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New Socks by Bob Shea. Little Brown & Company. $12.99

What is it you want out of your average everyday picture book? Do you want a story? A plot of some sort with a beginning, middle, and an end? Or are your demands a little more broad? I mean, what if a picture book went and just talked about socks for pages at a time? These days, publishers of children’s literature have had their eyes opened wide by the phenomenal success of titles like, “Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus”. So suddenly it’s perfectly okay for the narrator of a work for preschoolers to talk to them one-on-one without having to go so far as to dredge up a standard storyline. With Bob Shea's, "New Socks", all you have t do is combine an ultra-mod look with an over-the-top enthusiastic presentation and you’ve got yourself a book that walks the line between what’s cool and what’s inspired.

A glasses-wearing yellow chicklet (who is apparently named Leon, though the book never calls him that) asks you to guess exactly what it might be about him that’s so new. The glasses? Not so much. No, he’s wearing his New Socks. They fit him to a tee, look good, and there’s nothing better for sliding across a wooden floor. As we watch, the chicken uses the socks to overcome his fear of big slides and pretend to ring up the President. When at last his energy dies down a little the chicken says to the reader, “What can’t these New Socks do?” The last line in the book sums it all up. “Now I’m all excited to get pants!”

First off, this may well be the very first hipster picture book I’ve encountered, published in the last five years. Mod titles are a dime a dozen and you can find more rock, rockabilly, punk, jazz, and blues books for kids than you’ll ever have a need for. But how many of us have ever encountered a hero with thick black-framed glasses and a singular fashion sense? If the chicken in this book confessed that he found these socks at an awesome vintage store in Williamsburg for $3.00, I wouldn’t blink an eye. The fact that it takes a childhood staple (a sometimes unnatural love for the inanimate) and molds it into a picture book format is just gravy on the cake. So to speak.

As I may have mentioned before, “New Socks” probably owes its very existence to “Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus”. This isn’t to say that the two books are particularly similar. Aside from the avian hero who talks to the reader, the two are fairly different in terms of tone. No, it just seems to me that had “Pigeon” not garnered itself a Caldecott Honor and numerous profitable accolades, Little Brown & Co. might have been less inclined to take a chance on the pair of bright orange footies found here. The Mod look, coupled with the joyful storyline, makes the book unique. I can think of plenty of books that could be considered “good design” but that don’t have so much as a lick of humor to them. So it’s nice to sometimes see an exception to this rule. I'm not sure how repeated readings will fare, mind you. Still, I can see adults growing tired of the reading of this book long before their kids ever do.

“New Socks” to my mind, is the very antithesis of the “Fancy Nancy” books. Clean lines. A color palette of orange, yellow, and aqua blue. And nary a sparkle or a smidgen of glitter in sight! I mean, technically it’s all about fashion, but in a completely different kid-centric way. Where “Fancy Nancy” is all about embracing the idea of fanciness in a pseudo-grown-up style, “New Socks” feels more open and honest. We’ve all had that one piece of clothing that we’re just so jolly well pleased with. I mean, let’s face it. If I had a pair of big, comfy, plush, bright, beautiful orange socks I’d probably go all nuts over them myself. The chicken here is true to himself. This is what pleases him and he’s just so happy with his newest acquisition that it’s all he can do not to tell you about it for pages on end.

You know who this chicken character reminds me of? Have you ever watched those old Looney Tunes sequences involving Foghorn Leghorn and his small bespectacled chicken friend? This, right here, is that same chicken only modernized, hipstered up, and contemporized within an inch of his life. As I page through the book, I wonder if it will end up being a good read aloud with kids. Put just the right amount of force, bluster, and sheer good spirits into a reading and this chicken may veritably leap off the page. It’s worth a shot anyway. As new books go, it’s nice to find a title that’s so well and truly pleased with itself. If you’re looking for something fun, but you want to purchase a picture book that’ll suck in style-centric parents, you couldn’t ask for a more ideal title than “New Socks”.

