Children's Book Reviews: 9/21/2009

In a tale with the scope and ambition of a novel, O'Callahan (Herman and Marguerite) tells a pay-it-forward story about a failed baker, Simon, and his comeback. At Simon's lowest moment, after his second business goes up in flames, he's given a handful of dried raspberries by Sally, a poor woman whose family he had helped in better days. The village baker helps Simon make tarts with the raspberries that grow miraculously from Sally's gift. The tarts have a magical effect on anyone who eats them, from Old Mrs. Oddbones, “bent as a hairpin,” to Lucy Wooly, the town bully: every person who eats them begins to leap and dance, yelling, “Rasssssspberrrrrrrieeeeees!” (For emphasis, the word is set in curvy red script each time a character shouts it out.) Simon's reputation is restored, and his red hair, which he's been hiding under a hat, “shot up like firecrackers.” Moses's (Raining Cats and Dogs) naïve spreads capture an America of saltbox houses, flour sacks, horse carts and bunting on the village bandstand, while O'Callahan's enthusiasm, humor and sincerity point to the transformative power of kindness. Ages 3–5. (Sept.)

Short, nearly telegraphic verse by Le Guin (who collaborated with Schindler on the Catwings series) conjures up the inner life of a tortoiseshell cat, whose time, when not hunting or planning naps, is devoted to dreaming: “Oh, how nice! It's raining mice!” Schindler offers a series of crisp-edged, meticulous paintings that portray the cat's most extravagant fantasies in penetrating yet serene detail. “Oh, happy day! All the dogs have run away!” says the dreaming cat, towing a kind of wooden Trojan Cat whose roaring face makes the neighborhood canines flee. A fountain of cream with an Italianate cat sculpture in the center attracts a dozen lapping cats and a catnip tree beguiles (“I'm going to stop/ and have a rest/ in a blue jay's nest”), while the text curves up and down on the pages, mimicking both the activity of the cat's imagination and its leaps, bounds and other movements. Le Guin, supplying only the suggestions of cat dreams, leaves the filling out of the magic visions to Schindler, whose splendid spreads compel close inspection. Ages 3–5. (Sept.)

For three bunnies and their parents, nightfall brings a comforting set of domestic rituals: family dinner, common room cleanup (“Now clear the room/ And tidy up;/ There's a toy,/ And here's a cup”), sharing of the day's news and, finally, snuggling into bed. It's a story that's been told countless times, but the quiet grace of this unabashedly old-fashioned book makes it easy to justify finding just a little more room on the shelf. Shields's (Puppy Love: The Story of Esme and Sam) rhymes are a model of economy (“Today has nearly/ Slipped away;/ Tomorrow brings/ Another day”), but as every parent knows, tender sentiments don't have to be grandiose to be effective. Currey's (A Babysitter for Billy Bear) watercolors, all double-page spreads, are an intriguing combination of Beatrix Potteresque delicacy and expansive scale—the images feel big and small at the same time, assuring diminutive readers that home is not only a refuge from the world, but also a world that's all their own. Ages 3–6. (Sept.)

It's surprisingly difficult to produce a book that offers bunnies in pink dresses as well as a high degree of visual sophistication, but Pignataro (Mama, How Long Will You Love Me?) succeeds. Her delicately penned and tinted spreads are crowded with tiny cupcakes, horse-drawn teacup carriages, walnut-shell boats and libraries built into trees. Princess and Fairy receive an invitation to the queen's birthday party (the minuscule note can be removed from an equally tiny envelope), and they put together a list of treasures to bring. Full-page spreads trace their paths through Three Wishes Market, Gold Penny Lane and other whimsical locales as they find each of the items required. (A small “Can you find?” emblem in the center of each spread directs readers to search for the objects themselves.) The bunnies arrive at the palace spattered with mud, the closest the sunny story comes to a dark moment, but they are immediately put at ease. “ '...never mind your dirty dresses./ Your smiles,' says the Fairy Queen,/ 'Are the prettiest things I've ever seen!' ” Sure to sit on the top of the favorites pile. Ages 4–7. (Sept.)

