triangle

by Mac Barnett &

Jon Klassen

Candlewick 2017

Triangle, an equilateral with a pair of eyes that look like painted white rocks and legs like burnt matchsticks, lives in his triangle house on the triangle side of his world. He goes out his triangle door one day, past where Triangleville becomes the Land of Shapes With No Name, into the Squaresville, where Triangle's friend Square lives.

"Now," said Triangle, "I will play my sneaky trick."

Triangle's sneaky trick is to hiss like a snake -- because Square HATES snakes -- until Square is so afraid that Triangle is doubled over in laughter and cannot hiss anymore. Once Square realizes he has been tricked the chase is on. Past Squaresville, the Land of Shapes With No Name, and finally into Triangleville where Triangle runs into the safety of his triangle home.

And where Square, too wide for the shape of the doorway, becomes stuck.

And then it is dark, and Triangle is afraid of the dark.

And Square claims it was his plan all along to play his sneaky trick on Trinagle.

But was it planned?

It's a punchline story, a chase cartoon with a simple ending and no real resolution, but completely within the realm of how children play. Klassen and Burnett have teamed up before with the existential Sam and Dave Dig a Hole and old world magic charm of Extra Yarn, but the depth of those stories is lacking here. 

Maybe that's as it should be, as this board book on steroids with its heavy board cover and the simplicity of something intended for readers still young enough to chew their books. This is the opening salvo for a series of beginning readers -- Square and Circle will follow -- and I would hope that future stores had a little more meat to their rocky bones. As it stands it's cute, in a borrow-don't-buy sort of way.

shh! we have a plan

by Chris Haughton
Candlewick  2014

Four black-ops solders take on an impossible night mission with little hope of success. Just kidding!

In the depths of a purple-blue night four night stalkers our out with their nets in hopes of coming across something to catch. Actually only three of the stalkers have nets, the smallest seems to be tagging along. When they come across a bird the Little One cannot help but call out "Hello, Birdie" but is quickly hushed. "Shh! We have a plan."

Following the Rule of Threes the older trio creep stealthily upon the bird on the ground, in a tree, and out on a frozen pond, always failing to catch their prey. At last the Little One offers up some bread crumbs and they stalkers are suddenly surrounded by many birds. With the birds so close it seems as if catching them will easy until they realize they are outnumbers and outsized and off the run.

When they see a squirrel they turn to Little One. "Shh. We have a plan." And thus we end back where we started, with the stalkers unwilling to accept the truth and Little One shrugging at the reader.

Is it a lesson in respecting and protecting small creatures? The triumph of innocence over mischievous adventures? A subtle anti-hunting tract?

How about kids being kids?
Kids getting a notion in their head and proceeding with what they believe is a well-considered plan only to have it fail due, in part, to their own limited understanding of the real world.

Okay, I'll get out of the deep end now.

Stylistically, Shh! We Have a Plan is dark, but it's the darkness of night, the darkness of woods where even the light of the moon only makes things look various shades of blue. The human characters have a ragged torn-paper look to their edges while the natural elements have a cleaner simplicity to their shapes. The animals in particular, with their bright reds and greens and geometric shapes, are reminiscent of Alexander Girard without mimicry. A hat-tip in general to mid-century modern in both design and storytelling is owed here from Haughton who, it seems, has a genuine affinity for the naif.

The Skeleton Pirate

by David Lucas
Candlewick Press 2012

The unbeaten Skeleton Pirate who refuses to accept defeat is beaten not once but twice in this quirky picture book.

The Skeleton Pirate knows one thing: that he will never be beaten, and will fight to the, uh, death to prove it. But when a band of pirates chains him up and throws him over board... he still will not accept defeat. rescued by a Mermaid he is free for but a moment when they are both swallowed by a whale. Still refusing to accept his plight the Mermaid has a plan to help them get out of the whale, which succeeds, and sends them both sailing into a golden sunset on a gold-filled ship made of gold, where the Skeleton Pirate looks into those Mermaiden eyes and accepts he has finally been beaten... by love!

While the title might sound on the scary side, younger readers aren't going to be put off by the stylized Skeleton Pirate Lucas has created. Looking for all the world like he might actually be made of balsa wood, he's so far from reality that no child would even consider asking the really big "adult" questions like: Why does he only wear pants? and; "If he's a skeleton, isn't he already dead?" and; "Why is he so cranky?" In truth, I missed the biggest clue of all on the title page where the Skeleton Pirate appears to be emerging from the wreckage of his own ship. Not to read too deeply here, the Skeleton Pirate is a lost soul doing the only thing he knew how to do until something (or rather, someone) came along to show him the truth.

Love beats fighting, any day.

Lucas is very crafty in not letting the romance show up until the final image and gives up a goofy tale in the process. Lucas has a thing for whales, and the sea, and this time around his watercolor palate feels much bolder. I'm a fan.

Happy Harry's Cafe

by Michael Rosen
illustrated by Richard Holland
Candlewick 2013

Harry makes great soup, or so we are told.

Harry is a Bear.
He work's at a cafe that bears his name.
Harry's friends are birds and cats and other animals.
Harry's friends love his soup so much they come running before it runs out.

But on this day Matt the cat does not like the soup.
Because he hasn't tried it.
Because he has no spoon.

Once Matt has a spoon and tries the soup.
He is so moved he sings a song about the soup that sums up the story.
And everyone joined in and they were all happy.

In the world of children, this story makes sense.
Or rather, it makes up a certain non-sense that is a part of the way kids make up stories.

But it is not a real story.

It is like soup without a spoon.
There is nothing to taste,
and worse,
it is like everyone around you telling you how good the soup is.
But unless you can taste it it isn't very good soup.

Happy Harry's Cafe is told in a very simple way.
Even the youngest lap-sitters will be entertained.
They can watch the animals in Harry's cafe laughing and having a good time,
and then they can retell the story themselves
because it requires very little of them to remember.

On the book flap we are told that Michael Rosen is an award winning author.
And illustrator Richard Holland has illustrated many books
including books that inspired him to develop the collage style he used here,
a mixture of simple cut shapes and suggestive sketching.

They both live in England.

There is nothing bad to be said about them here
except that this particular soup they created
like it's sparse storytelling and muted palate
is pretty bland.

