Two Eggs, Please (2003), written by Sarah Weeks and illustrated by Betsy Lewin

Though they are universally well-intentioned, I must confess that I generally find "under the skin, we're really all the same" children's books kind of annoying.  Too often, I think, they approach the critically important but uncomfortably complex theme of difference in ways that are facile, painfully didactic, and sometimes awkwardly preachy.  No, we can't just hold hands and sing "Kumbaya."

Two Eggs, Please, however, is one book in this category that I never tire of reading, even though its  "different...but the same" refrain is a little simplistic, at least from an adult point of view.  This is a beautifully crafted, charming, and  humorous book that engages a "dual audience" in playful and creative ways (think of Sesame Street's parodies or of Mo Willem's Knuffle Bunny). 

Not that I would expect otherwise from a collaboration between Sarah Weeks and Betsy Lewin.  The prolific Weeks has written picture books (most famously the hilarious Mrs. McNosh series), early readers (most notably the Mac and Cheese series), three early chapter book series (Oggie Cooder, Guy, and Boyd), and several novels (including the award-winning So B. It).  Lewin, who has been awarded both Caldecott and Geisel honors, has a similarly long list of books to her credit and is best known for the Click Clack Moo picture books (with Doreen Cronin) and the Cowgirl Kate and Cocoa early readers (with Erica Silverman).

The premise of the book is that a parade of eccentric animal characters stroll, one by one, into an all-night NYC diner, each ordering "two eggs" but prepared differently (scrambled, over-easy, etc.)   There is no narrative voice or frame, and this proves a very effective strategy for avoiding a didactic tone.  Instead, most of the minimalist text is conveyed through word balloons and thought bubbles, with each character's speech presented in a font befitting his or her personality.  Lewin's palette of mostly primary colors conveys the brightness and energy of the New York nightworld.  Her trademark impressionistic watercolors and heavy black lines are playful, a touch surreal, and just the tiniest bit eerie, as a late-night diner experience ought to be.

Children will love the eclectic cast of characters, the "repetition with a difference," and the predictable refrain.  Adults will especially enjoy the "inside humor" typical of the best dual audience texts, jokes that escape most children, such as the obstetrician stork, the police officers who order their eggs "hard-boiled" and "soft-boiled," and the real-life waitress named Lupita, depicted here as a wolf. 

Incidentally, this is a great book for challenging the popular notion that picture books are primarily verbal stories "supplemented" by illustration.  Try first reading the text to someone without showing the images, and then ask what the story was about.  The second reading (of text and image together) will be that much richer and more delightful.

Miss E's Read: One of her favorite characters is a snake who orders his eggs raw and swallows them whole, as I suppose, snakes are wont to do.  The other is the crying gorilla baby whose desperate mother comes in for eggs on a hard roll---she especially likes the way that the other characters, through their facial expressions, respond to the baby.

Llama Llama Mad at Mama (2007), by Annna Dewdney.

Although Dewdney's Llama Llama series---now with four board books and a sixth picture book due out in the fall.---is starting to feel uncomfortably like a franchise, I will always have a soft spot for this, the second volume.  This story about Llama and Mama's Saturday morning shopping trip to a big box store expertly captures the inevitable, daily dance of conflict and reconciliation between parent and young child (Well, except that Mama is a bit more patient than most real parents, though I suppose that this part of the wish-fulfillment the text offers to both parents and children).  But what I find most impressive about this book is Dewdney's skill in presenting an all-too-painfully-familiar image of a child's public tantrum---complete with "[F]lying pasta" and "spraying juice"---in a way that makes even adult readers feel empathy for the child.

Part of this is achieved through Dewdney's playful, shifting rhyme, which lightens the mood even when Llama is at his brattiest.  That effect is further enhanced by her cool, gentle palette and soft-edged, highly textured paintings.   At the same time, the llamas very expressive faces and careful positioning reinforce on every page that this is, above all, a story about the tenderness of that mother/child relationship---Little Llamas actions, however dramatic, are secondary.  Most importantly, though, Dewdney creates empathy for whiny, cart-crashing Little Llama by showing us what a big box store looks and feels like to a small child.  The endpapers, for example, offers a collage of so many overlaid "Sale!!" signs that they make even an adult's head spin.  The third spread depicts the experience of waiting on line from a child's visual perspective.  The four adult figures on the page are seen only from the waist down, and their bodies fill the borderless page, enough so as to crowd Little Llama out.

I have heard parents complain that this book "does not teach a good lesson" about proper behavior---because Little Llama isn't punished for his outburst and in fact gets a treat at the end---but it's not supposed to.   Instead, it not only invites adults to see this everyday experience through a child's eyes but reminds us all how good it feels to forgive and to be forgiven, to understand and to be understood, and to be loved when we are least lovable, over and over again.

Miss E's Read:  She says that her favorite page is the last one, where Llama and Mama walk hand in hand eating ice cream cones:  "Because it makes me hungry for ice cream.  Pleeeeeeease!!!"