Originally published on FunBrain.com, Brallier's understated, resonant debut tells of a nine-year-old who loves to play beneath the 175-year-old tree in her yard. After a storm weakens the tree, Tess's mother, worried it “could fall and hurt someone,” has it taken down. Initially angry and sad, Tess decides she “couldn't just let it quietly go away” and organizes a celebration of her beloved tree's life (she ties ribbons on a pair of saplings nearby, helping “the children of her tree dress up for the service”). Tess's teacher reads a passage from Robert Louis Stevenson's “The Swing,” and among the many attendees are three people who share Tess's deep affection for the tree—a couple who carved their initials into its bark years earlier, and an elderly woman who climbed its branches as a child (she brings a photograph of herself in the tree to give Tess). Reynolds's (The Dot) spare, emotive illustrations illuminate the story's messages about cycles of life and the importance of mourning. Particularly affecting is a final image of Tess and the grandmotherly woman standing hand-in-hand beside the saplings. Ages 4–7. (Sept.)

Paul, star guard for the New Orleans Hornets, recalls how through hard work and sheer grit, he overcame being one of the shortest kids in school (“The ball is bigger than you,” teases his big brother) to win a coveted place on the basketball team. The off-court text is mainly standard-issue motivational: Mom reminds Chris to have a balanced sense of priorities and to “Just do the best you can with the gifts you have,” while Chris's grandfather, Papa Chilly, advises, “Work harder than everyone else on the court and your size won't matter.” But when the action concentrates on basketball, the writing soars almost as high as Morrison's (Out of the Ballpark) acrylic pictures, and that's saying a lot. All of Morrison's visual signatures—the off-kilter fluidity, exaggerated dimensionality and cinematic sense of composition—make him a slam-dunk for the subject matter. The spreads exude a raucous energy and genuine empathy. Ages 4–8. (Sept.)

Huget's debut shows how mayhem can result when anything is taken to extremes, as four antsy children and their frazzled mother alternately come to loathe the blue Emily Post etiquette book Mother buys. “Suddenly it was Emily Post this, Emily Post that. We weren't allowed to slump in our chairs. We had to keep our hands to ourselves,” narrates a frustrated son. Boiger's (The Little Bit Scary People) detailed vignettes show the early 20th-century family trying unsuccessfully to adapt—the siblings end up tied to their chairs in one illustration. Ghosts of the fictional characters Post used to illustrate her points (Mrs. Worldly, Mrs. Toplofty, the Wellborns) make several appearances, in shadowy blue-gray hues, trying to assist the unwilling children and revealing that not even a young Emily Post was above reproach (she once fed a shattered tea set to her goldfish). When the children turn the tables and use Best Society rules to annoy their mother, she sends the ghosts and the blue book packing. Despite the sometimes inconsistent renderings of Mother's face, the inviting watercolors and slapstick comedy will keep readers turning the pages. Ages 4–8. (Sept.)

Cox's (The Train to Glasgow) radiant palette, balletic ink line and cosmopolitan aesthetic bring a buoyant spirit to this metropolitan fable. To young Nathan, there is nothing more marvelous than his apartment building's elevator and the man who runs it. It's not just that the elevator man has a dashing uniform (maroon with brass buttons); he is also gracious (he holds the elevator for Nathan's Type A dad) and cool under pressure (when other residents “lean on the buzzer,” he doesn't flinch). Best of all, he lets Nathan run the elevator when no one else is around. But when the building modernizes with a self-service elevator, Nathan's exuberance plummets (“Nathan reaches up to touch one of the buttons, the one that has an 'L' on it. He hopes it means 'Let Me Off' ”). At times the narrative is weighed down in extraneous detail when it should be buoyed by the emotional truths that Trachtenberg, a former book editor making his children's book debut, offers about facing change. But he does a wonderful job of setting up his story—even suburban readers will identify with Nathan's elevator fixation. Ages 4–8. (Sept.)

Smith's (the Bone series) crisply drafted style smoothly fuses graphic novel and picture book. Excited about Mama's invitation to go to the barn (“If we're good, Mama will let us swim in the cow's water!”), Little Mouse hurries to get ready to join his family. Every step of the getting dressed routine is closely examined (“Underpants are easy to put on...” says Little Mouse, wriggling into a tiny pair of briefs. “Just be sure to get your tail in the tail hole!”). He masters the technical problems of snaps and buttons, then discovers that in his excitement he's forgotten a vital fact: “mice don't wear clothes!” his mother reminds him. He's so shocked that his clothing bursts off him like fireworks. When he's unclothed, Little Mouse huddles like a furry creature, and when he's clothed, he stands on his own two feet—a useful visual metaphor for the oscillating feelings of independence younger children experience. The hero is an arresting blend of cute and tough, and his evident glee and determination will bolster the confidence of those who do have to wear clothing. Ages 4–up. (Sept.)