Worlds Afire

by Paul B. Janeczko  
Candlewick 2004  

A circus tent. A catastrophic fire. The voices of those who were there, victim and witness, their stories in verse.  

On the afternoon of July 6, 1944 a fire broke out at the Ringling Brother's Circus while in performance in Hartford, Connecticut. The tent canvas had been waterproofed with paraffin and gasoline, a combination that turned the entire circus effectively into "one huge candle / just waiting for a light." No one knows how it began but once the tent caught fire it was only a matter of moments before it was engulfed in flame. 500 were injured and 167 people died, and Janeczko has chosen to let the voices of the people involved tell the story from their own perspective.  

Janeczko leaves it up to the reader to pick up the clues within each poem to guess who survived. The poems are separated by three parts, or acts if you will. Part 1 gives us what people were thinking and doing just before the circus. Some were excited kids, some were circus performers getting everything ready, and piece by piece, line by line, we get little details that anticipate the disaster to come. Part 2 deals with the disaster itself. What it was like to be dealing with large cats when the fire broke out and people were running everywhere. What it looked like from under the bleachers by a kid who was collecting the change that fell out of people's pockets, how he was able to cut a hole in the side of the tent with a pocket knife and escape. Part 3 covers the sober aftermath as survivors and townspeople come to grips with the horror. A soldier anxious for active duty overseas finds working morgue detail more gruesome than the war he is about to head into.  

With an economy of image and detail Janeczko delivers a portrait as alluring and ephemeral as a flickering flame.  There's a very Spoon River Anthology feel to the book, with its ghostly echoes of people from the past reliving a single day – a single, horrific day – in the gentle breeze of a summer day that changed, defined, or took their lives.

Captain Slaughterboard Drops Anchor

Story and drawings by Mervyn Peake 
Originally published in Country Life magazine 1939
published in book form by Macmillian 1967
reprinted by Candlewick 2001

The Captain and his oddball crew settle in on an uncharted island where they encounter a creature the color of butter and then... do nothing?  

The good Captain is a bruiser who has run through his share of crew. His ship, The Black Tiger, has lost many a men to sharks and the plank leaving only five bizarre scallywags for company. One day they spot an uncharted island and go to investigate, finding among the unusual flora and fauna a pan-like creature the color of butter. "Just exactly the sort I've been wanting!" the Captain says cryptically. Entranced, the Captain quickly spends all his time looking at, doting on, dancing with, and generally hanging out with the Yellow Creature, so much so that the crew are reduced to doing little more than acting as servants or a bored audience. The Captain is so happy with his new life on the island that he finally decides to give up pirating for good. His crew (presumably with the ship) have long departed, and to this day the Captain and his Yellow Creature are there on their island, eating exotic fruit and watching the sun set and dancing hornpipes whenever they please.

he looked like this

It's near impossible to explain this picture book's weird vibe. Peake's illustration style in this book is like a whimsical version of the stuff Basil Wolverton was producing for MAD magazine in the 1950s. With exaggerated, elongated facial features and preposterously proportioned bodies, Captain Slaughterboard and his crew are beyond misfits, beyond human, perhaps only one evolutionary rung above the fantastical creatures of Edward Lear. In addition, Peake's handwritten text give the book the feel of a journal or an illustrated captain's log.



As for the story itself, my modern reader's brain wants to know a whole lot more about what Peake's intentions were. The Captain has clearly been running through men in search of something, seeking out some unknown something that has driven him at the expense of others. But then when he finds the Yellow Creature the effect is identical to that of falling into a blind, fawning love. The Creature's coy, almost fay expressions seem to acknowledge the Captain's stirrings and perhaps indicate the feelings are mutual.

Is this crazy? A story about a pirate captain at the end of his career finally deciding to retire on a remote, deserted island and setting up home with an exotic native?

l'après-midi d'un faune?

Alright, I'm going to set my adult goggles aside and try to look at this again. We've got a rough pirate captain driving what little of his crew he has to find some new thing, something never before seen or imagined. Finding the Yellow Creature and his island the Captain has finally found what he was looking for, but the crew comes to realize that this is not what they signed up for, and they depart. The crew sails off into the sunset (unseen, they simply disappear from the book half way through) and the Captain spends his sunset years happily in his island paradise. What's wrong with that?


By modern standards, what's wrong is that there's no real character development and little plot conflict to speak of. The Yellow Creature is an enigma. There's almost something menacing about his silence and manner, with facial expressions that can be read as innocent or seductive or duplicitous, and understanding his intentions might confuse younger readers.

Or maybe not. Kids don't question an owl and a pussycat sailing to far away lands and getting married by a pig, they don't think twice about forests full of bears who live in houses and sleep in beds and eat porridge, and pirates are simply cool.

Another curiosity no longer in print, though still available in libraries and worth a peek.

Around the World

by Matt Phelan
Candlewick  2011

Three remarkable journeys made by a trio of intrepid adventurers – Thomas Stevens, Nellie Bly, and Joshua Slocum – on the eve of the 20th century, rendered in graphic novel format.  

As a prologue, we begin with the wager that sets up Jules Verne's Around the World in 80 Days. It seems an impossible (and almost arbitrary) goal to set, but fantastical enough to build an entire narrative around. Obviously Verne chose the time limit based on what was possible back in 1872 but it was enough to fire the imaginations of many a would-be adventurers. With this as a backdrop Phelan proceeds to take us on three journeys whose reasons and purpose were as unique as the people who ventured out.

First up is Thomas Stevens, a Colorado miner who's destiny is changed the moment he first sees a high-wheel bicycle. Sensing that bikes are "the future," and with no desire to spend his life in a mine, he decides to do what no one has ever done before; he intends to circle the globe atop a one of these unusual bikes. He isn't determined to break any records – how could he at something no one has ever done before – but does it almost in the spirit that has driven many to adventure: because it is there to be done. Stevens' journey is a travelogue with only a few minor hitches along the way.

Next up is Nellie Bly, intrepid girl reporter, who previously feigned insanity in order to be admitted to an asylum and report back the abuses she found to her newspaper, The New York World. Her hook is that she's confident she can beat Phileas Fogg's fictional record of 80 days and do the trek in 74 days. Traveling light, Bly's adventures hit occasional bumps along the way including a necessary audience with Jules Verne and the news along the way that another newspaper has sent a female reporter to beat her to the record. In the end she not only succeeds but beats her own goal by making the trip in 72 days.

