth to Nathan Blue), are quieter meditations on the idea that, in the city, words are everywhere, the opening salvos in ongoing conversations. On the left-hand pages, each letter of the alphabet appears in upper and lower case, along with a museumlike tag about the medium of the word photographed on the facing page (“vinyl decals stuck on glass”) and the location where it was found (“Construction barrier”; “Back-alley shed”). Beam's photos contain muted emotion, like the floating “no” on a newspaper box above a weathered image that looks oddly human, or the “forever” crudely etched in concrete next to a withered leaf. Schwartz (Our Corner Grocery Store) and Beam both contribute to the afterword, which explains the genesis of the project. Stark, metallic and urban, these images may encourage children to think about alternate ways of seeing their surroundings. All ages. (Aug.)

With five bears and only four chairs, these cuddly, optimistic bruins have a problem. Parenteau's (One Frog Sang) rhyming text is simple enough for a preschool audience, and the lesson the bears model about sharing, though obvious, will be welcomed by many teachers and parents. Recalling Care Bears in their pastel fuzziness and good cheer, Walker's (Flip, Flap, Fly!) bears climb on and off the chairs with a toddler's intensity as they master sitting and standing without having to share. But when “Big Brown Bear/ looks for a chair./ There is none there/ for that big bear.” When Big Brown Bear finds he is too big to share a chair with Floppy Bear, his dismay is evident in the acrylic illustrations. After attempts at sharing go awry, all five bears discover that by pushing the chairs together like a bench, they can all sit together. The simple rhymes grow somewhat tedious with repetition, but the heavy-handed message—“Now it's fair!/ The bears all share!”—will be plain to even the most inexperienced reader. Ages 2–6. (Aug.)

When they hear a terrifying “PLOP!” six little rabbits that have been peacefully munching chocolate cake and carrots by the lake end up initiating animal mass hysteria à la Henny Penny. Newcomer Joyner's cartoonish illustrations are full of melodramatic action as the entire forest of panicked animals runs from a foe they've never seen. Dubosarsky's (Rex) reworking of a Tibetan story is full of sure-footed rhythm and rhymes that repeat words without becoming stale (“They do not stay./ They do not stop./ They run run run/ From the Terrible PLOP”). Even the biggest bear in the forest is eventually fooled—only the reader and “the littlest rabbit/ with the littlest hop” discover that the ominous sound is nothing but an apple falling from an overhanging tree into the lake. This talented Australian duo builds the suspense to just the right pitch, skillfully focusing the story on the smallest rabbit. Despite its fears, the rabbit ends up enjoying some more cake by the shore as it concludes that “All this running/ Should really stop.../ Who's afraid/ Of a silly old PLOP?” Ages 3–6. (Aug.)

Wolf needs some sheep, and he easily lures 10 idiotic creatures usually guarded by Doug the Super Sheep Dog into the Dark Forest—all he has to do is hold out a big, swirly lollipop. “Must... have... candy... ” murmurs the first sheep as it abandons Happy Valley. “WE NEED CANDY,” shout the rest of the sheep as they follow. After looking high and low, it's “Super Dog to the Rescue!” as Doug changes into his purple cape and gives chase. But Wolf's scheme isn't as evil as it appears. Catusanu's cracked sense of humor and accomplished skills as an illustrator make for a strong authorial debut—readers won't be able to stop giggling. Painted in hot shades of orange and brown and punctuated with Monty Python–esque clips of horns, hands and gizmos, the spreads teem with explanatory captions and cheeky remarks (“puffft” comes wafting gently from the backside of one sheep as they pose for a group portrait). On the cover, Catusanu promises that the story is “Inspired by true events,” and his creation is nothing if not inspired. Ages 3–up. (Sept.)