Anna Hibiscus (2007), by Atinuke. With illustrations by Lauren Tobia

Atinuke's Anna Hibiscus series (with five titles to date) may be my new favorite in the world of early chapter books (though Ivy and Bean still run a close second!).  Atinuke, a Nigerian-born storyteller currently living in Wales, has created a high-spirited, empathetic protagonist and tells of her adventures---ordinary and extraordinary---with great warmth, gentle humor, and joy.  What most impresses me about these engaging books, though, is Atinuke's ability to sketch out of the complexities and nuances of Anna's world---of her large African extended family and her white Canadian mother, of their adherence to African tradition and their embrace of technology, of the families relative affluence and the desperate poverty that surrounds them---without compromising either cultural authenticity or accessibility.  I also love that Antinuke offers a very different kind of family story, one in which grandparents, uncles, aunties, and siblings are as influential as parents and siblings, inviting Western readers both to question our assumptions about family life and to share Anna's delight in those relationships.

Each volume in the series is comprised of four linked stories, each of which could stand alone but is made more meaningful by its relation to the others.  The stories are generously illustrated (on almost every page) by Lauren Tobia, whose lively pen and ink sketches effectively capture Anna's vivacity and deep curiosity, give personality and distinctiveness to an unusually large cast of characters, and use overlapping figures to reinforce the closeness of these relationships.  Atinuke's voice is always lyrical and rhythmic, reflecting her grounding in oral storytelling, and she moves seamlessly back and forth between "the Queen's English" and African-inflected variants.

The four stories in this first volume, a Boston Globe-Horn Book Honor Title (2011), include "Anna Hibiscus on Holiday," "Auntie Comfort," "Anna Hibiscus Sells Oranges," and "Sweet Snow" all take on profound and sophisticated themes, but do so in a way that is still engaging and understandable to a first-grader. The first of these stories establishes the theme and contours of extended family life and of different cultural values.  Initially, Anna's Canadian mother desires a nuclear family vacation, but once they arrive at their destination, they quickly (and humorously) realize how much they miss and rely upon the interdependence of the extended clan.  The second story deals with the hybridity of both African and immigrant identity by focusing on the return visit of an aunt who has emigrated to the US.  The third story forces Anna to confront stark class differences---but does so with a delicate hand---as she inadvertently takes business away from children whose parents truly need their fruit-selling earnings.  Under the guidance of her grandfather, she realizes the terrible consequences of her action and must make amends.  And the final story sets the stage for the next volume, Anna's Christmas visit to Granny Canada.

Miss E's Read: 

Worth Noting:
You can hear Atinuke talk briefly about the experiences that shaped Anna Hibiscus and read from the book here.

The Anna Hibiscus series has been criticized for using a generic African setting ("Africa. Amazing Africa") rather than a specific African nation.  Many Western readers, the argument goes, already have trouble recognizing that Africa is not a country and tend to falsely lump all African cultures together.  Atinuke explains her difficult decision---driven largely by her desire to show Western readers that Africa is far more modern, urban, and economically diverse that they assume---both in this interview by the Playing By The Book blogger and in the embedded video interview with Jack Spicer.

Aliens Love Underpants (2007), written by Claire Freedman and illustrated by Ben Cort

 Miss E is at a point in her life (post-Kindergarten) when buttocks---and the things that either cover or come out of them---are the height of humor.  But even if this were not the case we would still both immensely enjoy this "pants-tastically" appealing and goofy book.

This collaboration between prolific UK creators Claire Freedman and Ben Cort has been so successful that it has been translated into multiple languages  (I counted 18 on Worldcat; Welsh and Gaelic editions are available directly through amazon.com.uk).  It has also launched a series of four books, with a fifth title due out this fall (Pirates Love Underpants).

One of Freedman's contagiously comical quatrains appears on each two-page spread, moderating the pace of the text and inviting us to savor each illustration before turning the page.  Her upbeat ABCB rhyme propels the story forward, sets a playful tone, and invites children to anticipate the next word, but it never feels forced.  Cort's vibrant, inviting, textured paintings are simply hilarious.  His rounded, whimsical, bug-eyed aliens are of the "soft and silly" variety (like Sendak's Wild Things).  And both his skillful use of proportion and particularly his attention to detail (like the aliens interacting with the family dog and cat and the bumper stickers on the spaceships) make this a delightful read.  Aliens Love Underpants is enough of a "butt book" to make readers of a certain age laugh aloud, but it is gentle and tasteful enough to be enjoyed by those who prefer more subtle kinds of humor.

 Miss E's Read:  
She love*love*loves the endpapers, which are decorated---shockingly enough---with crazy underpants, and she enjoys picking her favorites.   

Worth Noting:
Aliens Love Underpants is included in the new Magic Town interactive website and app (I haven't had a chance to explore those yet, but you can read about them here.)

The series website includes downloads and games, though nothing earthshattering (mostly digital and printable coloring activities).

I'm Back!!

Back, I hope, to regular book blogging after a bit of a hiatus.  And looking forward to reading with you once again!

Rainstorm, by Barbara Lehman (2007)

Rainstorm is one of the many delicious fruits of yesterday's trip to our public library.  It is also one of five beautifully crafted wordless picture books by Barbara Lehman, a 2005 Caldecott honoree for The Red Book.  Like her other books (and like many of David Wiesner's wordless books), Rainstorm elicits wonderment by moving seamlessly between fantasy and reality in ways that evoke surprise and delight, that feel magical. 