Finally we come to Joshua Slocum, a retired naval officer looking to sail around the world alone on a 36-foot boat. A quiet man who keeps his intentions to himself, he sets a course east toward the Mediterranean only to discover the threat of pirates which sends his course westward around the world. Along the way he stops to visit the grave marker of his first wife and fellow adventurer who died in Argentina some years earlier. Then come the treacherous waters of the cape, becalmed seas, and a lot of time for Slocum and his thoughts. He returns to port as quietly as when he left and eventually publishes his journal of the trip. Then, almost 15 years later, he returns to the boat and sails away, never to be heard from again.

Phelan notes at the end that while he had intended to illustrate simply the narratives of their adventures he realized there were inward as well as outward journeys taking place. Everyone has their reasons and they aren't always as clear as a simple wager against time. Phelan also admits to having to read between the lines and though I don't fault him for the conjecture there were times I wish he made his interpretations a little more clear.

It is easy to understand why a miner might want to achieve something other than a life underground, but what drove Stevens to such a leap as to see the bicycle as the future, much less believe he had the stamina and determination to undertake a trip around the world? With Bly, perhaps the best documented story of the bunch, it is easier to see that she was an active part of the women's sufferage movement, but what were the personal reasons driving her in all she did? And with Slocum we see what is, perhaps, the most melancholy adventure ever presented as it appears he has undergone the trip because he feels some lasting guilt or remorse over the loss of his first wife. That his second wife "refused" to take this trip with him may be something of a ruse: he offered her passage knowing she would refuse, she refused knowing he was still obsessed with his first wife. But did Slocum say all this in his ship's diary, or is this the result of Phelan's line reading?

In fact, Phelan has forced the reader to read between the lines (or panels in the case of this graphic novel) and ask "Why that choice, why that decision, why that reaction?" Though I hardly would have wanted him to put words in their mouths I think its still possible to let us know how and why these adventurers chose to behave as they did. We're working in pictures here, its just as easy to show us some of this conjecture just as it is to draw a representation of an ocean liner without having to research the exact ship they might have taken, to choose a color and pattern of clothing of the era whether or not they cut and style were 100% accurate. In that, Slocum's story is the closest to showing us what's driving him, but damn, is it depressing.

While I like Phelan's loose gestural stylings, I found large sections of Around the World that looked more like dummy sketches than finished work. I can appreciate the amount of work involved in coming up with hundreds of pages of illustration for a graphic undertaking this size, but with many panels featuring only the subject surrounded by a light color wash there isn't a sense of time or place in the panels, which not only flatten out the images but the story as well. They suggest more than they depict, and with an historical narrative this would be the equivalent of a steampunk story without any of the greasy-geary details that bring the world to life. There is minimalism, and then there's minimalist illustrations that leave me feeling like I would have been better of with just the text. Around the World sits right there on the fence tottering toward a text-only narrative.

On the plus side, the book did leave me hungering and wondering about all the other trips undertaken in order to beat records and prove something. For every attempt there had to be at least one failure. Around the World makes me curious about those who tried and failed, which all things considered, is rather fitting curiosity to be left with.

I Want My Hat Back

by Jon Klassen
Candlewick  2011

Bear has lost his hat, have you seen it?

They say that in this day of limited attention spans (and I'm talking about adults, not kids) shorter is better when it comes to picture books. I have a theory about this, but let me talk about the book first.

Bear has lost his hat. It is red and pointy. He asks various animals if they have seen it but they have not. Depressed, Bear despairs of ever seeing his beloved hat again until Deer asks him what it looked like. As he describes it both Bear and the astute reader will realize they have seen the hat before, atop the head of Rabbit who, when queried, was suspiciously nervous in his response. Bear retraces his steps back to Rabbit, calls him out as a liar and...

Well, now, this is interesting. We normally see talking animals in picture books as human stand-ins. They talk and we accept it as a fantasy world because in a book anything is possible. What we don't expect when animals behave as humans is to see them revert to their animal ways suddenly. This becomes the twist as Bear is next seen sitting where Rabbit once sat, wearing his hat finally, making the same sort of nervous pronouncements about not knowing where Rabbit went to. In his denial he even goes so far as to spell out what has happened between the page turns: Bear has eaten Rabbit out of anger.

Whew!

This is funny?

Yes.

It's funny because it is unexpected and yet totally natural at the same time. Like the punchline to a joke (and it bears a resemblance to the story of the wide-mouthed frog, if you know that one), the expectation is that Bear will find his hat and that there might be some tension in the resolution but certainly the law of nature never seems to come into view because, up to this moment, it hasn't been there at all. Like an unexpurgated fairy tale there are consequences and despite how we humans might resolve such issues in the wild things are handled much differently. Hello, kiddo, the animal world isn't all fluffy and cute!

Now, about those short-attention-span adults (a short rant)...

When an adult enters a book store looking for something for a child – whether their own or as a gift – the last thing they want to do is read. That's been my experience at least. "I'm looking for something for my five year old niece/granddaughter/son, something good and not too long." When it comes to picture books what this tends to mean is that they are looking for something they (the adult) won't tire of on multiple reads but is short enough to not turn a book at bedtime into a lengthy routine. You wouldn't think it would be hard to sell an adult on George and Martha but... "You mean to tell me there are FIVE stories in here?!"

So here's how it used to go. Adult walks in, has a child in mind, a type of book, and preferably something new because the kid is eating up books faster than they can check them out from the library (never mind that the reason they have to check out so many is because they are all so slight of text). These adults expect you to put three to five books in their hand from which they will make a selection within five minutes. Like an impatient child they will flip through the pages and make a judgment about the art first. If the art doesn't appeal, out it goes, the end, pfft! Next comes the story. Most of the time they will flip through the pages and read as if they are skimming for difficult or objectionable words – they can't possibly comprehend what the story is about. If it looks "wordy" after a couple of pages they may, unashamedly, turn as ask "What's this one about." If it cannot be summarized in a sentence of fifteen words or less out it goes. At that point whatever is left, if there is more than one book, simply comes down to a recommendation by the bookseller. If I wanted to push a particular book all I had to say was cute and it was chosen.