Hoberman's (A House Is a House for Me) whimsical rhyming treatise on what constitutes a family will have children looking for myriad ways to use that classification. “Eggs in a carton can seem like a family/ So can a loaf with its slices of bread/ Celery stalks or a big bunch of carrots/ They sleep in the fridge with a drawer for a bed.” The playful verses (“Clams in the sea make a clammily family/ Lambs in the field make a lambily family...”) posit that any grouping can be termed a family, which has the effect of reducing the idea of family to little more than proximity. Small surprises and vibrant colors give Boutavant's digital artwork visual appeal—tiny faces appear on everything from rocks to shells to food, and in one scene leaves on a tree are actually letters and symbols. The 1970s-era retro feel of the art, a fresh counterpoint to the earnest prose, should appeal to kids and hipster parents alike. Readers will close the book with a sense of belonging, though the question of why may be less clear. Ages 3–6. (Aug.)

Anyone expecting the gentleness of the Maisy books in Cousins's retellings of eight fairy tales is in for a whopper of a surprise—although the cheeky title does provide a tip-off. Who knew Cousins could depict a wolf decapitation (“Little Red Riding Hood”) or stewing (“The Three Little Pigs”) with such relish? Or that she'd find a creepiness factor in the Henny Penny story worthy of Flannery O'Connor? Cousins embraces all the primitive, enduring fears and desires that drive these stories, and then beckons readers to hop on a rollicking narrative roller coaster (“I'm going to gobble you up,” says a troll, threatening the biggest of the Billy Goats Gruff, who responds, “Then I'll bash you to bits”). There are thrills big and small on every color-saturated page: a Goldilocks who sports ginormous pigtails that seem to have an emotional life all their own; the hairy orange goat-eating troll with his neon green mani-pedi; a little red hen with enough feminine industriousness to rival Rosie the Riveter. Make room on the shelf. A new classic has arrived. Ages 3–up. (Aug.)

Move over, Susan Boyle: the next talent-that-comes-out-of nowhere is a pair of chickens named Marge and Lola. They're determined to win tickets to see a performance of their idol, Elvis Poultry. But they'll have to place first in the barnyard talent show—outscoring acts that include a trio of goats that eat a tractor onstage and cows that jump over the moon—and humiliate their snotty duck rivals. “Get some floaties, chickens!” shout the ducks after the chickens test their swimming prowess with unsuccessful results (“They totally sank”). With snappy banter (“We're on,” says Marge as their turn on the stage arrives. “We're doomed,” replies Lola) and tightly constructed storytelling, Sauer (Cowboy Camp) pulls off the neat trick of both embracing and spoofing the against-all-odds genre. Totally in sync with his collaborator, Santat's (Always Lots of Heinies at the Zoo) sculptural, mixed media pictures exude an old-fashioned, theatrical drama that lifts the many jokes—visual and textual—into sublime silliness. Ages 4–7. (Aug.)

This is the first and only picture book by Lipson, the longtime New York Times children's books editor who died in May; it stands as a wonderful tribute to her considerable contributions and talents. Accompanied by Gerstein's (A Book) gemütlich vignettes, Lipson introduces a family of urban-dwellers whose ties that bind are made of applesauce. As the youngest child and narrator explains, from “just about the time school opens, when it is still hot and summery but vacation is over,” until December, the family, with Grandma at the helm, comes together to produce pots and pots of homemade puree. Lipson's down-to-earth lyricism makes it clear that every step of the process has its rewards—even shopping inspires the narrator to savor the panoply of apples at the farmers' market (“first come Ida Red and Paula Red, Twenty Ounce and MacIntosh, Ginger Gold and Jonagold”). Best of all, applesauce season brings out the connoisseur in everyone: in one of the funniest scenes, Gerstein shows the narrator and his family adjusting the seasoning with the scholarly intensity of chemists. The book is a terrific nudge toward establishing family cooking rituals—the recipe on the final page should close the deal. Ages 4–8. (Aug.)