The story opens with a "poor little rich boy" trying unsuccessfully to entertain himself in his large, empty house when a rainstorm keeps him indoors.  He accidentally stumbles upon a key, which opens a trunk, which leads to a secret passage and, eventually, a parallel world.  Lehman's paintings are seemingly simple and cartoonish (in contrast to, say, Wiesner's detailed realism).  But they are intensely evocative, revealing the emotional journey of a protagonist whose eyes are simple dots and whose mouth is a merely small curved line.  She also uses border, perspective, and other picture book conventions to bring her readers fully into the scene; we are most definitely along for the ride.  as with other well-designed wordless picture books, Rainstorm welcomes "readers" at all levels of language proficiency and offers them a truly interactive and creative "reading" experience; teachers might find it effective as a creative writing prompt for older children and/or in working with English Language Learners.

Like so many classic children's books, Rainstorm registers our desire to turn boredom into adventure---a desire that young people may express more explicitly but from which their elders, no matter how busy, are not immune.  It invites readers of all ages to revel in the possibility of finding something extraordinary beneath the veneer of our ordinary lives.  In the process, it promises, our loneliness will give way to companionship and connection as surely as the rainstorm gives way to sunshine.

Ivy + Bean (Book One), written by Annie Barrows and illustrated by Sophie Blackall (2006)

To date, Miss E hasn't been very interested in chapter books (which is perfectly fine with me, BTW).  But so far, she loves the Ivy and Bean books so much that she's been willing to forgo our usual 3-book nightly ritual in order to fit in as many chapters as we can before Light's Out.  She seriously can't get enough.

This series (8 books so far) by Annie Barrows and Sophie Blackall really does give young readers/listeners the best of both worlds: the textual detail of a chapter book and the high quality illustrations of a picture book.  Since each volume is around 120 pages, Barrows has ample time to fully develop both of her protagonists and meaningfully introduce a fairly large supporting cast.  Blackall's playful and expressive ink sketches adorn just about every two-page spread, sometimes occupying a whole page (and occasionally two), other times inhabiting strategic margins and corners.  Indeed they are substantial enough to offer a full visual telling of the story and perfectly matched with the tone and energy of the text.

Second-graders Ivy and Bean are yet another incarnation of the classic "unlikely BFFs" formula so central to children's literature, but they (and their adventures) still feel fresh and original.  Though Bean initially seems the typical "bold tomboy" and Ivy the demure "good girl," they are delighted to accidentally discover how much they actually have in common, above all, a love of adventures that marry physical and imaginative prowess.  In this first volume, this involves casting a spell on Bean's mean tween sister, Nancy.  Secret passageways, theatrical makeup, lots of fence climbing, an outgrown play house, and a whole mess of worms add to the fun.

Certainly, not all parents will love these books; Ivy and especially Bean revel in their own irreverence, rule-breaking, duping of unsympathetic elders, etc.  But I found them almost as charming and hilarious as my daughter.  And I'm not above admitting that their adventures were a satisfying fantasy---and vicarious delight---for both of us.

Oh yeah...and so far, we haven't run into any princesses, tutus, or assorted pink fluffiness.  And that's kind of refreshing.

Miss E's Read:  Did I mention that there is a "big, muddy worm pit"???  And two little girls with rather good aim??  Or that Bean wiggles her tush and sticks out her tongue when she is angry?

Worth Noting:  Scholarly types might enjoy my friend Jenny Miskec's essay on this series in the Children's Literature Assn. Quarterly.  You do need Project Muse to access it.

Yes Day!! Written by Amy Krouse Rosenthal and illustrated by Tom Lichtenheld (2009)

Yes Day! is another incredibly clever collaboration by Amy Krouse Rosenthal and Tom Lichtenheld, the pair who are also responsible for Duck! Rabbit! (among others).  The premise is simple but irresistible:  Imagine that for one whole day each year, you are the boss, and your parents have to honor your every request!!  The kid appeal is obvious; this may be the most blatant wish-fulfillment fantasy I've ever seen.  But adults will appreciate how smartly this book is crafted, enjoy its rich humor and its gentle warmth, and be reminded of how powerful simple pleasures can be.

On each pair of pages, the image on the right conveys the child's request, as well as its context; readers must flip the page to see the wish fulfilled, heightening our feeling of anticipation.  These wish-fulfillment scenes dominate the book, each one rendered far more boldly than the scene of request, typically as full-bleed images that often extend onto the facing page or take up two pages (the play of borders and white-space is, not coincidentally, reminiscent of Where the Wild Things Are).  Lichtenheld's cartoonish artwork enriches the book's natural humor and strikes exactly the right note.  The illustrations often contain details (subtle and not-so-subtle) of event and context that are barely hinted at in the understated text, catching us by surprise and deepening the comedic effects.  For example, while we know that "Can I Use Your Hair Gel" will not end well, we don't know until we turn the page that "Yes Day" also happens to be Formal Family Portrait Day and that a goofy beret-wearing box-camera aficionado will capture Junior's bow tie and a spiky mohawk combo for posterity.  Deceptively simple but profoundly expressive, the visual text effectively conveys the protagonist's high energy and great delight as well as the intimacy and joy of the parent-child relationship. 

Miss E's Read:  She absolutely adores the concept behind this book---what's not to love??? (assuming that you're a kid, that is).  Her favorite part, though, may be the endpapers, which depict a calendar full of "no" days---"You Gotta Be Kidding Me Day," "Over My Dead Body Day," When Pigs Fly Day"---that are genuinely funny to adults and laugh-out-loud hilarious to small children.  Adults should be warned, however, that this is a "can and will be used against you" page.

