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What's Going On?
by Elena O'Callaghan; illustrated by Africa Fanlo
Kane/Miller
Hmmm ... the household's falling to pieces. Mom and Dad used to be so efficient, so on top of things, until about three months ago. Now Dad wears mismatched shoes, the place is a wreck, Mom puts bug spray in her hair. Whaaaa?
That's one little boy's reaction as his whole house is turned upside-down. Graph paper's used to give Fanlo's mixed-media creations a retro feel, but a bit off-kilter, like the Jetsons having a series of bad hair days. One one side--Then--is how things used to be: squeaky clean kitchen, ultra-calm parents. On the opposite--Now--is Mom wobbling under armloads of laundry or Dad missing the easy shots in soccer.
Of course, you'll know exactly what's happened in the last three months, but let's not spoil the surprise. The narrator is clueless, an unusual trick to see pulled off so convincingly in a book for very little kids, but they'll have fun figuring it out in the last page or so.
And you can always point out what caused your tot's parents to lose their last shreds of sanity. They'll probably think that's pretty funny too.
Rating: *\*\*\
By:
Anne Boles Levy,
on 1/18/2008
Blog:
Book Buds KidLit Review
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Oh, Brother!
By Nikki Grimes; illustrated by Mike Benny
Greenwillow
One of the most powerful poetic storytellers has done it again. With a few keystrokes, a rhyme here and there, she's woven a moving story of how two very different boys become brothers in more than name.
We don't learn the narrator's name--Xavier--until late in this collection, but we do get plenty of his opinions about his mother's remarriage. He loves his new Dad, but not the boy, Chris, who comes as extra baggage, getting in the way, acting all perfect, taking up space, throwing his small family off balance:
STEPS
Everyone in this house
is a step, now.
Stepmom.
Stepdad.
Stepson.
Stepbrother.
In my mind,
I turn them into steps
I can climb
And when I reach the top,
I rule.
Several of the poems are told in rhyme, others are simple, quick dabs of free verse, meant to convey a fleeting emotion. Few kids' poets are as adept as Grimes in exploring their emotions with such range and empathy, and in so few words.
At last, the two boys have their breakthrough, and if you're not crying as their bond strengthens, you're probably dead. And when we do learn the narrator's name, as Chris practices writing it, Grimes creates a magical moment for Xavier to grow. She respects her character enough to know he probably has a tough time expressing emotions, and instead gives us his actions:
I swipe his pen
and write H-E-R-M-A-N-O
"Huh?"Chris can be slow.
"It means brother," I say.
"That's my name now,
one you already know how
to spell."
We know immediately what's going on in Xavier's head, because Grimes respects our intelligence too.
Benny's illustrations follow through on Grimes' many hints that this is a multiracial family--Latino and African-American--but this could be any boy's blended family today. Kids have a tendency to recover, to patch together a new life and a mended heart. Grimes takes us there, until we want to adopt this new family and make it our own.
Rating: *\*\*\*\
Oliver Has Something to Say!
by Pamela Edwards; illustrated by Louis Pilon
Lobster Press
We all know a few late talkers. My daughter was one. She got off to a promising start at 11 months, when she said "ball." But then her entire conversational ouevre consisted of "ball" for another 6 months.
Oliver's from that same mold, and like my little girl, the problem can be found in talkative siblings and parents. What does Oliver have to say, really, when everyone around him is yakking non-stop? Especially when they make up his mind for him?
Except by age four, Oliver's pretty much had it. He does, indeed, have a few opinions--if he ever gets a chance to express them. His bossy big sister even blows out his birthday candles (which would have courted disaster in our house). It takes a no-nonsense pre-school teacher to coax Oliver to open up, and then he can't be stopped.
Sure, there are lots of stories about kids getting their say, but they're usually pitched to teenagers. This one's aimed at the little siblings who get overlooked, and gives parents a nice tool for prying a few peeps out of them.
Of course, in our case, my daughter now won't shut up, but that's another story.
Pilon's cartoon-like drawings aim straight for the pre-school crowd, keeping this story aimed at the audience most likely to gaze in awe when Oliver finally opens up.
Rating: *\*\
Oliver Has Something to Say!
by Pamela Edwards; illustrated by Louis Pilon
Lobster Press
We all know a few late talkers. My daughter was one. She got off to a promising start at 11 months, when she said "ball." But then her entire conversational ouevre consisted of "ball" for another 6 months.
Oliver's from that same mold, and like my little girl, the problem can be found in talkative siblings and parents. What does Oliver have to say, really, when everyone around him is yakking non-stop? Especially when they make up his mind for him?
Except by age four, Oliver's pretty much had it. He does, indeed, have a few opinions--if he ever gets a chance to express them. His bossy big sister even blows out his birthday candles (which would have courted disaster in our house). It takes a no-nonsense pre-school teacher to coax Oliver to open up, and then he can't be stopped.
Sure, there are lots of stories about kids getting their say, but they're usually pitched to teenagers. This one's aimed at the little siblings who get overlooked, and gives parents a nice tool for prying a few peeps out of them.
Of course, in our case, my daughter now won't shut up, but that's another story.
Pilon's cartoon-like drawings aim straight for the pre-school crowd, keeping this story aimed at the audience most likely to gaze in awe when Oliver finally opens up.
Rating: *\*\
The Only Boy in Ballet Class
by Denise Gruska; illustrated by Amy Wummer
Reviewed by Kelly Herold
Being the boy who likes ballet—or figure skating, or clogging, or, well, you get the picture—is never easy. When you’re the boy who likes ballet, you’re usually the only boy in your dance class. And that's the least of your problems. Often, other boys at school will make fun of you. And, surely, there’s a disapproving relative—an uncle, or a grandmother, or a parent—who will try to convince you that ballet is simply not appropriate for boys.