This push for shorter books – five years ago 500 words or less was the goal, today it's closer to 300 or less – makes titles like I Want My Hat Back more popular despite their being slight on text. And while it is possible to write shorter books it isn't easy to do well, much less create something that might one day survive as a classic. Personally, I thoroughly enjoyed I Want My Hat Back for the same reasons I liked Kevin Sherry's I'm The Biggest Thing In The Ocean: both books had a simple premise with an unexpected twist ending that made me laugh. And both books will make some (but not all) like-minded kids laugh. But despite landing on the New York Times list of Best Illustrated books for 2011 I hardly see I Want My Hat Back becoming the sort of book that kindles nostalgia or endures to become a classic.

Interrupting Chicken

by David Ezra Stein  
Candlewick Press  2010  

Bedtime, and little Chicken just can't seem to fall asleep...

Indeed, just as Papa begins a bedtime fairy tale Chicken jumps up and interrupts.  She warns Hansel and Gretel away from the witch, Red away from the Wolf, and tell Chicken Little that the sky is really just an acorn. Finally Papa gets the idea to have Chicken read him a bedtime story and before she can even get into her own made-up tale Papa is asleep.  

Chicken's desire to not only tell the story but prevent the dangers inherit in the stories rings true as children learn not only to recognize stories but that the power of storytelling rests with the teller.  Chicken isn't attempting to co-opt storytime, she simply cannot help herself.  The only problem is that it doesn't calm her down for bedtime but instead makes her more agitated.  I suspect this story will ring true with a large number of adults and their bed time wards.  

Although it has all the basic elements -- familiar setting, twist on expectations, rule of threes -- I felt like it missed a step somewhere, some hitch in the rhythm.  Like ho when you read a book and you go from mid sentence on the bottom of one page and pick up mid sentence on the next and it takes a few more sentences before you realize you've skipped a page.  That I can't isolate what is missing doesn't make the book flawed more than it gnaws at me.  In fiction when this happens it's usually a question of character, or a lack of well-developed main characters, but with picture books this is replaced with emotion.  I get that Chicken is impatient and has her reasons for wanting to interrupt, but maybe its because I don't know why she does this?  Like I said, there's nothing in Chicken's (or any child's) behavior in interrupting familiar stories that is out of step, so I can't put my finger on it any better than a question some vague emptiness.  

Does the story feel to short?  Too quickly resolved?  

I guess after Leaves and Pouch, with their fully-rounded sense of story, I've come to expect walking away from Stein's books feeling more satisfied. Maybe sated is a better word, because there isn't anything necessarily unsatisfying about Interrupting Chicken.  Well, except for that thing I can't quite put my finger on. 

Beat the Band

by Don Calame
Candlewick Press 2010

(This review is being cross-posted at Guys Lit Wire today, for those of you keeping score at home.)

There is no phrase that jolts my skeptical meter into the red faster than "laugh-out-loud funny." When a movie is described this way its almost guaranteed not to make me laugh, but it's worse when this line is used in books because it's so rare that I laugh out loud even when something is truly funny.  For something to be funny enough that I laugh out loud while reading it I have to be caught off guard, I have to not see the joke coming.

I actually found myself laughing out loud more than a couple times while reading Beat the Band, Don Calame's follow-up to last year's Swim the Fly.

As part of a semester-long project in Health class, Cooper is paired up with the notorious "Hot Dog" Helen which instantly lowers his cool cred at school. Worse, their topic is on contraceptives and STDs.  Coop's brilliant solution: enter the school's Battle of the Bands competition so he can rock his way back to cool and bury his lowered social standing. Problem: he hasn't told his buddies he's entered them into the competition, never mind that none of them can play an instrument.

I wandered into Beat the Band cautiously; I didn't really like Swim the Fly, and I was worried when the boys started talking about their goal of "rounding the bases" with a girl. I just didn't want to read a story about boys on an empty conquest, and I really didn't want a story that was a typical "girls are people with feelings, too" moral clinging to the bottom of it's shoes. Fairly quickly though the story shifts to the semester project, and the pairings among students, and this urgency Cooper has to get Helen and her undeserved reputation from sticking to him, and things looked up.

True to "boy" thinking, Cooper's idea is pure inanity, and there's no way its going to go the way he imagines.  These self-made scenarios can be tricky territory for an author is they don't really grok the delusions boys will invent to follow-through on their schemes. And for the humor to work there has to be something more than uncomfortable scenarios, there has to be a certain ratcheting-up of the situations, things have to go one (logical, yet unexpected) step beyond.

The moment I gave in and went along for the rest of the ride comes in a scene involving Cooper, his dad, a pair of beer bottles, and some condoms.  As if scenes between fathers and sons cannot already be awkward without condoms this one soldiers on for a few uncomfortable pages before a left-field interruption that I probably should have seen coming, but didn't, and so I proceeded to laugh.  Out loud. And long enough that I had to take a moment before continuing forward.

Calame gets it.  He knows that boys will get themselves worked up over stupid things, will invent elaborate solutions to problems they invented, and will, in due course, come to see what's below the surface in their social worlds. They'll enter Battle of the Band contests and recruit the class pariah as their singer and it won't even matter whether they've won or not in the end.  Screenwriter Calame knows how to end a teen comedy on a happy note and, as cheesy as that can be, somehow it seems alright after everything else that's happened.

Oh, and for those wondering, the title of this post is the name of Cooper's band.  Despite of the fact it would be deceptive, I almost wish that were the title of the book.

Messing Around on the Monkey Bars

and other School Poems for Two Voices
by Betsy Franco
illustrated by Jessie Hart
Candlewick Press 2009

I have this thing about poetry for children. Basically, it has to either be incredibly clever or exceptionally executed and preferably it is both. Kids who read poetry for fun do so because they still have a love of language, because they haven't had poetry units that have diluted their joy of words and wordplay. And kids are smart. They can recognize good poetry even if they cannot explain why. So I tend to feel that any children's book that traffics in poetry and rhyme needs to be impeccable.

Messing Around on the Monkey Bars collects original poems intended to be read by two voices, or in some cases groups. Which means these poems are mean to be read aloud. There are instructions at the beginning for how each reader knows when to read – regular and bold for the individual voices, italic bold when both reads speak at the same time. Fairly straightforward. Then come the poems.