Why Did the Chicken Cross the Road? (2006)

In this unique volume from Dial Press, fourteen all-star illustrators offer delightful visual answers to an age-old question.  The collection showcases "signature style" pieces by such heavy hitters as Mo Willems (Knuffle Bunny), David Shannon (No, David!), Jerry Pinkney (The Lion and the Mouse), Tedd Arnold (Fly Guy), Mary Grandpre (Harry Potter), and others.  But what is most remarkable about it are the broad range---in terms of subject, tone, and medium---and the sheer inventiveness of the artists' responses to the World's Most Cliched Prompt.

Willems, for example, brings in his trademark Pigeon for a police interrogation, while Harry Bliss draws on a cast of mutated zombie chickens (who seem poised to begin the "Thriller" dance).  David Shannon imagines a cartoonish chicken chauffeuring around sundry other barnyard animals, while Jerry Pinkey's delicate and more realistic watercolor animals spread a tablecloth on the ground for a tea party.   Yet while all of the illustrations strike different notes, humor and whimsy dominate.  There are many pages that make my daughter laugh out loud---and without stopping---even though she is a little too young to fully appreciate the book's premise.  Moreover, many of the images are incredibly detailed, and some include rather sophisticated visual puns and allusions that appeal to adults without excluding or alienating children.

Miss E's Read:  This book was in heavy rotation in our house for several weeks.  She thinks it's hysterical.  Marla Frazee's contribution is one of her favorites, as is Bliss's zombie page.   Judy Schahner's (Skippyjon Jones) free-range/de-ranged chicken also makes her fall out of her seat.

Bink and Gollie, written by Kate DiCamillo and Alison McGhee and illustrated by Tony Fucile (2010)

This 2011 Geisel Medal winner doesn't quite fit the traditional parameters of the early reader.  Like Grace Lin's Ling and Ting, it's divided into multiple chapters (in this case three), but unlike Lin's book, it doesn't play by the "rules" of the early reader with respect to vocabulary and sentence structure.  But it is a delightful read aloud and---even more importantly---a memorable and emotionally rich story.

Bink and Gollie is the brainchild of two authors who normally don't write collaboratively with anyone.  Kate Di Camillo has been a Newbery honoree for her middle-grade novels Because of Winn Dixie and The Tale of Despereux (and has previously been recognized by the Geisel folks for one of her Mercy Watson early chapter books).  Alison McGhee is less well-known in the world of children's books but is a prolifc, award-winning author in her own right.  And illustrator Tony Fucile is a veteran Disney/Pixar animator as well as the author/illustrator of the picture book Let's Do Nothing.

Like Frog and Toad, Elephant and Piggie, and so many other classic characters in children's literature, Bink and Gollie join a long line of unlikely BFFs whose loyal friendships and embrace of difference---along with their charming eccentricities---endear them to readers young and old.  The two girls live next door to each other---gloriously sans adults---in dwellings that tell us a great deal about who they are.  Older, taller, elegant Gollie lives in a postmodern treehouse whose decor can best be described as "mod" and whose kitchen produces perfect pancakes.  Younger, brasher Bink, with her wild, uncombed hair, garish rainbow socks, and relative disregard for public opinion, inhabits a scaled-down cottage at the foot of the tree, lined with shelves full of peanut butter, on which she largely subsists.  And in each of the three chapters, their differences temporarily---and most comically---drive them apart, leading them in each case to a deeper understanding of the other and then to a joyful (and equally comic) reunion.

Fucile's cartoonish illustrations reflect his background in animation.  Using largely a black and white palette (bold pen and ink paired with softer greys), he uses touches of color very sparingly but effectively through powerful visual contrast.  His expressive drawings perfectly capture the energy, personalities and the emotional journeys of both girls. They vividly bring the girls' whimsical homes to life on the page, leading us eagerly into the fantasy.  And they add a whole other layer of humor, both to the girls' actions and interactions and to his lively, witty streetscapes.

Notes:  You can preview the first 10 pages of the book here.  I've also included a link to Betsy Bird's exuberant and detailed School Library Journal review.

Miss E's Read:  She says she most loves "that there's an older one and a younger one," and thus resonates with many of her (and, I imagine, other children's) pretend play fantasies.  The pet-fish-roller-skating-oopsie incident in the last story hit a little too close to home (even though it turns out far better than any of our own fish crises have), and we do have to skip those pages ;)

Benny and Penny in The Big No-No, by Geoffrey Hayes (2009)

This 2010 Geisel medal winner (ALA award for early readers) is one of three Benny and Penny books published by TOON books.  And like the other Geisels I've looked at, it does not disappoint, despite the fact that early readers are such a tricky category, with many restrictions on vocabulary and sentence length.

TOON Books publishes high-quality comics at the standard three early-reading levels.  If you are a fan of graphic literature, you'll be hooked; if you're not, these books could change your mind.  The series editorial director is Francoise Mouly, and its advisor is her husband, New Yorker cartoonist Art Spiegelman.  Spiegelman wrote the Pulitzer-winning Maus books (yes, the comic books about the Holocaust), which were among the first to give graphic literature mainstream---and literary---respectability; he also produced one of TOON's early offerings, Jack and the Box. 