Enter Denise Grushka’s The Only Boy in Ballet Class, a book for those children who love something so passionately they can’t help but following their dreams. “Tucker Dohr loves to dance ... The other kids think he’s weird, but he can’t help it. It feels right to him. Like breathing.”
Tucker loves to dance so much that he tries to ignore the fact that he’s the “last one picked for softball. And basketball. And volleyball. He tries to pretend that he doesn’t care. He reminds himself that he’d rather dance anyway.” But we all know ignoring only helps so much when you’re in grade school. The small print in parentheses tells us, “But sometimes he has to cry about it at night when he’s alone.”
The boys playing football are the cruelest to Tucker and he has to endure their taunts on the way to his afternoon class each time he attends. But, and this is what I like best about The Only Boy in Ballet Class, the bullying is simply a conflict and a fact of life, not the focus of the story. Tucker’s love of dance and his passion for movement stays front and center and, thanks to Amy Wummer’s charming and accessible illustrations, comes through to the reader. We dance with Tucker when he needs to “leap over Marbles” (the family cat) or “spin past his tricky, tricky twin sisters.” We feel Tucker’s joy in movement and want to dance along.
Sprinkled with an offering of ballet terms, Grushka’s text is lively and will appeal most to readers ages four to nine. Her resolution of the bully conflict is unexpected, but fitting with Tucker’s joyful nature and the magic of dance. The Only Boy in Ballet Class is for all the “different” kids of the world and should be required reading in the first through third grades.
Rating: *\*\*\
The Planet Hunter: The Story Behind What Happened to Pluto
by Elizabeth Rusch; illustrated by Guy Francis
Rising Moon
I boast a stargazer or two in my household. My son has rocket ship sheets on his bed, glowing stars on his wall and a real telescope my husband props on the balcony when they feel like braving the icy winds off Lake Michigan.
This book didn't last two seconds out of the package before both my little spaceman and my big one were hunched over it, reading, pointing and exclaiming. Something about the hubbub over Pluto really gets amateur astronomers going, and mine aren't the only ones.
In case you've been living on an asteroid, Pluto got bumped from the planet club last year after astronomers decided there were too many other Pluto-esque balls of ice and rock floating around the same neighborhood. It just wasn't special enough after all.
Nothing could make such a phenomenon hit closer than dramatizing it as a personal quest. Rusch cuts through the science and brings us a gripping, highly readable story of one persistent, likable young astronomer determined to find another planet in the Kuiper belt at the very fringes of the solar system.
We follow Mike Brown from his boyhood making moon craters in his muddy backyard to his adult years and the ingenious system he developed to detect new heavenly bodies using an old observatory telescope. How exciting to see his discoveries one by one, laid out in funny side notes that explain their names (he dubbed one "Santa" after the red-suited Christmas visitor) and some weird facts about them. We feel his excitement--and determination--build as he wonders what, exactly, he's stumbled upon.
There's no ending to spoil; Brown's adventures go on and on. Somewhere out there, peering into space, the man who forced a re-examining of certain celestial truths is still happily mapping his piece of heaven.
Rating: *\*\*\
The Planet Hunter: The Story Behind What Happened to Pluto
by Elizabeth Rusch; illustrated by Guy Francis
Rising Moon
I boast a stargazer or two in my household. My son has rocket ship sheets on his bed, glowing stars on his wall and a real telescope my husband props on the balcony when they feel like braving the icy winds off Lake Michigan.
This book didn't last two seconds out of the package before both my little spaceman and my big one were hunched over it, reading, pointing and exclaiming. Something about the hubbub over Pluto really gets amateur astronomers going, and mine aren't the only ones.
In case you've been living on an asteroid, Pluto got bumped from the planet club last year after astronomers decided there were too many other Pluto-esque balls of ice and rock floating around the same neighborhood. It just wasn't special enough after all.
Nothing could make such a phenomenon hit closer than dramatizing it as a personal quest. Rusch cuts through the science and brings us a gripping, highly readable story of one persistent, likable young astronomer determined to find another planet in the Kuiper belt at the very fringes of the solar system.
We follow Mike Brown from his boyhood making moon craters in his muddy backyard to his adult years and the ingenious system he developed to detect new heavenly bodies using an old observatory telescope. How exciting to see his discoveries one by one, laid out in funny side notes that explain their names (he dubbed one "Santa" after the red-suited Christmas visitor) and some weird facts about them. We feel his excitement--and determination--build as he wonders what, exactly, he's stumbled upon.
There's no ending to spoil; Brown's adventures go on and on. Somewhere out there, peering into space, the man who forced a re-examining of certain celestial truths is still happily mapping his piece of heaven.
Rating: *\*\*\
The Magic Rabbit
by Annette LeBlanc Cate
Candlewick Press
Picture books have gotten so sophisticated, they now dip heavily into the same inkwell as graphic novels, with illustrations zooming off in their own narrative directions. The text often has to catch up--a clever tactic designed to keep kids scanning the art for clues.
If you're just reading this text and whizzing past the scratchy black-and-white drawings, you're missing the most dramatic parts of a simple tale of a street-corner magician and his bunny.
Ray's gray, grubby little apartment's crammed with magic props, posters and esoteric knick-knacks, where the only spots of color are bright yellow stars and popcorn. We see Ray loading his magic wand with the former, while Bunny munches on the latter. They're best friends, do everything together, and share a career entertaining park goers in this busily realized urban setting.
The written text sketches out the plot--you have to watch out for that juggler in the park, the one with the pug on his head wheeling his unicycle as Ray readies his big trick. After their big crash, that pug's chasing poor Bunny straight out of the picture frame.
Bunny eventually picks up a trail of stars and popcorn, but if you've been paying attention, you spotted the trail's beginnings much earlier, with sightings of a tiny, forlorn Ray in the background as a terrified Bunny wanders the city alone.