On shelves now.

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Eggs by Jerry Spinelli. Little Brown & Company. $15.99.

You read enough of an author and you begin to get ideas about them. And if that author in question cuts a wide swath about them, the urge to stereotype them is strong. Jerry Spinelli cuts such a swath, yet all I’d read of him until now was a little “Maniac Magee” here and a touch of “Stargirl” there. Books that are nice enough in their own way but that don’t really make my pulse pound any faster. There is a blessing one should bestow upon all authors: May your reviewers have low expectations. Cause honestly, I got a kick out of “Eggs”. I mean, it’s basically “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” for kids. Edward Albee would love this book, I’m sure. And while some people may see that as a deficiency, I’m all for it. You can find plenty of books where a boy and a girl meet and become bestest buddy buddies and skip happily off into a relationship that hasn’t so much as a thimbleful of oomph or excitement to it. Far rarer is the title where the words leap off the page and begin to gnaw on the reader's anklebone. There’s a true streak of anger at the core of “Eggs” which will make it equal parts adored and reviled by its potential readership. Want a book that sparks discussion and red hot emotions? Spinelli delivers.

David found the dead body hidden under a pile of leaves in the woods during an Easter egg hunt. The girl was about thirteen and beautiful, and he told her all his secrets, knowing she’d never tell. So imagine his shock and horror when a couple months later that same girl is sitting in the local storytime, asleep. She is not dead. She is Primrose and once it is made clear that she was never dead in the first place (the gal has a seriously twisted sense of humor) she and David are inseparable. They’ve their own family problems, of course. David’s mom is dead, his father is always away, and he loathes his kindly grandmother for everything she isn’t. Primrose, on the other hand, lives in an abandoned van outside her house. Her mother is an embarrassment to her, believing herself to be a fortune teller who (at this moment in time) will read feet like some people read palms. But with two such violent personalities, it’s only a matter of time before David and Primrose are on the outs. They’ll either fix what’s broken in the other, or be worse off because of their friendship in the end.

First off, I can’t think of better booktalk material. Seriously. Boy sees dead girl in a storyhour? Did someone just spill a whole cup of awesome all over this book? Some books grab you by the throat from page one and don’t let go until you’ve read them cover to cover. This is such a book. It’s not, however, an easy read. You’re constantly on your guard as you go through it. With two such unpredictable characters, Primrose and David are just as likely to slap you as kiss you. Their little pre-adolescent nerves are all ah-jangled and it’s this herky jerky clash of personalities that keeps the book consistently interesting.

The title is also very good at showing the true unattractiveness of desperation. David’s grandmother would do anything for her grandson. If only he’d just throw her a bone. Some kind of thoughtful gesture and all would be well. But the lines are drawn very clearly here. He has decided to hate her because she’s not his mother and she, for her part, doesn’t know how to break through to him. It’s the rare children’s novel, actually, where the main character says that he out-and-out HATES the innocent family member taking care of him. Spinelli sets it up so that you dislike David for what he’s doing to his grandma and, at the same time, you understand where he’s coming from. The woman is a suffocating presence. Her neediness just serves to repel the people she’s trying to befriend. And that you don’t end up detesting David from start to finish is a kind of accomplishment of writing in and of itself.

I also thought that the sheer absurdity of the narrative has a way of sucking you in. Spinelli reveals his characters in fits and starts. Primrose is the kind of person who’d wave at an imaginary car, then not like the imaginary driver’s response and start yelling and spitting. David’s the kind of kid who can weigh down the carrot that his grandmother gives him to eat every day with a kind of heady symbolism, entirely of his own.

There are unanswered questions by the story’s end, I’m afraid. The one that comes to my mind in particular concerns Primrose. The van outside her house where she stays is egged on a regular basis. We never get any specifics about this except when Primrose mentions that the kids who did it “followed” her and that they get their older siblings to drive them over to her van. It’s a mighty odd element to leave unexplained. Otherwise the ending is a strong one. It doesn’t cheat. You don’t get flowers and sunshine and a sudden smattering of scales falling from various characters’ eyes just in time to wrap up the narrative. None of that. It’s a good ending. A strong ending. An earned ending.