Like furry slapstick comedians, a squirrel, hedgehog and bear make one sweet goof after another as they look for the first snowflake of winter. Told that it will be “white and wet and cold and soft,” they put off hibernating and begin to search. Hedgehog holds up his discovery in triumph: it's a toothbrush (“Winter will be wonderful,” Hedgehog thinks, as the next page shows the animal delighting in a shower of white toothbrushes against an inky sky). Squirrel is convinced that a tin can is the first snowflake, and Bear appears with an old white sock. Meschenmosher (Learning to Fly) sketches freely on white pages in dark gray and sepia, drawing with casual grace and unerring comic instinct. Squirrel's reddish hair springs forth frenetically, Hedgehog's prickles look untidy and sleepy, and Bear's luxurious fur hangs over his eyebrows, making him look even grumpier. Giggles and guffaws will abound (three whole spreads are devoted to Squirrel and Hedgehog belting out sea shanties to keep themselves awake). The moment when the snow really does begin to fall is worth waiting for, too. A quiet, atmospheric and offbeat treasure. Ages 5–8. (Sept.)

Ordinary backpacks get humorous treatment in four brief stories, told in sequential art, that make good use of puns and tropes from comic books, TV and movies. The first story, “History Man,” is a tongue-in-cheek documentary about the “history” of backpacks, full of goofy humor (“Historians believe the first backpack was created by a caveman named Roscoe.... Unfortunately his friends thought he was being attacked by a beaver, and they pounded him with sticks”). “Volcano, or Candy is Dandy,” about a science fair experiment, ends with an array of comic book–style sound effects (“gurgle gurgle! bang, bang!”) as Brendan's bag turns out to be an excellent volcano. Girls will especially enjoy the tale of “ordinary Ashley” whose backpack turns her into a superhero. But O'Malley (Gimme Cracked Corn and I Will Share) saves his best lampoon for “Day of the Living Backpack,” a sly take on kids' overloaded bookbags, starring a boy whose hungry backpack starts devouring everything in sight. O'Malley hints at the possibility of a sequel: “Backpacks aren't the only thing with scary surprises inside. Just look inside your... lunchbox!” Ages 7–9. (Sept.)

Taking loose inspiration from the true-life story of the late Madame Alexander, whose New York–based company has been producing dolls since 1923, McDonough (The Doll with the Yellow Star) fashions a wholesome tale of a Russian-Jewish immigrant family on New York's Lower East Side in the early 1900s. The Breittlemanns live above their doll repair shop, where Papa restores porcelain dolls, Mama repaints the faces, and sisters Sophie, Anna and Trudie help however they can, taking special pleasure in playing with unclaimed broken dolls. When WWI begins and needed doll parts can no longer be had from Germany, middle daughter Anna comes up with the idea of making cloth dolls. McDonough tells the story in nine-year-old Anna's straightforward, sympathetic voice, accurately presenting relevant historical details as well as the emotional complexities of sibling relationships. Reminiscent of the All-of-a-Kind Family series, the book distinguishes itself both by its foundation in doll history and its authentic depictions of imaginative play. Maione's (Princess Bess Gets Dressed) lighthearted line drawings only vaguely suggest the era, and the characters' cartoonish features do little to illuminate their personalities, but the lively illustrations have little-girl appeal. Ages 7–11. (Sept.)

With humor and authenticity, this beguiling tale of summer friendship mines the small, jewellike adventures of a rural childhood. Popeye (so named after a fateful BB gun accident) is utterly bored in rainy Fayette, S.C. But when a passing motor home gets stuck in the mud, he befriends one of its unruly inhabitants, a devil-may-care boy named Elvis. In the creek, the boys discover boats made from Yoo-hoo cartons that carry cryptic messages––a mystery that launches the “small adventure” of tracking down the boats' creator as well as Popeye's struggle between obeying his overprotective grandmother, Velma, and venturing out with his new friend. O'Connor's (How to Steal a Dog) easygoing, Southern storytelling crafts an endearing protagonist and irresistibly quirky cast. Velma recites the names of English monarchy to avoid “cracking up” and teaches Popeye new vocabulary words, which surface comically in his observations (“Velma's appearance at the edge of the cemetery, arms crossed, face red, was definitely not serendipity. It was much closer to vicissitude”). Undercurrents of poverty and dysfunction are handled with gentle humor as Popeye discovers the magic of a little adventure. Ages 8–12. (Sept.)