Benny and Penny are a brother and sister pair rendered in charming, dynamic colored pencil illustrations.  In this volume, they sneak into the new neighbors' yard to retrieve a pail, and both mystery and rather muddy adventures ensue when they meet the child who now lives there.  Part of the appeal of this story lies in the relationship between the siblings, who are eminently realistic both in their rivalries and in their loyalty.  They are also very energetic and fun-loving, and it's hard not to revel along with them in the glorious messes of children's outdoor exploration.  A gentle, playfully presented warning about making hasty assumptions lies beneath the more explicit lesson, and the children's mistakes are handled lightly and without judgment, reminding us these they are a natural part of a child's social education.  The story ends with some not-so-subtly physical comedy that will have young readers laughing aloud---and perhaps adults as well. 

Worth Noting:  Toon's online resources are wonderful; find them here.  Teachers will especially appreciate the file of thoughtful lesson plans.  The site also features a CarTOON maker that looks super fun.  Readers can also  access eleven TOON books online for free, with audio, through the TOON Book Reader---in five different languages (and intended partly to support ELL kids).  In fact, you can read The Big No-No for yourself here.

Miss E's Read:  She most loved the mud.  And it's abundant!!!

Pilobolus: The Human Alphabet, with photographs by John Kane (2005)

This was an accidental find during our last trip to the library.  It is also, hands down, the most original and stunning alphabet book I've come across yet.

Remember the old-school episodes of Sesame Street where several kids lay on the ground and used their bodies to form the "Letter of the Day"?  That's the basic concept here, except that the letters are executed by highly skilled professional dancers, exquisitely balanced upright and gracefully intertwined.  And that's just the beginning.  Each page of the book not only features a small "human alphabet" letter in one of its corners but is dominated by a second image (also formed by the dancers' bodies) signifying a word beginning with that letter.  This interactive dimension challenges the reader to guess the word being represented.  And many of these are somewhat abstract---at least at first---inviting us to think and see differently---and to look again and again.  Thus this book calls us---adults and children equally---into an experience of genuine wonder as we marvel at the wit and genius behind each creation, the beauty and skill of human bodies pushed to the limits of strength and flexibility, and the profound intimacy and collaboration such work requires.

Note: The Pilobolus Dance Company has been around for 40 years.  You can see samples of their work on their website or by searching for them on YouTube. 

Miss E's Read:  She loved guessing the images and later spent several evenings poring over its details in her darkened room, long after she was supposed to go to sleep.  She also, naturally, wanted to re-enact her favorite pages, which didn't exactly work so well... ;)

The Red Shoes, written by Eleri Glass and illustrated by Ashley Spires (2008)

First, I'd like to apologize for a few weeks' unannounced hiatus.  I got more than a little caught up in the whirlwind of final classes and exams, family visits, graduation, etc., and I'm afraid that my blog was one of the casualties.  But welcome back!

Fortunately, this quiet book has absolutely nothing in common with Hans Christian Andersen's more famous---but terribly dark and disturbing---fairy tale by the same name. Rather, it's the story of a young girl's shoe-shopping expedition with her mother, set in the 1960s.  Predictably, the mother advocates a sensible, boring pair of brown lace-ups...but the girl has her heart set on the one pair of spirited red shoes high on the shelf.

Author Eleri Glass, a Canadian storyteller about whom little information is available, presents the story in what is essentially a free verse poem.  Her lyrical, often spare stanzas are rich in metaphor and personification; the red shoes "giggle" and "whisper" to the girl, "happy apples, waiting to be picked." Ashley Spires, illustrator of Binky the Space Cat (among others), renders the story in a rather drab palette of predominantly browns and greys that set off the red shoes (and their metaphorical meanings) by contrast.  She makes powerful use of angle, perspective, and proportion to effectively convey the emotional nuances of the girl's experience, while vintage details add charm and gentle humor.

In addition to being beautifully crafted, The Red Shoes is highly relatable.  On a more obvious level, young Fashionistas will be all too familiar with At the same time, though, it speaks eloquently to one of the central tensions of adulthood.  It cries out to all of us who long---secretly or not so secretly---for what is bold, glamorous, distinctive, and whimsical against the forces of a daily life that too often demands conformity, dutifulness, practicality and expediency. 

Miss E's Read:  She loved it.  She wants red shoes too.  Only not the pair that are in her closet, naturally.

N.B.  Twelve enlargeable pages from the book are available here.

Not a Box, by Antoinette Portis (2006)

It is not surprising that Not a Box, Antoinette Portis's debut project, was both a critical and commercial success, receiving major awards from the American Library Association (Geisel Honor Book) as well as the New York Times (Best Illustrated Children's Book) and even spawning a sequel, Not a Stick.  For Not a Book shares much in common with the very best picture book produced for younger readers, it is deceptively simple, and---like so many of the classics---it is primarily "about" the power of children's imaginations.