When reading poems aloud the reader will quickly come to rely on the cadence of help them. The sound of the words and meter will stand out more than when a reader has the chance to read at their own pace, silently hearing the poems in their head. Out loud, minor flaws and imperfections stand out; worse, they will trip up readers who expect a rhythm that isn't maintained or is inconsistent.

Most of the poems in this collection fail this cadence test. Just to test them out I had my daughters read a couple out loud. Some were okay in the beginning, then tripped them up when there was an off meter or change in the patterns, some didn't work out of the gate. Poems that are expressly meant to be read aloud shouldn't cause the readers to stumble the way these consistently did.

As for content all the poems are limited to the experience of school which I am beginning to suspect is more detrimental than good in children's poetry. Here's what I'm thinking; I'm thinking that when poetry focuses on the school experience then the experience of the reader is that poetry is about school. And if poetry is about school then there is no reason to go exploring poetry outside of school, which makes poetry a school-only activity. This in turn eventually turns off readers to poetry altogether. I also suspect that when the subject defines the poetry, when the poet is confined within the limits of the school experience in this case as Franco is, then the poems themselves suffer from this inability to explore beyond the walls of school. School and poem then become a sort of prison that the reader can feel.

Whew, that's harsh. Okay, there is one poem in this collection that, had the entire book been of this quality, would have made it an instant classic. "Anatomy Class" runs through a list of items found in a classroom pointing out their humanly-named attributes. "The chair has/arms. // The Clock,/a face." and so on. It's clever, the rhythm is just right for both reading silently and aloud, and it doesn't have the faintest whiff of feeling forced. This poem is often featured in reviews, and is reproduced on Amazon (if you're interested) which doesn't surprise me, but might surprise the unwary if they expect the rest of the book to be this good.

Don't Forget to Come Back

by Robie H. Harris
pictures by Harry Bliss
Candlewick 2004

Okay, this book sort of freaked me out.

First, this is one of those books that gets shelved with the "other issues" books that parents use as object lessons they'd rather not teach themselves. You know, rather than talk to kids about how to deal with bullies or first-day-of-school or other traumas of modern childhood, parents sit their kids down with a book and say "Here, read this." Only here we're talking about the separation anxiety that comes from parents going for a night out and leaving the child alone with a sitter.

But it's more specific than that. It's about the anxiety of a single child who has no sibling to rely upon for comfort and otherwise might be a bit more demanding of parental affection or attention. It's also a child whose parents can afford to go to the theater (as witnessed by the Playbill on the kitchen table) and have framed paintings on the wall. It appears, to me, the anxiety of privilege.

I think what freaks me out is that the child is alternately too young or too old to manifest all the behavior shifts included. It's a sort of Kubler-Ross collection of stages of anxiety as their little "Pumpkin" tries to prevent her parents from leaving for the evening. There's anger, guilt-tripping, bargaining, denial, depression, and finally acceptance as the sitter turns out to be permissively silly. It isn't that kids don't run through different emotions when their parents are taking a night out, it's that more often they are less rational than Pumpkin, and there is no realistic depiction of the type of true meltdown that kids go through before entering into the more "mature" phases of bargaining.

While I can see the point and purpose of showing picture book readers that it's perfectly alright to feel anxious about their parents leaving them, the fact that the book's illustrations feel more representative of the white, upper-class experience rather than a more middle-class parents-struggling-for-a-single-night-out-once-every-couple-months-before-they-go-crazy that would typically arouse such behavior.

(pauses to take a breath after that last sentence.)

Also, though Pumpkin survives the ordeal and is pleased the next morning to find that her parents didn't forget to come home, her feelings aren't addressed directly. Her parents seem very blase about her threats and promises to the point where I imagine it comes from familiarity. They have dealt with Pumpkin's little tantrums and emotional blackmail before and are immune, but then how does that help the reader to see such detached parents in the face of such anxieties? Is the reader supposed to say "Gee, she's acting silly!" and then turn that around and say "You know, I've been a bit ridiculous myself of late, perhaps I ought change?"

Perhaps there is something else at work here, something else that irks and makes me uncomfortable. it may have something to do with the idea of the picture book as so heavy a "message book" that it takes the fun away from reading. Which is not to say that books cannot or should not include valuable lessons or messages for the reader to take away, but that there is a line where message overtakes the story. There is a difference between eating something healthy and eating something that's supposed to be good for you; one you do and reap the benefits, the other you do begrudgingly because it's the right thing to do whether or not you like it. A book with message over story feels a little like that to me, and less like reading for pleasure.

My Dad's a Birdman

by David Almond
illustrations by Polly Dunbar
Candlewick 2008

Lizzie's a bright, independent girl who gets her self up in the morning, gets dressed, makes tea and toast, and calls her dad down to breakfast. But dad drags. Dad droops. And when asked what his plans are for the day while she's at school dad announces that he's going to fly like a bird and enter the human bird competition. Suddenly we are faced with a role reversal of a responsible parent-like child and a child-like parent. What would cause this reversal only becomes obvious by the lack, and no mention of, Lizzie's mother. This is made clear a few chapters in when Lizzie's Aunt Doreen drops by to see to how Lizzie and her dad are getting along. Once she sees that dad has fashioned a set of wings for himself and has taken to eating bugs (in order to be more bird-like), and that Lizzie has taken to staying home from school to watch after her dad it becomes painfully clear that we are dealing with a great unspoken grief.

In the end Lizzie and her dad participate together in the Great Human Bird Competition, a sort of flugtag where people adorn themselves in wings and rockets and whatnot and attempt to traverse a body of water propelled under their own power. Dad's obsession with flying at first seems a bi-product of a mental break-down, but as Lizzie (and eventually her Headmaster) discover as they participate in the competition, the act of faith necessary to hurl yourself into the world is exactly what they both need in order to move ahead with their lives. Feeling more alive than before, they reconnoiter back at Aunt Doreen's for some dumplings and find themselves dancing with a new-found joy, a joy that leaves them lighter than birds and flying off the ground.

Almond has managed to dip his pen into Roald Dahl's inkwell and produce a magnificent examination of what it means to find joy after loss, for a family to find their way through the other side of the darkness no matter how odd it may look on the outside. Aunt Doreen and the Headmaster understand the situation and are keeping tabs to make sure that Lizzie and her dad don't fall to far off track, but they hang back enough to let the process run its course.