The New Yorker-style illustrations actually teach the rudiments of storytelling to wide-eyed kids who notice everything. Foreshadowing, suspense, cause and effect--it's all here, carefully and elegantly laid out in pen and ink.
Rating: *\*\*\
The Magic Rabbit
by Annette LeBlanc Cate
Candlewick Press
Picture books have gotten so sophisticated, they now dip heavily into the same inkwell as graphic novels, with illustrations zooming off in their own narrative directions. The text often has to catch up--a clever tactic designed to keep kids scanning the art for clues.
If you're just reading this text and whizzing past the scratchy black-and-white drawings, you're missing the most dramatic parts of a simple tale of a street-corner magician and his bunny.
Ray's gray, grubby little apartment's crammed with magic props, posters and esoteric knick-knacks, where the only spots of color are bright yellow stars and popcorn. We see Ray loading his magic wand with the former, while Bunny munches on the latter. They're best friends, do everything together, and share a career entertaining park goers in this busily realized urban setting.
The written text sketches out the plot--you have to watch out for that juggler in the park, the one with the pug on his head wheeling his unicycle as Ray readies his big trick. After their big crash, that pug's chasing poor Bunny straight out of the picture frame.
Bunny eventually picks up a trail of stars and popcorn, but if you've been paying attention, you spotted the trail's beginnings much earlier, with sightings of a tiny, forlorn Ray in the background as a terrified Bunny wanders the city alone.
The New Yorker-style illustrations actually teach the rudiments of storytelling to wide-eyed kids who notice everything. Foreshadowing, suspense, cause and effect--it's all here, carefully and elegantly laid out in pen and ink.
Rating: *\*\*\
Red Butterfly: How a Princess Smuggled the Secret of Silk Out of China
by Deborah Noyes; illustrated by Sophie Blackall
Candlewick Press
Rating: *\*\*\
Little Eagle
by Chen Jiang Hong
Enchanted Lion Books
Rating: *\*\*\
Reviewed by Ilene Goldman
Inspired by Chinese legends of bravery, persistence, and compassion, these books seem almost made to pair with each other. Red Butterfly is about a princess who smuggles the secret of silk out of China. Little Eagle tells of a little boy who learns martial arts from his guardian and protects the secrets of Kung Fu.
In each, the protagonists are growing into adulthood without the loved ones who raised them. Beyond beautiful illustrations and lovely language, these books offer Chinese characters, non-Western viewpoints, and a glimpse at a world we might not otherwise explore.
Noyes spins Red Butterfly from the perspective of a young girl about to be sent from the home and family she loves dearly. Though the princess is a young girl, “still a child with [her] hair / yet cut across [her] forehead,” she knows that she may never see her family again. As her marriage to the king of Khotan draws near, she recognizes the splendors of her father’s kingdom and mourns their loss. As she says “Good-bye, small silkworm. / Good-bye red butterfly,” she knows that she “would give every silver hairpin, every jade carving and gold ornament / for one brush of southern mist, / one windy, silken promise– / that home be with [me] always.”
Ultimately, the princess’s longing causes her to risk grave punishment by having her maidservant weave the cocoons and seeds into her ornate hairdo for the journey to Khotan. We learn in the author’s note that her new kingdom protected her by guarding silk production as jealously as China did. While most children might not be able to empathize with the princess’s courage and risk-taking, they certainly understand the difficulty of leaving a beloved home and family, even for a brief time.
Like the silk and kingdom they portray, Blackall’s illustrations for Red Butterfly are luxuriously splendid. Many of the garments are decorated like butterflies, paying homage to the creatures that provided the beauty and wealth of this culture. The kingdom is filled with joyous colors, light, and quiet. The princess’s face is darling, sweet and strong at the same time. We can see she is a little girl and our compassion for her dilemma swells. When she makes her perilous decision, we see also her determination, disobedience, and will. She’s a survivor.
Little Eagle is a young boy who is rescued by Master Yang, a legendary wise man in 15th Century China. Master Yang learns that the boy’s parents were brutally murdered by General Zhao and he welcomes the boy into his home, becoming his guardian. One night the boy awakes and spies Master Yang practicing Eagle boxing, a specialized form of Kung Fu. In the shadows, the boy diligently copies the Master’s movements. When he displays his strength and knowledge in a street fight, Master Yang is angry but proud. He takes the boy on as his disciple, finally giving him a name, “Little Eagle.”
Throughout the rest of the story, the disciple learns from the master and, as these tales usually go, eventually exceeds his master’s strength and skill.
Years later, Master Yang and Little Eagle must use their Eagle boxing to defend themselves, and their extraordinary knowledge of Kung Fu, from the same General Zhao who murdered the boy’s parents. Though they win, Master Yang is mortally wounded.
Little Eagle combines a lovingly told story with paintings that fill the page with color and movement. Set in the era of a brutal leader, the images are darkly hopeful. The illustrations convey the heaviness of the historical moment with a shadowy autumnal palette; they also sing the optimism inherent in the relationship between the boy and the master through their elegant lines. As the boy learns his lesson, a two-page spread shows how “he worked very hard through the passing seasons. / Until he forgot fatigue / Until he overcame pain. / Until he no longer felt the weight of his body.” The boy is shown balancing on pylons using only his heels as he does the splits, on one foot as he carries weights, on one elbow and the opposite foot, and on his head.
Little Eagle is left alone in the world, but he takes with him faith, wisdom, and strength. Master Yang has told him to use the secrets of Kung Fu only for good. We can imagine that he follows this last order because despite living in a dark time, he has been raised with respect and love.