Part of what is so smart and effective about this book is its tight, repetitive structure.  The first pair of facing pages includes, on the left, a tan background with a single line of text; an off-stage grownup inquires why the subject is sitting in/standing on/squirting a box.  On the right, we are presented with a minimalistic black bold-line drawing of a bunny positioned behind/above/next to a simple rectangle, against a white page.  Then, in the next set of facing pages, the pattern repeats with a twist; on the left, the words, "It's not a box" appear against an orange background, while on the right, the previous "bunny and rectangle" drawing is repeated, with the addition of bold orange lines turning the box into a race car/mountain/blazing building.  And this alternating structure repeats several times, inviting children to make predictions and to "read" the bunny's emphatic protests (This is also a very fun and accessible book for "taking parts.")  Moreover, when the pattern is finally disrupted, that rupture is all the more dramatic and memorable.

Though this noteworthy structure is part of the book's craft, one of the ways that it "works" on its reader, it's not what is most endearing and powerful about it.  Not a Book skillfully taps the memories of every reader---child and adult---who has ever loved a multifunctional cardboard box, who fondly remembers riding, pushing, tumbling, markering, and hiding in it until it needs to be duct-taped back together more than once.  It offers adults a momentary return to a simpler, less commercial childhood and children the pleasure of vicariously putting naysaying adults in their place.  Most of all, it celebrates the creativity, resourcefulness, and joy of a child's unfettered imagination---the very thing many of us spend our adult lives yearning to recapture.

Miss E's Read:  This book invites re-enactments.  Indefinitely.  'Nuf said.

Ballet for Martha: Making Appalachian Spring, written by Jan Greenberg and Sandra Jordan and illustrated by Brain Floca (2010)

Ballet for Martha: Making Appalachian Spring came into our house with a stack of other ALA award winners ordered by our university library (It was one of the 2011 Sibert Honor Books, given for "the most distinguished informational books published in English" for young readers.)  It's not the kind of book I would have otherwise taken home to share with my four year old; recommended by its publisher for ages 9-12, both its concept and its research methods (Primary text sources! and Footnotes!!) seemed a bit too sophisticated for a preschooler.

But I'm glad that I did, and so is my daughter, who can easily sit through the whole book (just 48p, including notes, many with minimal text) without getting antsy.  She is captivated by the dancers' movements and does not seem bothered by vocabulary and concepts above her level (certainly the authors' short, crisp, measured prose helps).  Most importantly, she genuinely seems to connect with the idea (familiar from baby ballet class) of using your body's movement to tell a story. 

Ballet for Martha is the 10th collaboration by authors Jan Greenberg and Sandra Jordan, whose previous---and award-winning---work together frequently deals with art and artists (as in Action Jackson and Vincent VanGogh: Portrait of an Artist).  Interestingly, Greenberg's body of work also includes two edited poetry anthologies (one a Printz award winner) that explore intersections between poetry and visual art.  Illustrator Brian Floca has won two previous Sibert honor awards, both for books that he both authored and illustrated (Moonshot: The Flight of Apollo 11 and Lightship). 

This book introduces Appalachian Spring in a way that is vivid and highly accessible, even to those not very familiar with ballet.  It effectively captures both what is revolutionary and what is distinctly American about this production.   At the same time, Flora's muted palette and pairing of ink with watercolor not only shows us the beauty of Graham's radical, intense, and often uneasy choreography but expertly recreates the expression and movement of the dancers.  What makes this such a distinctive and profound book, though, goes beyond the ballet itself and into an exploration of the creative process.  The authors and illustrator show---with a light, understated hand---the challenges, conflicts, and even tantrums that are part of the truth of this story.  But the thread that dominates is the story of a magical collaboration between choreographer, composer, and set designed that emerges slowly, sometimes painfully, but in the end triumphantly. 

Worth Noting:  Googlebooks offers a few pages of text and Flora's lovely jacket illustrations here.  And School Library Journal blogger Betsy Bird (Fuse #8) offers a far more detailed review here, with links to an interview with Brian Flora and to YouTube clips of the ballet itself.  And yes, I feel vindicated that she too thought the book was fine for a younger audience, recommending it for ages 5-10.

Thumbelina, retold and illustrated by Brian Pinkney (2003)

In many ways, "Thumbelina" is a strange tale to adapt for a picture book.  Certainly it is not nearly as dark as his more famous "The Little Mermaid" (the original mermaid suffers brutal pain every time she walks on her new legs, is called to murder her beloved prince in order to save herself, turns into seafoam when he marries another, and is finally granted the chance to earn an immortal soul through centuries of good deeds).  But while Thumbelina at least enjoys a far happier ending, rewarded for her goodness and stoic endurance with marriage to a handsome fairy king, it's not exactly preschool material, what with the initial kidnapping by an ugly toad and the three narrow escapes from potentially miserable forced marriages.

Still, the idea of a kind and lovely fairy, smaller than a human thumb and contently drifting on a tulip-petal boat when not resting in her walnut-shell bed, is inherently---and perennially---enchanting to many children as well as to adults.  And Pinkney's retelling---which mostly abbreviates the story, simplifies details, cuts Thumbelina's sad ruminations when she's dismissed as "ugly," and updates Andersen's prose---is vivid and capable.

The real attraction of this retelling, though, are the illustrations.  Brian Pinkney---the son of the legendary watercolorist Jerry Pinkney and Gloria Pinkney as well as the husband of Andrea Davis Pinkney, his frequent collaborator---is a master of his craft.  With almost fifty titles to his credit, along with two Caldecott and four Coretta Scott King honors, Pinkney is a major player in the children's book world and, more specifically, one of the key figures in the world of African American children's illustration.