Richter's (The Cat) haunting tale turns an unflinching eye on the life of a homeless boy, Niner (named for his age), and Cosmos, a man he meets on the street. The two dream of living by the sea, and a wealthy bar owner offers them traveling money in exchange for their “most valued possession”—which they believe to be Niner's guardian angel. The “sale” leaves Niner terrified: “When I fall out the window there's not going to be a bush underneath. There's just gonna be cement, you get it?” Indeed, trouble does come, as Cosmos (temporarily) deserts him with the newfound cash and Niner falls ill. Older readers are best suited to this moving but rough-around-the edges tale, with allusions to prostitution and abusive adults (Niner's mother's boyfriend beats them both). Niner's illness is the catalyst to an open-ended conclusion that feels forcedly upbeat and a tad rushed. Nonetheless, Richter presents a darkly poetic, masterfully crafted view of life on the streets. Ages 8–13. (Sept.)

Taylor offers a powerful trio of tales, each founded upon the consequences of a kiss. She explores the potentially awkward conceit in three dramatically different fantasies, each featuring a young female protagonist out of place in the world she inhabits: contemporary Kizzy, who so yearns to be a normal, popular teenager that she forgets the rules of her Old Country upbringing and is seduced by a goblin in disguise; Anamique, living in British colonial India, silenced forever due to a spell cast upon her at birth; and Esmé, who at 14 discovers she is host to another—nonhuman—being. The stories build in complexity and intensity, culminating in the breathtaking “Hatchling,” which opens with a spectacularly gripping prologue (“Esmé swayed on her feet. These weren't her memories. This wasn't her eye”). Each is, in vividly distinctive fashion, a mesmerizing love story that comes to a satisfying but never predictable conclusion. Di Bartolo's illustrations provide tantalizing visual preludes to each tale, which are revealed as the stories unfold. Even nonfantasy lovers will find themselves absorbed by Taylor's masterful, elegant work. Ages 12–up. (Oct.)

Dashner (the 13th Reality series) offers up a dark and gripping tale of survival set in a world where teenagers fight for their lives on a daily basis. It starts when Thomas, a teenage amnesiac, wakes up in the Glade, a fragile oasis in the middle of an enormous maze. Here, a group of teenage boys eke out a hazardous existence, exploring the Maze by day and retreating to the Glade at night. No one knows how they got there; no one has ever found a way out (“Old life's over, new life's begun. Learn the rules quick,” the group's leader tells Thomas). Bizarre technological monsters called Grievers patrol the Maze's corridors, almost certain death for any who encounter them. Thomas struggles to regain his memories, but the arrival of a young woman with an ominous message changes the rules of the game. With a fast-paced narrative steadily answering the myriad questions that arise and an ever-increasing air of tension, Dashner's suspenseful adventure will keep readers guessing until the very end, which paves the way for the inevitable continuation. Ages 12–up. (Oct.)

In his YA debut, adult author House tells the story of a smalltown family reeling from the Vietnam War. The narrator, Eli Book, describes the summer of 1976, when he was 10 years old, with the hindsight and perspective that adulthood brings (“It's important that you know this: my mother was beautiful.... She must have driven the boys at the high school absolutely crazy”). Eli lives with his father (a traumatized Vietnam vet); his loving but distant mother; a rebellious teenage sister; and his outspoken antiwar activist aunt. The candid conversations between Eli and his best friend, Edie, underscore the turmoil in both of their households. House laces the book with references to Bob Seger and Happy Days, but keeps the focus on the family's crackling dynamics and Eli's struggle to make sense of them. There's subtle poetry at work in House's writing, and as the tension and summer months heat up (“The sun broiled on the sky, a living thing that pulsated and grew larger”), Eli comes to understand how love and forgiveness can overcome even the most deep-seated conflicts. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