In an autumn cornfield, a threadbare scarecrow leaps high into the sky to dance across the darkening landscape. The pastoral evening images evoke a bygone era, and the descriptions of the scarecrow's excursion are both nostalgic and visceral. “He danced past tractor/ In the field,/ Still waiting to/ Bring in the yield.... He danced by barn/ As red as blood/ And two pigs sleeping/ In the mud.” The scarecrow (who has the potential to frighten, though his wide painted smile helps) peers through the window of a solitary farmhouse where a boy—in glowing, soft-focus light—prays at his bedside: “And bless tonight/ Our old scarecrow/ Who guards the fields/ And each corn row,” his prayer launching a closing poetic meditation. “What prayers do scarecrows/ Make to God?/ Of sky and rain,/ And wind and sod?” While such reflections may be too obscure for some, the scarecrow's ethereal movements and Ibatoulline's hazy and atmospheric setting (the azure night sky is especially haunting, as the scarecrow leaps back into his rightful place) will stay with readers. Ages 4–8. (Aug.)

A handmade doll, a miniature forest cottage and dozens of tiny handcrafted accessories make this photographed story, in the vein of Child and Borland's The Princess and the Pea, a temptation for toy lovers of all ages. In Child's chatty retelling—which can be oddly removed in feeling from the photographs—Goldilocks strays into the bears' cottage, helps herself to porridge (“Well, never mind, there are two more bowls. They can share. I would share if it were my porridge”), misbehaves and falls asleep, narrowly escaping out the window when the bears discover her in Small Bear's bed. The meticulousness with which Borland and Jenkins have prepared the sets astonishes; the little Aga cooker and rustic furniture would delight Martha Stewart, the candles are lit and the porridge is real. The Goldilocks doll's immobile face and stiff-jointed poses impart a kind of spookiness to the title character, and Father Bear's toothy snarl may startle younger children. But many more should be drawn in and spend hours poring over the myriad details. Ages 5–up. (Aug.)

Bloom County cartoonist Breathed (Pete & Pickles) makes the move from picture books to middle-grade fiction and, from the harrowing opening scene at a dog fight, readers will be rapt. After spending eight years isolated at a boarding school in Minnesota, 14-year-old orphan Heidy McCloud is invited to live with her dejected uncle Hamish, greedy Mrs. Beaglehole and their evil poodle, Cassius, on the vacant McCloud Heavenly Acres dog ranch in Piddleton, Vt., “Home of the World's Most Beautiful Dogs.” En route, Heidy meets Sam, a Duüglitz dachshund worth $180,000, and a reciprocal, platonic love is born. However, Cassius resents the attention Sam receives and sets a trap resulting in the dachshund's imprisonment in a pound with “the seven most ridiculous dogs [Sam] had ever seen,” as well as Sam's suffering an awful injury. But the dog's determination to reunite with Heidy doesn't wane. Dramatically lit and featuring comically exaggerated characters (human and canine alike), Berkeley's b&w artwork augments the story's drama and humor. A moving tale about the beauty of imperfections and the capacity for love. Ages 8–12. (Sept.)

Pulitzer Prize–winner Smiley's first novel for young readers is a lyrical meditation on horses, families and the vicissitudes of peer relationships among girls. Twelve-year-old Abby lives on a California horse farm with her evangelical parents. It is the mid-1960s, and references to Dusty Springfield records and portable hi-fis contrast with the pastoral setting, where the struggle is mainly between Abby and “Ornery George,” one of the gelding horses (all the horses are named George or Jewel by Abby's father to eschew unnecessary attachments). A wise and kindly horse trainer eventually teaches Abby how to temper Ornery George, paralleling the nuanced lessons she learns about her relationship with her father, his fraught dealings with Abby's older brother, Danny, as well as the bullying by the “Big Four” girls at school. As might be expected from the skilled hands of Smiley (A Thousand Acres), there are additional synchronous story lines, such as the ways an unexpected and spirited colt named Jack becomes accepted into the human and horse families. Many will find it difficult to say goodbye to Abby, Jack and especially to Ornery George. Ages 10–up. (Sept.)