Pinkney's signature style is a scratchboard technique; in this particular book, he uses colored inks on clayboard.  The result, in the case of Thumbelina, are dynamic, high-energy (lots of line and swirl!), delicate but playful illustrations that---at times bordering on the abstract---give a very contemporary feel to Andersen's 19th-century tale.  Moreover, though his style and medium are very different from those of his father Jerry, both Pinkney men are notable for taking the most European of fairy tales and re-imagining them with brown-skinned protagonists (often, as here, not specifically African American but resonant with a fairly broad group of readers who seldom see themselves represented in such tales). So while the tale itself is not one of my favorites, Pinkney's artwork is worth the price of admission.

Miss E's Read:  She loves to sit and examine the images without necessarily putting a story to them.  Her favorite pages are the spread where the butterfly pulls Thumbelina on a leaf (who doesn't love butterflies?); the pages where she comforts the (seemingly) dead sparrow; and (shocker!) the concluding pages where Thumbelina is given beautiful clothes and wings (which she finds far more interesting than the fairy-king bridegroom.)

And Tango Makes Three, written by Justin Richardson and Peter Parnell and illustrated by Henry Cole (2005)

Just this morning, I read the ALA's April 11 press release announcing the ten most frequently banned and challenged books of 2010.  And for the fifth time in six years, Tango topped the list (in 2009, it briefly slipped to the number two spot, behind Lauren Myracle's ttfn series.)

Presumably, the story behind this most controversial book is familiar by now.  Authors Justin Richardson (a psychiatrist) and Peter Parnell (a playwright and Richardson's domestic partner) recount the true story of two male chinstrap penguins in the Central Park zoo who paired off during mating season and were subsequently given the opportunity to hatch an egg that needed care and nurture. Prolific illustrator Henry Cole, who has illustrated over 50 children's books---including Harvey Fierstein's The Sissy Duckling---lends his considerable talent to the project

What is most ironic about the controversy generated by Tango is that it is both visually and verbally an exceptionally gentle book.  Working with very unsaturated watercolor and pencil, Cole's palette is very coll and soft, dominated by light blues, greys, and browns (even the penguin's coloring is more charcoal than black).  The illustrations of Roy and Silo together are graceful and tender, and their courtship is...well...pretty darned courtly.  Likewise, the font feels "light" and almost delicate.  Verbally speaking, the authors use parallel sentence structures, repetitions, and short breath units to maintain slow, careful pacing and soothing, balanced sound qualities.  Even the most poignant part of the story---the part where Silo and Roy want an egg of their own so badly  that they patiently attempt to hatch a rock---derives its emotional force from understatement: "When Silo got sleepy, he slept.  And when Silo was done sleeping and sitting, he swam and Roy sat.  Day after day, Silo and Roy sat on the rock.  But nothing happened."  The authors frame the story by briefly referencing other families in the zoo, the human "families of all kinds" who visit and the various species of animals who "make families of their own."  Gone are the overt didacticism of early Leslea Newman (Heather Has Two Painfully Earnest, Birk-Wearing, Nuke-Hating Mommies), the sometimes sharp-edged satire of Johnny Valentine in the 90s.  This is a sweet and tender story, executed by light, skillful hands.  Heck, it even ends with an idyllic melon-colored sunset and the promise of a peaceful bedtime for penguins and people alike.

Miss E's Take:  She said that it was a "great" book for kids "because the baby penguin is soooooo cute.  Her favorite page, of course, is the one that shows Tango slowly hatching.

But sometimes she skips the bedtime page.

We did talk a little bit about what book banning means, and when I explained that some people don't think that families should have two daddies, she replied, "Well, daddies give you whatever you want, and that's why I want two."  Well, alright then...

Note:  Although Cole's illustration website is a little busy for my personal taste, I imagine that children will love his "Game Room," which features a memory game, three virtual jigsaw puzzles, and a virtual painting game.

Another Note:  Since the publication of Tango, Richardson and Parnell have teamed up to produce a second picture book involving a real-life animal story and a pair o'daddies.  Christian, the Hugging Lion, an account of a lion's remarkable and enduring relationship with the two human dads who had him reintegrated into the wild, is a finalist in the 2011 Lambda Literary Awards

It's a Book, by Lane Smith (2010)

I chose Lane Smith's It's a Book to read and blog about tonight in honor of National Library Week (April 10-16, 2011).  Certainly, it's a book that above all else celebrates the joy of being absorbed in a book---even and perhaps especially in an era dominated by electronic media.  And it explicitly points readers to libraries---not bookstores---as the place where we go to obtain books.  However, this is also, I think, a fitting book for honoring librarians because of the critical role that they (and the American Library Association) play in defending intellectual freedom.  For while this book has not yet made the list of Frequently Challenged Books, it undoubtedly will soon, especially if incidents like these are any indication.

It's a Book is not a book with which all parents will be comfortable.  [Spoiler Alert!!]  Its cast of characters include a mouse, a monkey, and a (literal) jackass, the last of whom is the subject of the book's final punchline.  So if you're not comfortable saying "jackass" aloud at the end, this is probably not a book you'll enjoy sharing with your young companion/s.  (But please, please don't deprive other library users from the chance to make that decision for themselves.)