Many children’s stories show perseverance in the face of disaster or the loss of one or both parents; I suppose nearly every fairy tale begins that way. Red Butterfly and Little Eagle (originally published in French as Petit Aigle) play on the universality of these themes by giving us Chinese folklore and art. The authors’ notes in each book provide background to begin a conversation or perhaps a family research project.
Other Book Buds reviews about Chen Jiang Hong.
Red Butterfly: How a Princess Smuggled the Secret of Silk Out of China
by Deborah Noyes; illustrated by Sophie Blackall
Candlewick Press
Rating: *\*\*\
Little Eagle
by Chen Jiang Hong
Enchanted Lion Books
Rating: *\*\*\
Reviewed by Ilene Goldman
Inspired by Chinese legends of bravery, persistence, and compassion, these books seem almost made to pair with each other. Red Butterfly is about a princess who smuggles the secret of silk out of China. Little Eagle tells of a little boy who learns martial arts from his guardian and protects the secrets of Kung Fu.
In each, the protagonists are growing into adulthood without the loved ones who raised them. Beyond beautiful illustrations and lovely language, these books offer Chinese characters, non-Western viewpoints, and a glimpse at a world we might not otherwise explore.
Noyes spins Red Butterfly from the perspective of a young girl about to be sent from the home and family she loves dearly. Though the princess is a young girl, ???still a child with [her] hair / yet cut across [her] forehead,??? she knows that she may never see her family again. As her marriage to the king of Khotan draws near, she recognizes the splendors of her father???s kingdom and mourns their loss. As she says ???Good-bye, small silkworm. / Good-bye red butterfly,??? she knows that she ???would give every silver hairpin, every jade carving and gold ornament / for one brush of southern mist, / one windy, silken promise??? / that home be with [me] always.???
Ultimately, the princess???s longing causes her to risk grave punishment by having her maidservant weave the cocoons and seeds into her ornate hairdo for the journey to Khotan. We learn in the author???s note that her new kingdom protected her by guarding silk production as jealously as China did. While most children might not be able to empathize with the princess???s courage and risk-taking, they certainly understand the difficulty of leaving a beloved home and family, even for a brief time.
Like the silk and kingdom they portray, Blackall???s illustrations for Red Butterfly are luxuriously splendid. Many of the garments are decorated like butterflies, paying homage to the creatures that provided the beauty and wealth of this culture. The kingdom is filled with joyous colors, light, and quiet. The princess???s face is darling, sweet and strong at the same time. We can see she is a little girl and our compassion for her dilemma swells. When she makes her perilous decision, we see also her determination, disobedience, and will. She???s a survivor.
Little Eagle is a young boy who is rescued by Master Yang, a legendary wise man in 15th Century China. Master Yang learns that the boy???s parents were brutally murdered by General Zhao and he welcomes the boy into his home, becoming his guardian. One night the boy awakes and spies Master Yang practicing Eagle boxing, a specialized form of Kung Fu. In the shadows, the boy diligently copies the Master???s movements. When he displays his strength and knowledge in a street fight, Master Yang is angry but proud. He takes the boy on as his disciple, finally giving him a name, ???Little Eagle.???
Throughout the rest of the story, the disciple learns from the master and, as these tales usually go, eventually exceeds his master???s strength and skill.
Years later, Master Yang and Little Eagle must use their Eagle boxing to defend themselves, and their extraordinary knowledge of Kung Fu, from the same General Zhao who murdered the boy???s parents. Though they win, Master Yang is mortally wounded.
Little Eagle combines a lovingly told story with paintings that fill the page with color and movement. Set in the era of a brutal leader, the images are darkly hopeful. The illustrations convey the heaviness of the historical moment with a shadowy autumnal palette; they also sing the optimism inherent in the relationship between the boy and the master through their elegant lines. As the boy learns his lesson, a two-page spread shows how ???he worked very hard through the passing seasons. / Until he forgot fatigue / Until he overcame pain. / Until he no longer felt the weight of his body.??? The boy is shown balancing on pylons using only his heels as he does the splits, on one foot as he carries weights, on one elbow and the opposite foot, and on his head.
Little Eagle is left alone in the world, but he takes with him faith, wisdom, and strength. Master Yang has told him to use the secrets of Kung Fu only for good. We can imagine that he follows this last order because despite living in a dark time, he has been raised with respect and love.
Many children???s stories show perseverance in the face of disaster or the loss of one or both parents; I suppose nearly every fairy tale begins that way. Red Butterfly and Little Eagle (originally published in French as Petit Aigle) play on the universality of these themes by giving us Chinese folklore and art. The authors??? notes in each book provide background to begin a conversation or perhaps a family research project.
Other Book Buds reviews about Chen Jiang Hong.
Charlie's Treasures
by Richard Neumann; illustrated by Dian de Wolf
Stone in the Surf Press
Okay, so you're laid off from various high-tech jobs. George Lucas won't hire you. Repeatedly. Your wife leaves you. You lose your house, pension and life savings. Your life generally sucks.
But you have this idea for a kid's book ...
My first thought: "Oh G-d, how do these people find me?"
My second thought: "Wow, this would make a great post."
Folks, meet Richard Neumann, the most persistent and charming loser you'll ever find online, who should turn his self-deprecating wit to writing children's books when he gets over the need to have a Message and Take This Seriously.
Charlie's Treasures is the story that kept him going when all else was gone. It's about a boy and his marbles. No, he doesn't really lose any. He visits a funky old shop and tells the mysterious, white-bearded old shopkeeper about each one. He knows a thing or two about playing marbles, that Charlie.
What's missing: A character arc, a conflict, relevance to anyone born after 1970 or so.
What it's got: Some terrific description, a lot of heart and cool marble trivia, and moody art that captures the boy's wonder.