The feel of this book is what gives it the Dahl flavor in my mind. It would be hard to imagine this story in a contemporary environment without meddling government agencies and relatives who would insist on remaining in the home to assure everything was alright. Aunt Doreen makes a social call but is driven from the house by the sheer absurdity of it all, promising to return with help. The help she return with isn't the police or child protective services but the school headmaster who is more interested in joining Lizzie and her dad in their adventure rather than find fault, place a judgment, or insist on a return to normalcy. It is also in the child as the responsible one and the adults as fools that I find the spectre of Dahl lurking.

Almond can't seem to get away from the connections he makes with birds and death, and certainly there's enough mythology, symbolism, and history to support these connections. But Almond chose the bird's ability to fly to show a rising above, a phoenix-like symbolism for a family being reborn from the ashes of their sorrow. There is nothing sad or sorrowful in the book itself, the entire affair has a sense of whimsy to it, but it's all there just below the surface allowing us to how happiness and joy can re-emerge from experience.

McFig and McFly

A Tale of Jealousy, Revenge, and Death (with a Happy Ending)
by Henrik Drescher
Candlewick 2008

Blurb: Extremely satisfying in a very old-school sort of way, but what a strange planet it seems to have come from.

McFig, a widower, shows up one day having purchased a plot of land next to another widower named McFly. Both men hit it off instantly, as do their children Anton and Rosie. McFig admires his new neighbor's cottage so much that he decides to build his next door exactly like it. And McFly is more than happy to assist while the children do as neighbor children do, they play contentedly in the background.

The day after the cottage is finished McFly is startled to see McFig building a tower on top of his otherwise identical cottage. Not to be outdone, McFly builds a glass playroom on top of his cottage. Then McFig retaliates, McFly responds, both men building higher and more absurdly until one day McFly falls from the top of his weather vane and dies. McFig, having lost his friend and with nothing to build for, dies from boredom.

All the while and unattended by their fathers Anton and Rosie have grown and fallen in love. They marry after their fathers have died, tear the cottages down to their original structures, and sell off the junk. With the proceeds from their sale they build a connector between their homes to create one large home for all their kids.

And they live happily ever after.

I'm feeling this book he way I felt Brock Cole's Good Enough to Eat. It feels like an older story but I can't for the life of me source it. That the main characters are adults acting like fools, I'm all for that. I think kids get plenty of picture books that are a bit warm and fuzzy, why not give them some lessons in the realities of the adult world?

Naturally younger readers will recognize the one-up behavior, and the blind rage that causes people to behave irrationally, just as it makes perfect sense that the children of these two maniacs are clear-headed enough not to do as their fathers have done. I even like that the two men are widowers -- let's explain that concept to the children while we're at it. I think that may ultimately be what resonates with me, like many old fairy tales where the widowers marry wicked step-mother types or are completely useless without a female influence to keep them on an even keel, these guys are a bit unhinged on their own.

Drescher's art -- back-painted drawings on acetate, like animation cels -- has a jagged, folk-art quality to it, perfectly in keeping with the overall feel of the homes being built. Sort of like Gary Panter meets Howard Finster in the Grimmwald.

I don't get the feeling this is going to end up high on a lot of people's list (i.e. libraries) but if you get a chance check it out for yourself and let me know if I'm as loopy as McFly and McFig.

Me Hungry!

by Jeremy Tankard
Candlewick 2008

Edwin the Caveboy is hungry, but Ma and Pa Cavepeople are busy (Pa is trying to figure out how to navigate a peanut with a club, Ma's got a gaggle of younger kids to deal with), so Edwin decides to go hunting for himself!

Rabbit hides, Porcupine is too sharp, Tiger is too mean, it looks like Edwin will go hungry until he comes across a Mastodon who shares his hunger and together they go in search of food. Feasting together on apples, Edwin calls out "We busy!" when called to dinner by his Pa.

Tankard knocked it out of the park last year with Grumpy Bird, his picture book featuring a bird with an attitude problem. This time around the only thing holding back my enthusiasm is that the illustrations feel a bit thin. They're lacking the density, the texture of the multiple layers. Same charming characters, same great, vibrant colors. Same playfulness. Perhaps someone suggested that the backgrounds in Grumpy Bird didn't "track well" with younger readers. I heard someone say that. I scoffed when I heard it, to the dismay of the adult scoffee.

To those who might be worried about Edwin's "cavespeak," believing it might be as horrid as the goo-goo Junie B. Jones dialect, fear not. Everyone in Me Hungry! speaks the patois of subject-verb -- adults, animals, and kids -- implying the early development of language instead of cloying malapropisms. It works, it's fun, nothing cloying about it.

Want to see a recent interview with Jeremy Tankard? You should, he's a great dude, and the Imps over at 7 Impossible Things Before Breakfast pull together a great one with the man. Go here, and tell them I sent you.

You can also see my interview with Jeremy from a while back here.

Daisy Dawson is On Her Way

by Steve Voake
illustrated by Jessica Meserve
Candlewick 2008

Daisy is a daydreaming little girl who can't seem to get to school on time because she gets distracted along the way. There are worms to move off the sidewalk and butterflies to hold and release. And on this particular day she finds that something strange has happened, that she can speak with and understand animals. First it's with Boom, the dog, then with the hamsters at schools, then the horse and the barn cat, all with only the slightest bit of surprise on both sides.

Daisy isn't just a talker, she's a nurturer. When the hamsters get out of their cage at school she hears them exclaim with delight as they discover yummies in someone's lunch. She lures them back to their cage with a promise of a snack from her own lunch later. And with Boom she always backs an extra him a sandwich to feed him while on her way to school.

Trouble comes when Boom disappears and Daisy discovers that he's being held by the new dog catcher, one step away from disappearing for good. With help from the other animals they go on a rescue mission to save Boom. There's a happy ending, but not one the reader would have guessed, and Daisy's world is put to right. At the end Daisy muses with her father on the ability to talk to animals and there's a suggestion that it's something children can do naturally until one day when the magic of it wears off. For the time being, Daisy is enjoying her stay in this fantasy world.

I notice that the spine of this book is labeled with a "No. 1" implying that we've got more of Daisy coming at us in the future. There's an easy-breezy simplicity to the storytelling that makes it a good fit for young readers so I'm not troubled by this being the first in a series. I'm not sure how I'm going to feel if future books are always about Daisy talking to animals because I think that can wear thin pretty fast, but if talking animals happen to feature as part of stories dealing with a young girl and the flights of her imagination then I see no problems.