The best section in this book comes from the character of Refrigerator John. Night after night the kids take refuge in his home. Looking at them he sums up their relationship nicely: “What brought them together? Sometimes they acting their own ages, sometimes they switched. Sometimes both seemed to be nine, other times thirteen. Both were touchy, ready to squawk over nothing. They constantly crabbed at each other – yet at the same time he might be braiding her hair, or she might be making him lunch. Half the time they left his place snarling, yet the next day there they were, together, knocking on his door.” Good children’s books with complex characters and motives are sometimes a little difficult to locate. “Eggs” at times feels like a bookclub’s dream. You could parse many an action taken and word said in this story without ever quite running out of topics for discussion. A book that is worth reading, at the very least.

On shelves now.

Notes on the Cover: Mm. The old no-title-is-good-title route. Clever work, Spinelli’s an old hand at this technique, what with Stargirl and all. Then again, Stargirl was a completely different publisher than this one. Looks like ye olde Hachette Book Group is looking to make their own titleless mark. I’m a fan of the photo. Very appealing but I do wonder if any kid who is not yet already a Jerry Spinelli fan will feel inclined to pick it up.

Other Reviews By: A Year in Reading, Our Lady of Syntax, Scholarlybrio, Pam's Postings, and a host of others that aren't showing up on Google's blogsearch.

Celeste's Harlem Renaissance by Eleanora Tate. Little Brown & Company. $15.99.

The thick children’s historical novel faces a challenge that the thick adult or YA novel doesn’t have to deal with. Adults and, to some extent, teens are put off by the number of pages in their books less often than kids. A kid might breeze through a 500 page book of dragons, sure, but realistic novels will often give them pause. That isn’t to say that the thick historical novel for middle grades shouldn’t exist. It’s just that the author and editor must always bear in mind their audience when they take monumental pagination into account. If a book can justify its size, it shouldn’t have any problems. “Celeste’s Harlem Renaissance,” is a remarkable story of loyalty, choice, and forgiveness. It cannot, however, justify its 270+ pages, and this is truly heartbreaking. I love what author Eleanora Tate came close to doing here. I only wish it could have succeeded in the end.

For Celeste, it’s practically the end of the world. Her father’s come down ill and rather than be allowed to stay in her home in Raleigh, North Carolina, she’s being shipped off to live with her Aunt Valentina in up-and-coming twenties Harlem. For shy, uncertain, perpetually afraid Celeste, this is a tragedy. Then again, everyone says that Valentina lives a life of luxury amongst the elite of Harlem society. How bad could it be? As it turns out, pretty bad. Fired from her cushy job as an opera singer’s attendant, Valentina’s been reduced to scrubbing the floors of the theaters she longs to perform on someday. Celeste is soon helping out, and it looks like her nasty Aunt Society back in Raleigh was right when she said Valentina would work her to death. Slowly, however, the jobs lessen and Celeste comes to learn about, and appreciate, all the wonders of the Harlem Renaissance. She makes friends. She impresses people with her violin playing. But just as she starts settling in, word comes of a tragedy back home. Now Celeste needs to figure out where her heart, her loyalty, and her future lies. Fortunately, she has a new found strength to see her through her troubles.

Now I have a particular distaste for children’s books where a child travels to somewhere famous, say Harlem during the 1920s, and immediately runs into a couple big names while he or she is there. This was one of the many unfortunate crimes of “The Return of Buddy Bush,” and so it was with infinite relief that I saw Eleanora Tate was one smart cookie. It’s not that Celeste doesn’t have the briefest brushes with celebrity. She does meet James Weldon Johnson in a café, but that’s after she’s been in town a while and it’s loads better than the standard meeting-Langston-Hughes-on-your-first-day-on-a-street-corner version other authors would (and have) indulged themselves in. If the entire world of Harlem is there for you to write about, it’s difficult to pluck out the choicest people, places, and situations that will best serve your story. Tate, however, selects such moment with aplomb. You get a hint of the flavor of Harlem in this book without the text ever betraying the setting or the characters.