Plus, it's got Neumann, who schlepped to New York to hawk his manuscript, visiting 110 publishers in 10 days. Geez, I get one lousy rejection and I'm useless for a month. Who feels like a loser now, huh? The consensus he heard was that the book was pitched at adults but illustrated for kids (I agree) and he resorted to starting his own publishing company.
He's been flogging the book on every webcast that will have him. If this guy sold gumption, he'd make back his fortune and then some. I'll wait for him to create characters like himself; larger than life, unstoppable as a hurricane, wicked smaht and wryly humorous. Kids love that stuff and parents eat it up. That means leaving sentimentality aside and going for raw emotion, and that might prove tough for a guy who's been through so much.
And, Richard, one little tip: hire a copy editor. Trust me on this one.
Rating: *\*\
Armando and the Blue Tarp School
by Edith Hope Fine and Judith Pinkerton Josephson; illustrated by Hernan Sosa
Lee & Low Books
When Stephen Colbert coined truthiness, he no doubt meant more cynical manipulations than this sweet, uplifting story about an eager boy in a squalid shantytown who yearns for some schooling. But going into it, I had that ol' gut feeling that the teacher and his tarp were likely real, and I assumed the boy to also be real and not a "composite," whatever that may mean.
My disappointment was keen, and grew more so reading end notes that raised as many questions as they answered.
The composite creation called Armando lives on the edge of a Mexican trash dump, where he's expected to join his father in digging for usable cast-offs and food. It's a sad, dreary existence, but Armando steals time each day to gather with other kids on a tarp spread by an American, Senor David, who teaches them reading, math and art.
Armando, filled with youthful optimism, hopes that even this meager schooling might one day lead to a better life.
It does, but not until a fire sweeps through the shantytown. Armando's drawing of the blaze ends up in an important newspaper, and a donor is found to build a school.
As the end notes explain, the authors encountered teacher David Lynch in 1985 while freelancing for the Los Angeles Times, and his school now has four walls and no shortage of Armandos. They decided to build a fictional story around his school. But were there no true stories among those amazing and brave families to chronicle?
And if their original article led to the anonymous donor, why did they need to invent the fire and the boy's artwork of it?
Why, in fact, invent the boy? Did they feel that having a dramatic character arc overruled the readers' yearning to believe? Were they aiming for some Greater Truth?
It's impossible not to draw parallels with Mia's Story by Michael Foreman, who also met a hardscrabble family living off a landfill, albeit in Chile, that also underwent a transformation. Foreman clearly took liberties in his second-hand recounting.
Foreman insisted Mia was a real person and I had no reason to doubt it, however fanciful his re-telling. Hints of magical realism could be interpreted as superstition or wishful thinking, but no such leaps of logic seem acceptable when it's the character, and not the story, that is pieced together.
Perhaps the problem's my "gut" and not the storytelling, but a tale that plays on expectations and emotions without being up front still feels like a manipulation.
Rating: *\*\
CELEBRITY SMACKDOWN!
The Boy With Two Belly Buttons
by Stephen Dubner
HarperCollins
Stephen who? I promise you a celebrity and you're saying Stephen freaking WHO?
Freaking is right! As in Freakonomics, a big ol' bestseller on economics. Yawn. Dubner is yet another smug smartypants mooching off the New York Times' paranoia for having a blog on absolutely every subject whatsoever. Okay, so he's not Madonna or Will Smith. It's kinda iffy whether he's a real celebrity.
This still qualifies him to pen Children's Lit-rah-toor, as in For The Ages, for future dissertation writers, for awards committees. I know this because I've gotten three press releases on it. Two came via email -- including one from his research assistant. In my day, interns padded a resume by licking out the coffee pot and bending over for the HR folks. Now they have to flog insipid kiddie books too. It's getting tough out there.
Not since Jason
Alexander committed acts of literary indecency on the Tooth Fairy has a
celebrity (or near enough) sunk to such grimace-inducing depths.
It's about this boy, named after the author's son, just like books
written by real celebrities. Wow, can't they all get their own vanity press already?
Anyway.
So this boy has ... no way ... can't be ... two bellybuttons! Yes
way. And his parents don't think this is a big deal. He doesn't even
notice the diff until he sees baby sister with the standard-issue
singleton. This must be the only kid whose pop,
uncle, babysitter or random stranger didn't dispense moose
kisses on his middle. A tragedy right there.
A professor of buttonology who might've been a clever plot device
instead turns him away--without examining the evidence. The kid pulls
his shirt up every other page or so, but not for the good professor?
Hmmm ... I sense a don't-trust-experts subtext here to go with the
out-of-touch parents. Chip on the ol' academic shoulder, eh?
Lucky for us, the author had recently interviewed Stephen Spielberg
for the NY Times before being inspired -- if that's the right word --
to write this crapola, which I know from one of those deeply meaningful press
releases.
And did he mention he writes for the NY Times? This means he must have worthwhile things to
say. Not in this book, but generally.
Back to Spielberg. The boy smacks into the fabu director, who we know is cool
because he wears a baseball cap with his tux. And he assures the boy
that he's special and he's going to make a movie about him. Gives him his
card too.
And so what is The Message? If you believe press releases (Yes, yes! Send more ...) it's that we're all special. Isn't that special?
But if you're half awake, you realize what he's really saying is that
only Hollywood can give you the validation you crave. Pretty uplifting,
no?
This is such a flagrantly ill-advised,
blundering foray into the culture wars, I found myself empathizing with
family-values conservatives who wail about this subversive, lefty
Hollywood shit all the time. Maybe they actually have a point, except
to be subversive, it has to be clever. We're all pretty safe on that
score.
Awrighty, I think we got him on the mats. Now to pin
this bad boy but good. Yes, I'm thinking Blurb-O-Mat -- the
instant quotes he can use for flap copy. I'm all for helping desperate
publicists:
"Gives navel gazing a bad name."