Shortly after moving to a new town, Marcus encounters Charlie, a strange, middle-aged man who turns out to be an incredible football player. Marcus, hoping to be a varsity quarterback at his new school, begins meeting Charlie regularly. Charlie is a challenging and rewarding opponent, but there are mysteries about him that plague Marcus (“It was annoying, but waiting to see if Charlie was going to show up soon became Marcus's personal reality TV show”). Most puzzling: “For some reason, he thought he was a teenager, too.” At school, Marcus loses the quarterback position to school hero Troy—Charlie's son. Troy is oddly guarded about his father, but Marcus eventually figures out Charlie's secret: the repeated blows the former NFL player received resulted in early-onset Alzheimer's disease. Korman (The Juvie Three) skillfully weaves football terminology into the narrative without making it sound like a playbook, and Marcus's heartfelt loyalty to Charlie is believable, if the plotting is occasionally less so. Despite the athletic focus, this thought-provoking story is, at its core, about friendship and should have broad appeal. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

Baratz-Logsted's modern take on Beauty and the Beast is told from the alternating points of view of two sophomores as they begin class at a new school. Beautiful, kind Aurora is immediately absorbed into the popular crowd; she and her father, the school librarian, are especially close following the death of her mother a few months earlier. Lucius's family is more troubled: since he exploded chemicals in his basement last year, blowing up part of his house as well as his forearms, his father will barely look at him. Lucius brings his past with him to the new school, both externally (in the form of the hooks that he chooses to replace his hands) and on the inside. Lucius quickly attracts the attention of Jessup, a student who harasses him and nicknames him Hooks, but also that of Aurora, who is as drawn to Lucius as he is to her. Both Aurora and Lucius are remarkably resilient given the events of the preceding year, and following the highs and lows of their blossoming relationship makes for a fast-paced and intense read. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

Dahme (Creepers) brings a cemetery to life in this quiet and gently eerie communion with ghosts. After moving to Philadelphia, sophomore Jessie is so desperate to fit in that she accepts a dare to spend the night in a local graveyard. There, she meets Paul, a night watchman, who tells her she's just in time for a rehearsal of actors impersonating the dead. It's a lie, of course, told to calm her as she meets spirits attracted to her life force and her ability to communicate with them. Drawn into a century-long family quarrel that is unsettling the cemetery residents, Jessie is asked to help Paul “fix things” (though, as Jessie admits, “ 'Fixing things' was hardly the phrase I would have chosen to connote banishing a crazed and malevolent spirit from the living and spiritual world”). The slightly confusing climactic battle simmers instead of sizzles, but fits with the understated tone of the novel. Readers should find the atmosphere old-fashioned—in a good way; Dahme's storytelling is more about the journey than the destination. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

Five months after his beloved mother's death, 17-year-old Gaston Giambanco Jr., aka Gas, runs away from his Texas home and his drunken, racist father's escalating abuse. With no place to go, he winds up in a truck with three Mexicans headed to a racetrack in Arkansas. Gas inherited his hatred of “beaners” from his father, and it's intensified since one played a role in the traffic accident that killed his mother. Predictably, the skilled Mexican groomers turn out to be far more reliable than the racetrack boss, a corrupt trainer who falsifies Gas's ID papers to make him appear to be 18. Volponi (The Hand You're Dealt) sacrifices plausibility for pacing as, within days of his arrival, Gas, a slight 105 pounds, is elevated from hot walker (responsible for cooling down horses after racing) to race jockey with absolutely no training. Like a six-furlong race, this one's over in a wink, but the healthy message about tolerance gives it some lasting power. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

Crewe's debut novel, despite its paranormal twist, is realistic and honest in its portrayal of an angry, struggling teenage girl. Four years after her older sister, Paige, accidentally drowns, 16-year-old Cassandra is embittered by rejection from her peers and estrangement from her grieving parents. Cass doesn't really miss her sister, though, because Paige is haunting her—lovingly but unrelentingly. The sisters are closer than ever because no one else can see Paige, and no one else will talk to Cass. Cass uses her ability to speak with ghosts to ferret out ugly secrets about her classmates, earning her a reputation as a psychic freak. After popular student Tim approaches Cass with an uncanny request, however, she begins to rethink her vengeful motives. But bad habits can't be overcome in an instant, and walking a narrative mile in Cass's shoes will leave readers wincing (“I haven't liked anyone who wasn't dead for four years,” she tells Tim after his life takes an especially dark turn). This coming-of-age novel avoids unrealistically neat moments of closure—it will make readers hurt, and maybe even believe. Ages 14–up. (Sept.)