Noël's sequel to the bestselling Evermore is a mesmerizing tale of teenage angst, love and sacrifice with plenty of crossover appeal. Still learning to control her powers as an Immortal, teenage Ever Bloom is as in love with the Immortal Damen as he is with her—until he dumps her just before the long-awaited night when they plan to sleep together for the first time. Unable to get over the loss, Ever soon finds herself ostracized by friends and scorned by her beloved. Not only is Damen barely able to remember their relationship, but he is becoming weaker as well. Only the new guy in school, the mysterious Roman, seems intent on obtaining her trust. Ever knows something strange is to blame and that only she can save Damen. But in her quest for the cure, Ever is confronted with a choice to change the past or save Damen in the present. The startling but satisfying ending shows that Noël knows how to keep her audience hooked. Ever's supernatural struggles are a captivating metaphor for teenage fears about love, relationships and growing up. Ages 12–17. (July)

Debut novelist Bachorz delivers a dystopian novel that takes place in the present, giving the genre a fresh twist. In the town of Candor, conformity is law; negative emotions are banished; and residents are fed a steady diet of subliminal Messages—“Respectful space in every place. Avoid physical contact”—that dull any impulse toward creativity, rebellion or even sexual desire. Oscar Banks, the son of Candor's founder, leads a double life. Secretly, he's the town's biggest rebel—he illegally shuttles kids to freedom before the Messages can take hold (for a price)—while on the surface he's “the model Candor boy.... Proof that the Messages work.” But when Oscar falls for the new girl, Nia, he's forced to rethink his entire identity. Some of the premise is difficult to swallow, such as that within days, residents of Candor become so addicted to the Messages that even a few hours without them could mean death. But Bachorz needs this high-stakes bit to justify why kids can't simply run away. On the whole, it's a compelling story that quickly becomes a page-turner. Be prepared for a chilling ending. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

This compelling new adventure, Peterfreund's (Secret Society Girl) YA debut, introduces an international cast of strong young women, virginal descendants of Alexander the Great, who hunt an unusual breed of monster: unicorns. Sixteen-year-old narrator Astrid Llewelyn never believed her mother's stories about unicorns—portrayed as bloodthirsty, venomous and near impossible to kill—until one impales the boy she's seeing. Sent to Rome (unwillingly) to train with other huntresses in response to the “Reemergence” of the supposedly extinct creatures, Astrid makes new friends and enemies, hones her powers and finds time for a little romance, while coming to grips with her new life (“Forgive me if enforced lifelong celibacy and possible death by dismemberment and poisoning don't exactly get me excited,” she gripes). But she soon suspects (as will readers) that the war against the unicorns isn't so cut-and-dried. With an atmospheric setting, personable ensemble cast and some reasoned discussions about virginity, this gripping page-turner evokes the same grrl-power spirit as Buffy the Vampire Slayer, packed with action, mystery and a complex and intriguing mythology. Ages 12–up (Aug.)

Paulsen (Mudshark) writes another touching story about human kindness and humanity. Reclusive and insecure, Finn lives with his father, his dog and his friend Matthew, whose parents are divorcing. Being 14 isn't easy for Finn (“I feel like an alien dropped onto a strange planet and that I always have to be on the lookout for clues and cues on how to act and what to say,” he muses), and his plan for summer is to talk to “fewer than a dozen people” and read as many books as possible. However, his intentions are thwarted when 24-year-old Johanna shows up to house-sit for his neighbors. She is lighthearted, imaginative, optimistic and has breast cancer. While Finn is usually overwhelmed by human contact, Johanna's sensitivity is disarming, and she hires him to plant a garden for her as a distraction from her illness. The plot is straightforward, but Paulsen's thoughtful characters are compelling and their interactions realistic. This emotional, coming-of-age journey about taking responsibility for one's own happiness and making personal connections will not disappoint. Ages 12–up. (July)