Smith, who has illustrated nearly 30 children's books (many of which he also authored) is no stranger to controversy or book banning.  His most frequent collaborator is Jon Scieszka, with whom he produced The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales (1992); he also illustrated Eve Merriam's Halloween ABC and Roald Dahl's James and the Giant Peach.  His signature style, much like Scieszka's, is always irreverent.

Like Stinky Cheese Man and The True Story of the Three Little Pigs (1989), which he also created with Scieszka, It's a Book is a metafictive comedy about reading---and the very future of the book.  A jackass, working busily on his laptop, questions a monkey about the strange "device" in his hands, wondering why it doesn't need a password and whether it can tweet.  When he borrows the monkey's book and finds himself absorbed in its story for hours, he finally seems to understand...or maybe not.

The School Library Journal recommends this book for grades 3-5, readers older than the traditional picture book crowd to whom it is marketed.  Indeed, both critics and fans have commented on this book's crossover appeal.  As with the Mo Willems books I've discussed in previous posts, there are jokes that only older readers will understand, like the part where the jackass "translates" a page from Treasure Island into text-speak.  There are some technological terms that a five-year-old may not know, like "wi-fi," and the concept is rather sophisticated---I've used it with college students to talk about metafiction and postmodernism.  

Ultimately, though, Miss E has always enjoyed reading this book with me.  The dialogue between the two characters (distinguished by different font styles and colors)---and the repetitious quality of the monkey's responses---enables her to "read" the monkey's part, while I play (hahahaha!) the jackass.  The ideas that the jackass doesn't know what a book is---and doesn't seem to be listening to anything the monkey says--- both strike her as hilarious.  And Smith's deceptively simply drawings of the two animals, whose changing facial expressions essentially retell the story in images, elicit gales of laughter every time.

Bonus:  Smith discusses It's a Book at length on his blog.  And the Amazon catalog reproduces (legally) about 25% of the book's pages and offers several related videos.

City Dog, Country Frog, written by Mo Willems and illustrated by Jon Muth (2010)

This collaboration between two of the most gifted storytellers currently creating picture books  is, quite simply, one of the most exquisite books I've seen in a long time.   I dare you to read it without wiping your eyes.  I'm actually little disappointed that it was not a Caldecott medalist (though I can also see how it might be too subtle and too sad to gain broad appeal).  As much as I've enjoyed A Sick Day for Amos McGee, City Dog, Country Frog is that much more breathtaking, more moving, more profound.

At first glance, City Dog seems rather a departure for Mo Willems (whose work I briefly discuss in my recent Pigeon post).  It seems far more in line with Jon J. Muth's quiet, solemn, understated Zen trilogy (Zen Ties, Zen Shorts, and Zen Ghosts).  But truly, this volume is a perfect blend of both creators' signature styles.  In the case of Willems, this is most apparent in the skillful ways he addresses adult and child readers on different planes; Muth, too, achieves a similar effect through his delicate, suggestive, achingly poignant watercolors.  For young children, this is a story of the joy and power of friendship---especially with those very different from ourselves---as well as a journey through the seasons.  For adults (or older children), attuned to the symbolism of the changing seasons and able to fill in the Great Unspoken---why Country Frog, who is so tired in the Fall, disappears from his rock come Winter---it is a gentle, sensitively-drawn reflection on the cycle of life, on love, grief, renewal, and legacy.

Miss E's Read:  "I like Spring, Summer, and Fall, but not Winter, because it's too sad."  Interestingly, she did become suddenly uncomfortable---rushing me through the Winter pages---during the saddest pages of the book; she could articulate that it was sad but couldn't (or wouldn't?) articulate why it was so sad or what happened to Frog.

Martina the Beautiful Cockroach: A Cuban Folktale, written by Carmen Agra Deedy and illustrated by Michael Austin (2007)

Carmen Agra Deedy is not only an author but also a professional storyteller, and this partly explains her masterful retelling of this traditional folktale from her native Cuba.  Martina Josefina Catalina Cucaracha, is a 21-day old insect who is "ready to give her leg in marriage."  The first three suitors who flock to her balcony are entirely unsuitable: arrogant, hot-tempered, and interested primarily in her good looks.  But fortunately, Martina's wise grandmother is on hand to administer a rather creative litmus test guaranteed to bring their true character to life---and to celebrate when she finds her perfect match.

In 2008, Martina received the ALA's Pura Belpre Honor Book award given to work that "best portrays, affirms, and celebrates the Latino cultural experience in an outstanding work of literature for children and youth."  And indeed, this book is not only a celebration of Cuban folklore but introduces a few elements of Old Havana (like its distinctive small green cockroaches, streetscapes, and cafe cubano and skillfully incorporates Spanish words in context.  While part of the charm of the story comes from its sweet and playful ending, it also comes from the gentle humor of this retelling, including its physical comedy, absurdly exaggerated suitors, and bilingual word play.  Austin's acrylics similarly draw out the comic aspects of the tale while also making cockroaches endearing and, through carefully chosen color palettes, give the whole book an otherworldly feel.

Note:  This book is also available in a Spanish language edition.

Miss E's Read:  Her favorite part is the page where Martina "crossed her legs / and crossed her legs / and crossed her legs."  But she also giggles hysterically at the idea of spilling coffee on someone's shoes.