"Gets his anatomy wrong -- belly buttons aren't at all the right orifice for such a hack job."
Rating: NO BUDS
Iggy Peck, Architect
by Andrea Beaty; illustrated by David Roberts
Abrams Books for Young Readers
Around here, we experience deja vu over Iggy Peck, a wunderkind of 3-D thinking. Iggy built diaper pyramids at age two; Seth made parking lots for his cars and trucks, aligning them with surgical precision. Between Iggy's modeling clay pagoda and Seth's Lego mansions, I'm thinking we know little Iggy pretty well by now.
Like us, Iggy's folks are proud, if somewhat flummoxed. But he really hits the wall with 2nd-grade teacher Lila Greer, who doesn't appreciate the finer points of chalk castles. She and Iggy butt buttresses until a class outing gives Iggy his chance to save the day with some ingenuity and a whole mess of shoelaces.
Beaty rescues this from being yet another "you're special too!" book by keeping the focus on Iggy's restless mind and quirky creations. And genius isn't like having two bellybuttons, or some of the other idiocy in print; it's a trait that many kids do have, potentially putting them out of sync with our color-in-the-lines, ritalin-doped world.
I must confess to two degrees of Iggy here: I've met Beaty and we chatted about our kids and her writing career over drinks at the kidlit blogging conference recently. She is one silly chick too.
But if the book didn't pass muster, I'd say so. Fortunately, I don't have any ethical conundrums about recommending it.
This book is fun -- and funny, and she does it all in a deceptively simple rhyme scheme: aabccb, which is a bitch to pull off consistently. But Beaty has virtually no syllables amiss:
"Ignacious, my son! What on Earth have you done?
That's disgusting and nasty, It stinks!"
But Iggy was gone. He was out on the lawn
using dirt clods to build a great Sphinx.
Roberts throws in some world landmarks, graph paper and pencil sketches to keep adults peering closely, while kids can admire the jazzy, multi-culti characters and outlandish constructs. He's become one of my favorites for portraying kids with a hip, retro sensibility; he clearly thinks they're smart. And he's right.
Rating: *\*\*\*\
Other Book Buds reviews for David Roberts: Dumpster Diver
Jazz Baby
by Lisa Wheeler; illustrated by R. Gregory Christie
"Brother's hands tap. Sister's hands snap ..." and before you know it, the whole family's got rhythm -- and rhyme -- as the impromptu music grows and proves infectious. Even the doe-eyed, grinning baby joins in with a loud "Go, man, go!" as everyone takes turns bopping and hip-hopping with him.
Wheeler's onomatopoeia (when words simulate sounds) careens along to a syncopated beat like electrons bouncing around an atom smasher; highly charged and fast, fast, fast. Sure, you can buy heavy parenting tomes written by Ph.Ds. on the beneficial effects of music on early childhood development, or you can just watch Jazz Baby in action.
And like all teeny-weeny boppers, he reaches the end of the day and his limits, just in time for his parents to slow the tempo down and switch to some blues-y lullabies.
Christie's gouache paintings are the perfect dance partner to Wheeler's punchy verses with elongated figures who seem to sway with the beat.
Rating: *\*\*\
Note: Another book by this illustrator is reviewed here.
PHOOEY!
By Marc Rosenthal
That pretty much sums up my attitude. Oh wait, we're not talking politics, are we? This is a kids' book. Gotcha.
There's not much text, but you don't need it. You take one bored kid in a small town, and let him kick a tin can and see what happens. Add a stray cat, an elephant, some pirates, a bucket of paint, a tray of pies, and much else, as that kicked can sets off ripples of activity.
And the boy notices none of it. Typical! The slapstick works well here, keeping eager eyes busy roaming over the pages for the next sight gag. It has a retro look, like a 1930s comic; think Rin-Tin-Tin with attitude.
I've already read it to Seth several times, Mr. "I'm soooo bored" himself, and he recognized himself in it. It's now the most dogearred, food-stained mess he owns, a high honor.
A fun one for a rainy day, or to make a point, or just for a laugh.
Rating: *\*\*\
Pirates Don't Change Diapers
by Melinda Long; illustrated by David Shannon
Sick of pirate books? Me neither. And you know if David Shannon's the illustrator, it must be deliciously awful. The pirates must look extra smelly and weirdly ugly, but in a totally non-scary way.
And so they do, in this sequel to a book I never read but wish I had. Little Jeremy Jacob has blue eyes as big as saucers, and they get even rounder when his pirate buddies show up looking for the treasure they buried in his yard.
Mom's out running errands. Dad and the baby are napping. Okay, make that just Dad.
You can probably figure out the plot from here as the pirates go nuts trying to keep wee Bonney Anne quiet long enough to dig up their loot. But does anyone ever buy a pirate book for its plot? Pirates ... treasure ... that pretty much sums things up.
Long blithely sticks in a few anachronisms, which Shannon zealously exploits, for a few zings and groaners that parents will get sooner than kids. It's sorta like the criticism of Shrek--it parodies meta-stories that kids haven't read yet. So how do you explain its humor?
Aw, never mind. Shannon's art is so malevolently cunning, such a seemless combination of messy and bright, detailed and chaotic, and so chock-full of visual gags that the book's a can't miss.
Rating: *\*\*\
Rainstorm
by Barbara Lehman
Lehman's specialty is picture books without words, which means her simply rendered watercolor and ink art must do all the heavy narrative lifting.
Fortunately, she's always up to the task, and fans of her clever Museum Trip will welcome this pleasing book about a bored boy stuck indoors on a rainy day. A ball kicked under a chair leads to discovering an old skeleton key, which he tries in several locks before opening an old chest.