Speaking of characters, Celeste is a great heroine. Her growth is gradual but understandable and you root for her every step of the way. The problem is that Celeste is also uncharacteristically forgiving far and beyond past the point of believability. And when you get to the point where your protagonist isn’t understandable anymore, you’re in some kind of trouble. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me multiple times in the course of a 279 page novel, shame on the author for thinking we’d believe all of that. At some point Celeste is able to figure out that her aunt is jealous of her talents. “No matter what Aunti said, she was jealous of me, and jealousy was a terrible, dangerous thing. Like Aunt Society said, forgive, but don’t forget.” Unfortunately, Celeste seems incapable of heeding her own advice. Over and over and over, to the point where the readers finds themselves exhausted by their incredulity, Celeste keeps forgiving her aunt and forgetting her flaws. She’s convinced she can get Valentina to move back “home” to the South, and all a reader can wonder is why? Why would Celeste want this horrible horrible woman near her? It reaches a kind of crescendo of ridiculousness near the end when Valentina disappoints Celeste and her friends on their home turf of Raleigh. And even then Celeste is trying to get her to move to Raleigh again. It’s a broken record moment, and one that puts a sour taste in your mouth.

On the other hand, there were wonderful little real moments spotted throughout the text. Aunt Valentina’s jealousy of any praise that might get cast her niece’s way is as ridiculous as it is realistic. A kid might think it weird that an adult would get jealous of a child, but personal insecurities are rarely logical. Also, the slow conversion of Aunt Society from intolerant prune to difficult but understandable woman is so well done. So perfect. Tate’s characters have all three of their dimensions firmly in place. Even Valentina, busting with egotism and self-regard, has her good moments here and there.

The writing is lovely too. There are delicious sentences like, “Seemed like anything I tried to do to get back home was like grabbing fog with my fingers.” Or when Celeste returns to Raleigh again she’s told, “you’ve come back full of fire and sass, hair growing, filling out, speaking up. New York was good for you.” Tate knows how to keep a book moving, even if it means sloughing through unnecessary scenes and pages.

It's so frustrating that I liked this book. I liked it so much. I thought the story of Celeste was fascinating and that the arc of the story said some wonderful things. But there were at least 75 pages that could and should have been taken out right from the start. I finished this book roughly a month ago and gave it the old Did It Stay With Me test. And the thing about Tate’s writing is how memorable it is. I picked up the novel again and everything came flooding back to me. Not every author has that ability. What I would like to see is a paring down her writing in the future. Cut out the excess. Grasp those characters and those plots and those situations and put them out there without all the excess fat. This book reads like a sophisticated version of “Understood Betsy,” by Dorothy Canfield Fisher and shows many of the talents of the author. I urge you then to watch for Eleanora Tate in the future. This may only be her beginning.

Notes on the Cover: I'm actually rather fond of this. It took me a while to notice, but you can see that Celeste is, in a kind of skewed perspective, looking up at the image of her floozy aunt in the window. I like artist Suling Wang's clean lines and I appreciate that the publisher isn't trying disguise this book as contemporary (since I STILL haven't forgiven Scholastic for the crimes committed via A Friendship for Today). I may not fall into the majority on this one, but I like this cover.

First Lines: "Scoot your big bucket over, Cece, and let me have more room," Evalina yelled.

Other Blog Reviews: Middle & Intermediate Book Talk

Editors take note: This is exactly the kind of blog posting I like to see you guys do. Alvina Ling of Little, Brown & Co. has recently posted a sneak peak of what she is editing at the moment. I love this kind of stuff. Well done, Alvina. Let's see more of this kind of thing in the future.