Ginsberg's mother wrote about parenting a highly functioning autistic child in Raising Blaze (2003), and in this autobiography Blaze tells his own story. Inspired by the format of the Internet Movie Database, Ginsberg organizes his life as a progression of television series, such as “Thanksgiving Special 2002” and “Freshman Senior Year 1.” Each series has a release date and cast list (“Amber: friend. Played herself in 2002's My Freshman Year as a girlfriend [not romantic] of mine”) and is further subdivided into episodes, each with their own summaries, quotes, soundtracks and trivia. Despite the inherently cerebral nature of the book's structure, the episodes paint a vivid picture of Blaze's thought processes (“This year was something unforgettable and legendary beyond conceivable knowledge because it really changed the way school had been for me for the past ten years”), life experiences and preoccupations, such as his crush on Hilary Duff or obsession with the year 1994 (“There is something about the numbers in the year 1994 that draws me to them”). A singular reading experience that gives insight into an equally singular way of processing and reflecting on life. Ages 12–up. (Sept.)

Here are some Thanksgiving books for readers of all appetites.

Turkey is in trouble—it's close to Thanksgiving and Farmer Jake is looking for him. But he has a plan: “What if he didn't look like a turkey? What if he looked like a horse?” And wearing a saddle and with a horse brush tied to the back of his head, he looks “just like a horse... almost.” His subsequent farm animal disguises (as a cow, pig and sheep, among others) are equally ineffective, and Silvano goes with a goofy gag for Turkey's final, successful costume: a pizza delivery man. With an autumnal palette of bright watercolors, Harper creates an exaggerated and emotive barnyard cast. Ages 4–8. (Oct.)

This often underappreciated bird gets his due in Arnosky's funny homage. Tom is part of a large flock of wild turkeys (“We putt and peep and squawk and squabble. Talking turkey. Gobble, gobble”). Turkey life has its downsides (“ 'cuz lots of critters find us... tasty!”), but Arnosky's naturalistic acrylics imbue the birds with, if not quite majesty, lots of personality. Though Tom does suggest “the very next turkey that you see/ might be from my flock. It might be me!” no allusions are made to Thanksgiving—this is a treat for any time of year. Ages 4–8. (Sept.)

Putting readers in the audience of a school play, cartoon children enact a rhyming ABC Thanksgiving story, dressed in the clothing of the colonists and Native Americans and set against a backdrop of scenery and stage props. Along the way, the kids aim to “set straight” certain myths: “I is for Indians/ But that name's not quite right./ We're the Wampanoag tribe,/ or 'People of the Light.' ” But on the whole, this is a breezy book about celebrating: “Y is for yummy./ We share this great food/ And rejoice all together,/ What a wonderful mood!” Ages 4–8. (Aug.)

An ebullient young host named Percy assures readers that he's a “Thanksgiving Pro,” and that “when it comes to turkey day,/ there's nothing I don't know.” His “simple rules” include putting on whatever your mom wants you to wear (Rule #1: “Smile and say Pumpkin Pie”) and giving brief, polite greetings (“Rule #3: Short = Sweet”). When the buffet is unveiled, the message is loud and clear: “I officially command you to eat everything you see!” is Percy's decree. Percy's enthusiasm effectively captures the spirit of affable overindulgence. Ages 5–9. (Sept.)

Not all Pilgrims were “goody-goodies,” explains narrator Standish Brewster, a professor of “Pilgrimology.” Case in point: Johnny and Francis Billington (“So we nearly blew up the Mayflower. It wasn't like we meant to!” the boys insist). Cartoon graphic novel–style panels depict the Pilgrims' arrival, as Brewster provides scholarly background and the boys interject in speech balloons, complaining about how boring the Mayflower was or objecting to the settlers' taking a kettle full of corn from the natives (“When we do it, they call it stealing. When they do it, they call it 'A Special Providence of God.' ”). The boys' comic hubris and the snappy format enliven a familiar history lesson. Ages 5–up. (Aug.)

Before Thanksgiving, Tuyet's class makes turkeys out of pinecones and sings turkey songs. So she is dismayed to learn that her family will be eating duck for their holiday dinner. She breaks out her own money, but there is no turkey to buy at the Saigon Supermarket. Although Tuyet has fun on Thanksgiving, she is nervous about telling her class that she didn't eat turkey—until many classmates reveal that their families dined on dishes like lamb, enchiladas and tofu turkey. A lighthearted reminder about multicultural traditions during the holidays. Ages 6–8. (Sept.)