We start with a full bleed of a wealthy boy in Bermuda shorts in a mansion by the seashore, peering out at that ominous, purple sky. When he disappears into the chest to an underground passage, her graphics grow smaller, into comic-strip panels. The boy hustles through the passageway--and these panels--before Lehman pulls back and pauses on an enormous spiral staircase that winds up a full page and disappears from view.
Not to worry, there's nothing scary. It's the inside of a lighthouse--brilliant, no? New friends show up
and they're all about smiles and good times, until at some unguessable
signal, it's time to leave their sunny isle.
Once again, I'm simply astonished at Lehman's singular mastery of space, using picture size like puncutation, letting us know where to put emphasis as our eyes glide across the page or seize on a particularly arresting image. Watch her classy use of white space, which she can use to frame a picture, or break the frame, depending on her purpose.
Without shading and only the barest of lines, Lehman manages to conjure up
a fully three-dimensional area with imposing passages and enormous
rooms. Her palette moves from formal and dreary to bright and outdoorsy without colors ever clashing or jarring--all the hues bleed into the page for a soft, muted feel.
Despite all this grown-up analysis, at no point do her compositions shoot over a child's head. A young reader will stop at precisely those moments where he or she needs to figure out what's happening.
Not all the pages seem perfectly sequential; Lehman skipped many
intermediary steps of how the kids get from here to there or what
happens next, which a child should easily intuit.
That keeps the pace brisk and builds suspense; and her minimalist touch
makes a tiny dot of a mouth express apprehension or boredom or awe,
depending on context.
There's some class-consciousness there too: the local kids are multi-ethnic, barefoot and easygoing, even if they're the ones who remind the boy to go home. And the mansion is straight out of the Gatsby era--all starched shirts and folded napkins. When the boy undoes his tie, unbuttons his Oxford and unlaces his saddle shoes, its significance won't be lost on the littlest readers who may be unaware of the cultural baggage that comes with such attire.
Kids should easily grasp the idea that the boy and his playmates live in realms separated by more than a secret passageway below a narrow straight of water. Her obvious grasp of how to convey such differences in a lighthearted way is the best part of the book's magic.
Rating: *\*\*\*\
The Dumpster Diver
by Janet S. Wong; illustrated by David Roberts
Think Oscar the Grouch meets Thomas Edison, and you've got Steve the Electrician, the unofficial king of creative recycling.
He's a hero to three city kids who hose him off after his expeditions into dumpsters in the alley beneath their windows, when he emerges with armloads of other people's junk. The kids share his enthusiasm for building hybrid contraptions and mash-up doodads from their urban "treasure."
Narrated by one of the kids, a boy who nicknames himself "the Nozzler," the story takes several unique and frankly realistic turns while remaining fresh and inventive. Frank's a whiz, but he's also a bit of a nut job, and he runs afoul of a cranky neighbor, and then the garbage turns on him, quite literally. It's not pretty.
Wong follows the story where it logically must go, without shying from controversy or pain, which forces the kids to weigh risks and rewards. Imagine that--kids making their own choices, acknowledging mistakes, and growing from it. Yet the character arcs are so organic to the plot, we're never hit with an overt "message," a refreshing change from so many ham-fisted, moralizing books for kids.
Roberts was a happy choice for illustrator, with his self-described love for retro and vintage anything, not to mention his fondness for the beloved Sesame Street pack rat who inspired the kinder, gentler Steve.
Roberts' watercolor and ink illustrations have a messy, collage-like feel, and the type is printed on bits of scrap paper, cloth, torn doilies, even a band-aid for that grubby touch. Extra mega-bonus points for a multi-culti cast that fits the urban setting. And he too doesn't shy from gross details--check out all those cockroaches. Shudder.
Rating: *\*\*\*\
Other Earth Day suggestions:
Dougal the Garbage Dump Bear
Tracking Trash: Flotsam, Jetsam, and the Science of Ocean Motion (Scientists in the Field)
Spring training has come to my beloved Florida. Cubs season will soon blossom in Chicago. That means peanuts, crackerjack, the National Anthem and lots of water cooler talk about stats and steroids.
Ahh, baseball. I'm not obsessed, but there's something thrilling about the stadiums and the warm, summery air, the organ music and people waving and the players in their tight uniforms. Oooh, especially that.
I have three books up at bat about America's favorite pastime. They're all fun--not a bad hitter in the bunch. Today, the most controversial one's up first:
Out of the Ballpark
by Alex Rodriguez; illustrated by Frank Morrison
Oh, I know all about the BACA folks who don't like celebrity kidlit authors. I'm on the fence about the whole thing, but the sports hero known as Arod's come up with a pretty decent story. Why hate him because he's beautiful?
This purports to be a story he wrote his very own self about his childhood in the Dominican Republic. There's a Spanish version out too. My son, who is learning Hebrew in school, only likes the Spanish version read to him. Go figure.
The story isn't exactly true; it's that dreaded "based on" idea. The young Alex works his little tush off. He's a dedicated tyke; he practices catching a ball off his bedroom wall, even, which drives his Mama nuts--she works as a cleaning lady (not anymore, I bet). And, yeah, he scores the winning run in the big game. Okay, so he doesn't get big points for originality.
But he's a cheerful, green-eyed kid, and if you don't root for him, it's 'cuz you're eating sour grapes instead of peanuts.
Morrison's acrylics are super-charged with light and energy; I've seen his illustrations for Queen Latifah's Queen of the Scene and there's no one who captures athletic kids with more verve, from the swatches of electric colors to the exaggerated lankiness of their limbs.
The lesson: it didn't come easy. Arod worked for it. And at the end? A tribute to his wife and son. Now that's hot.
Rating: *\*\
Love the Baby
by Steven L. Layne; illustrated by Ard Hoyt
It is perfectly okay to win over this reviewer with lavish flattery. Inscribe a book with all kinds of nice sentiments and I'm yours.