Stone Age Boy

by Satoshi Kitamura
Candlewick 2007

I can't really say what it is about Kitamura's illustration style that makes me like it so much, but I do. Whether it's The Comic Adventures of Boots or Me and My Cat it's a world unto itself between cartoon and watercolor illustration, a controlled playfulness that's as expressive as it is equally fun.

Stone Age Boy is another world altogether, literally. A boy goes exploring and falls down a hole landing in a cave during one of man's more primitive eras on the planet. From the looks of both the people and their way of life the boy has found himself in a Scandinavian fishing village befriended by a girl who goes by the name Om. After regarding each other's appearance as odd they take the boy into their society and show him their ways. They dry fish, they hunt, Om and boy play as kids and help out as needed, and at night around the fire when the others sing and dance the boy plays his air guitar. One day he and Om enter a cave and discover it full of paintings, stories of previous hunts, and a bear. Along the way he loses Om and re-emerges into his own time. In the book's coda we see the boy as an adult archaeologist digging back into the past, searching for his link back to another time, searching for traces of Om and her village.

A natural progression for younger readers who might have moved beyond the novelty of the dinosaur and want to know more about how one goes about digging up and studying the past, the information is both accessible and not in the least bit "teach-y". Where most of the illustrations are full-page or full-spread there are a few spreads with smaller illustrations full of details about life in the village that feel cramped and just a bit too small. If these informational pages had been larger and maybe expanded over a few pages I think it would made a huge difference between a good book and a great one for me.

I like this more serious side of Kitamura, I don't think I'd mind seeing more.

Blogging for a Cure... With Interview! Jeremy Tankard's "Lucky Bird"

Lucky Bird, indeed, and some lucky bird out there is going to own their very own copy of Bird on a snowflake! Yes, today I have the great fortune of presenting Jeremy Tankard's snowflake for Robert's Snow, made even more special by the fact that Jeremy generously donated his time to answer some questions and provide artwork from his sketchbook!

To see any of the illustrations in a larger (or at least slightly larger) format just click on the image.

Before the interview, a little background. Earlier this spring Jeremy's first picture book was released -- Grumpy Bird -- and seeing it from across the room I knew I had to have it. It's a deceptively simple book that deals with moods and friendship that is also visually more complex than it initially appears. Bird wakes up on the wrong side of the nest, goes for a walk, and all his animal friends wonder what he's up to. Following him, he realizes that his friends will copy what he does, a simple game of follow the leader as it were, and in the end he's no longer grumpy. All back to Bird's nest for some grubs!

I'm including some sketches Jeremy sent along from Grumpy Bird that illustrate some of what his illustration process is like. The ink drawings are from his sketchbook and the color spread is what the final elements from those sketches look like when they're compiled. There's a podcast interview that he did earlier this year where he breaks down the actual digital composition process that he goes through for anyone who's interested. For more illustration goodies, a biography, and Jeremy's blog, do check out his website as well. I promise, you won't disappointed.

Through the magic of the Internet Jeremy and I had a the following little chat about his first book, his next books, and his snowflake.

ec: First, and I'm sure you've answered this question quite a bit, but for those who don't know how did you come to create Bird, your main character from your book Grumpy Bird?

Jeremy: My daughter, who was then three, asked me to do some drawings for her in my sketchbook. She requested "grumpy things". Specifically she asked me to draw a grumpy bear. I drew a grumpy bear. She asked for a grumpy snake. I drew a grumpy snake (you don't want to meet a grumpy snake up close). She asked for a grumpy clock. I drew a grumpy clock. Then she asked for a grumpy bird. I drew a grumpy bird going for a walk. He was wearing red sneakers and looked pretty funny. We both started to laugh and an idea was born! What happens when a grumpy bird goes for a walk? To answer this question I had to write the book. We authors ask the big questions. Ha!

ec: If people can't relate directly to Grumpy Bird they at least know one, which is why I think it strikes a chord with people. Are you a Grumpy Bird in the morning, or is this based on someone you know?

Jeremy: I'm very seldom a Grumpy Bird. I know a few of them though. I'm more of a Sleepy Bird in the morning. I think it's based on pretty much everyone. We can all relate to just being grumpy sometimes. When I was writing the book I spent a lot of time trying to figure out why he was so grumpy and write it into the story. In the end I decided that I didn't need a reason -- sometimes you're just grumpy for no good reason.

ec: When I first saw Grumpy Bird I was caught by just how bright and vibrant the colors were. Actually, I usually refer to the book as one of the loudest picture books around. I mean that in a good way! It's a very unique color palate and I'm curious to know if you go into a project with color in mind, if you have a process for building up the illustrations, is there any set method at all?

Jeremy: I'm glad you consider my book LOUD. Perhaps a comment on the loud music I listen to while I'm working. I used to work in very muted colours way back in the day; blacks and whites and nice dull earthy shades. At some point I looked at all my dark and brooding work and thought, "This is all dark and brooding and gothic and that's great, but I want some COLOUR in it." I figured the best way to learn to use colour, which terrified me no end, was to jump in with both feet and learn the hard way. I started by using my acrylics straight from the tube without any mixing -- just nice, bright colours applied with abandon. I guess I grew to like them quite a lot and now I can't imagine using anything else. I'd also taken some colour theory classes in art college so I felt I knew the rules. Now I know how to break them too!

There's usually one spread in a book that is super important. I determine what colours are required for that spread then work backwards (and forwards) from that point to determine the blend of colours that lead up to this event. Colour tells a whole other part of the story that most readers are probably not even aware of (if I've done my job right).

ec: I couldn't immediately place your illustration style at first, but I caught an interview you did where you spoke to your interest in Chinese and Japanese brush painting and it suddenly made sense. So I guess my question is, are these illustrations of Bird and his friends easy to do or are you like the Zen student doing them over and over again until you get them just right?

Jeremy: There's definitely some Zen thing going on. I draw my characters dozens of time until they're absolutely perfect. Each drawing is very quick and spontaneous but I have to get one that is a perfect balance between spontaneity and capturing the required moment. So I guess the art is deceptively simple. There's a ridiculous amount of practice behind each piece.