Beatrice Shakespeare Smith (aka Bertie, aka “the self-appointed Queen of Improvisation”) makes use of her creative skills to remain in her adoptive home, the magical Théâtre Illuminata. The characters from every play ever written are eternally bound to this particular stage by “The Book,” which contains all the scripts; Bertie's companions include Ariel from The Tempest, Hamlet's Ophelia and a smattering of fairies, among others. After a destructive incident involving a cannon, Bertie must prove that her contributions as an ordinary 17-year-old girl are “unique and valuable” or be cast out. But the theater is thrown into disarray when Ariel steals “The Book,” while Bertie's desire intensifies to uncover the truth about how she came to the theater. Mantchev's first novel feels dreamlike (plot points are often revealed during impromptu performances), yet underneath is a solid story about the search for happiness and identity. Inside jokes will delight drama club devotees (“Gertrude pointed at Macbeth, who was holding up a cruller and muttering, 'Is this a doughnut I see before me?' ”), but this passionate debut should attract a broader readership as well. Ages 12–up. (July)

With this haunting love letter to New Orleans, Morris makes her YA debut, telling the story of 15-year-old Rebecca Brown, a proud New Yorker sent to live with a family friend while her father travels overseas. Ostracized as an outsider, Rebecca struggles to fit in and cope with her new surroundings. When she befriends Lisette, a ghost who has haunted the cemetery ever since her mysterious death 155 years earlier, Rebecca is drawn into an eerie story of betrayal, loss, old curses and family secrets. As Mardi Gras approaches, so does the culmination of something dark and angry that has been brewing for decades. This moody tale thoroughly embraces the rich history, occult lore and complex issues of race, ethnicity, class and culture that have defined New Orleans for centuries, turning the city into a character in its own right. Rather than shy away from the shameful or tragic moments of the past, Morris uses them to capture the city's essence. From Mardi Gras rituals to voodoo spells, Hurricane Katrina to jazz, this is a story that could only be told in New Orleans. Ages 12–up. (Aug.)

This prequel to Graceling, Cashore's smashing debut, may initially frustrate readers wanting more about Katsa and Po. Fire takes place long before Katsa's birth in an adjacent kingdom called the Dells and shares only one character. But its themes—embracing your talents and moving out of your parents' shadow—are similar, as is the absorbing quality of Cashore's prose. The Dells do not have gracelings; they have beautiful creatures called monsters that are like normal animals except for their exquisite coloration. Seventeen-year-old Fire, who can read and control minds, is the last human monster. Her father, a corrupt adviser to a debased king, recognizes the dangers of her powers and exiles her to the hills, where she is raised by an out-of-favor military commander and befriended by his son, Archer. Many twists propel the action, and although astute readers will suspect who the eventual lovers will be from their first hateful meeting, the buildup to their romance provides tension that keeps the pages turning. Cashore's conclusion satisfies, but readers will clamor for a sequel to the prequel—a book bridging the gap between this one and Graceling. Ages 14–up. (Oct.)

Hopkins again tackles a serious societal problem, this time focusing on teen prostitution. Fans of her work will recognize both her signature free verses and the gritty details she weaves within them. Newcomers, however, may be shocked by the graphic depictions of five struggling teens who find themselves turning tricks (one realizes her mother has sold her “for a good time” with a stranger, while another recounts “pretending to enjoy... deviant sex” to earn the trust of a guard at an ultra-strict religious rehabilitation camp). Some plotting seems clichéd, such as the story of a preacher's daughter from Idaho, whose mother banishes her to the Tears of Zion camp after catching her with her boyfriend. While each story unfolds slowly, readers will understand the protagonists' desperation as well as their complete powerlessness once their descents have begun. Each story is unique (one teen needs money, another was thrown out because of his sexuality, still another was simply looking for love from the wrong person); while readers may connect with some characters more than others, they will long remember each painful story. Ages 14–up. (Aug.)