Both Mssrs. Layne and Hoyt stuck their John Hancocks on this for twice the sugar. So it skipped the slush pile and went straight to my test subject.
A not-too-exact transcript of our exchange:
Me: This is a book about you and how you get mad at your sister.
Seth: Yeah, she gets all of my attentions.
Me: You mean she takes Mommy's attention away from you?
Seth: No! She takes all of my attentions so that I don't get any.
Needless to say, Seth found an immediate ally in the little bunny driven hopping mad by all the fuss over the new baby. And the dogearring commenced at once.
The immediate thing I liked: this was quite obviously written by a Dad. Us Mommies are all about kissing away hard feelings, or using levity to dissipate the tension. But Layne tackles it square on. The narrator is one unhappy bunny, after all. The baby steals all those tummy tickles and special songs and block towers that are supposed to go to him.
Love the baby? Love this! So brother bunny fakes it, making all kinds of unhappy faces--until the baby's up all night, when Layne cleverly revisits all those special somethings, this time to help bond brother and brat.
Layne keeps his focus on the small gestures and everyday moments that mean so much to kids, which I think is what made it so real to my son. Feel free to steal Layne's idea for soothing sibling rivalry, which is quite obviously what he intended (though most days I'd settle for "At least don't kill the baby.")
Hoyt's jealous bunny boy should get an Oscar; his righteous suffering comes across in a full range of grimaces, scowls and pouts. At times he overdoes the pencil shading and everyone looks a bit jowly, but don't miss the family "snapshots" on the title page that give you a run-up to the opening, or the homey details in the rabbit warren.
Other books by this illustrator: I'm a Manatee.
Rating: *\*\*\
The Little Prince And His Magic Wand
by Jillian Curtis; illustrated by Janet Mattison-Price
The author of this sweet fairy tale emailed me recently and asked me to take a look, and I'm happy to help. It's gotten a number of favorable reviews on Amazon.com, though I'm sorry I don't have a cover image to display.
She's a very interesting woman, initially nervous about revealing she's self-published because she wanted to retain the rights, until I pointed out that my readers generally root for the little guy. You're all waaay too smart for mass market hoopla, which is why you keep finding your way back to my humble blog.
Ms. Curtis doesn't like comparisons to the slick, highly commercial stuff, but then neither do I. This is a pleasant and easy read without all that glitz and gloss.
The little prince has armies at his command, but yearns to learn magic. He sets off on his hero's quest into an enchanted forest with his scepter and a starry cloak. He encounters the Spirit of the Forest, a pretty sprite ensnared in the nettles, whom he quickly helps. The two form a nurturing bond of mutual affection and respect.
This is a story about kindness and its rewards--not material, but spiritual--and about two people connecting on an emotional level, but without the lavish, Disney-style spectacle of a wedding and Happily Ever After. They part the best of friends, having helped each other toward achieving their dreams.
Rating: *\*\
A Celebration: The Year of the Boar begins Feb. 18th
The Magic Horse of Han Gan
by Chen Jian Hong
Okay, Chinese traditionalists, here is your book.
Chen trained at Beijing's Academy of Fine Arts and has dedicated his career to relating the history and traditions of his ancestral home. He even painted the illustrations directly onto silk to emulate the story's subject, a painter who lived 1,200 years ago but whose lifelike renderings of horses are still celebrated today.
Han Gan's family was too poor to indulge his love of drawing, until a wealthy artist discovered his talent and bought him paper, inks and brushes. He excelled at horses; the only humans in his art are riding or tending the magnificent steeds he creates. They may've been a little too lifelike: one day, a warrior comes to him with an unusual request.
From there, the story takes a fabulist turn, with a subtle message infused with Chinese wisdom. Chen's prose is lean and understated, giving us just enough to fuel the imagination, while the illustrations really stoke the fire.
The plain silk backgrounds and flattened perspective help us keep our focus on the important figures, with white-clad Han Gan seeming small next to the busy aristocrats hobnobbing over tea or those fine, muscular equines who prance and chomp at the bit. He's the only one in white, however, which immediately draws our eye to him.
The way inks bleed into the silk affects the way robes seem to drape and adds texture to a nighttime sky. Chen's palette is muted, with subtle grays, greens and beige, except for great streaks of angry crimson used on walls to create a sense of enclosure, or on war gear to add excitement, and even in a red sunset as the din of battle loses its allure.
As your eye follows those reds, you'll notice crimson serves a practical purpose: the compositions are off-center, with figures spreading unevenly across the picture plane. The spot use of crimson ties everything together, creating symmetry and harmony out of chaos.
Gorgeous stuff, and a great introduction to the Chinese aesthetic from a purist.
Rating: *\*\*\
The Prince’s Bedtime
by Joanne Oppenhiem; illustrated by Miriam Latimer
There are those of us who don’t believe in Ferberizing to get a kid off to sleep. When we tried that on our infant son, he howled on and off for four hours, then puked on himself. After that, we didn’t listen to the “let ‘em cry it out” crowd.
But this troublesome tyro’s another story. The King and Queen try everything; a magic potion, dancers, magicians, you name it. Finally, a crafty old lady reads him a story and tricks him into closing his eyes. But this is after several frustrating nights where pretty much the whole kingdom is up entertaining the tot. Oh hello, you think maybe he’s getting a little too much stimulation? Have you tried curbing the sugar and chocolate in his diet?
Yeah, we tried those things too. And you know what eventually worked for us? Reading him bedtime stories.
Latimer uses acrylics and collage to ward off sleep just long enough to enjoy her vivid streaks of loud colors and bouncy figures who gesture wildly while mugging for the prince’s attention. No wonder the poor kid can’t nod off. You won’t want to miss anything either.
Rating: *\*\