I love Chinese and Japanese brush painting. I think I learned to use the brush on my own though -- by studying American comic book illustrators like Bernie Wrightson and Wally Wood and Jack Kirby. The influence of the Zen brush painting came less in the use of the tools than in the desire to capture the moment with as little effort as possible. So I think there's a strange juxtaposition between the energy and youthfulness of American comics and the simplicity and elegance of Zen brush painting. I dunno, it's hard to analyze ones own drawings.

ec: I understand you have a new book out in the spring from Candlewick called Me Hungry. I also understand it is not a sequel to Grumpy Bird. Can you talk about it at all, or is it a big secret?

Jeremy: I won't reveal too much. It's very, very different than Grumpy Bird. The story is simpler and, perhaps, more multi-layered than Grumpy Bird. Apples and oranges though, they're so different and I love both of them. It's about a hungry caveboy and will be available in April 2008.

The art in Me Hungry is as different as the story-telling. All those layers and layers of texture and collage found in Grumpy Bird have been stripped out to leave only the bare essentials. I'm looking forward to hearing what people think when it debuts.

ec: But Bird does make a comeback in Spring of 2009, is that correct?

Jeremy: Spring 2009. That's right. When I wrote Grumpy Bird I thought of it as a one-off. Writing a sequel was very difficult but I've got an amazing editor at Scholastic and an amazing agent. Between the two of them they helped me figure out how to recapture some of the spontaneity of Grumpy Bird and write a sequel. I love all the animals in Grumpy Bird and really wanted to write another adventure with them. And to explore another emotion. The sequel is called Boo Hoo Bird and features much tragedy.

ec: Your snowflake for Robert's Snow is entitled "Lucky Bird" and, as people can see above, it bears a striking resemblance to Grumpy Bird. Same Bird, or just members of the same family?

Jeremy: Same Bird. He's really fun to draw!

ec: The two sides of your snowflake work like a two-panel cartoon. There's Bird (accidentally?) sitting under the mistletoe and the next thing he knows he's getting kissed by Worm! It's very cute, very sweet. Am I putting too much of my analytical brain into this when I say it's like an easing of tensions between otherwise hostile parties? Feel free to laugh at me.

Jeremy: Ha ha! Hmmm,... I started drawing Worm a while back on cards for friends. Worms are really fun to draw -- just a tube with eyes on one end. I think Worm is just cheeky. He's sneaking a kiss on an unsuspecting Bird and hoping that he doesn't get eaten in the process. It's like playing ring-and-run when you're a kid. You ring the doorbell then run like heck and hope the owner of the house doesn't see you. I think Worm is like that. Like I said, we children's authors are dealing with the big issues. Really though, it seemed like a cute Christmas-y picture.

ec: What's the one question no one ever asks you, that you wish they would, and how would you answer it?

Thankfully no one has ever asked me a math question. At least not in an interview. No one's ever asked me about music. Does my book have a soundtrack? The answer is YES. Grumpy Bird was drawn to a steady stream of music by the Magnetic Fields, Eels, Ladytron and indie rock with a little dose of Celtic fiddle tunes thrown in for good measure. Me Hungry was drawn with more industrial flavoured music -- especially Buckethead and Pop Will Eat Itself (I'm really dating myself with that aren't I?).

ec: Anything else on the horizon people should be aware of?

Jeremy: I'm still trying to figure that one out. I've got lots of ideas and my sketchbook is populated with some fun characters. I just need to find the stories that go with them.

ec: Thanks again, Jeremy!

Jeremy: Thanks again for doing this, David. It's a great cause and a very unique say to spread the word about it.

* * * * *

Indeed, down to the business of what this is all about. Robert's Snow For Cancer's Cure is a fundraising event for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute where children's book illustrators provide hand decorated wooden snowflakes to be auctioned off online. The auctions are broken down into three groups (heats?) the first of which begins on November 19th. Jeremy's "Lucky Bird" is included in the third group of snowflakes that auctions off between December 3 through December 7.

Blogging For A Cure was the brainchild of Jules and Eisha over at the website Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast. The hope was to create awareness for the event among the blogging community, bringing bloggers and artists together to help get the word out about the auction and the work of the good people at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. Each day bloggers are taking turns featuring a different artist who has contributed to the auction, each post highlighting the artist and their snowflake. If you haven't had a chance yet, check out Blogging for a Cure page for daily updates on posts which is organized both by artist and by day.

Also be sure to check out the auctions pages at the Robert's Snow site for artists who are constantly being added to the auction, even as we blog! There's so much goodness out there it sometimes feel like it's impossible to catch it all, but since when is so much goodness a bad thing?

Here are the other bloggers featuring artists today. Check em out!

Tracy McGuinness-Kelly is at Sam Riddleburger's blog

Sarah Kahn is profiled at Kate's Book Blog

Sylvia Long is featured at Whimsy Books

and Holli Conger is over at Please Come Flying

Dadblamed Union Army Cow

by Susan Fletcher
illustrated by Kimberly Bulcken Root
Candlewick 2007

I was hooked from the word "dadblamed."

There's more, of course. I mean, how often do you run across picture books about Civil War cows? And this cow's a beaut. She follows her owner as he enlists, she follows him onto the railroad car taking his regiment into battle, getting in the way and giving milk as she goes. She gets stuck in the mud, runs amok in battle, swats away flies from the soldiers while they eat. All around, that dadblamed cow turned out to be a mighty good soldier.

Naturally, based on a true story. I'm sure every nation and every war has it's own version of animals on the front lines, but I'd never heard of a cow with this much loyalty, or of one given this much tolerance. Despite the dangers of a rampant cow on the battlefield it turns out her milk may have saved lives as supplies were often slow in getting to the front. Most amazing to me is that this cow was never felled by enemy or friendly fire, nor was she eaten, and in fact lived many years after the war.

Dadblamed indeed. What we need are more true stories of heroic bovine. More books with old slang-swearing in the title as well, please.

Sticky Burr

Adventures in Burrwood Forest
by John Lechner
Candlewick 2007

We are not amused.

This comic masquerading as a graphic novel for the emerging reader set has nothing going for it. There's no real character development attempted, no plot to speak of, and in the end has too many similarities with Smurfs for my comfort. Seriously, a land of burrs living in the forest with one token girl burr and an old papa burr. True, there is no Gargamel character, but that wouldn't have made this better.

The oddest thing is that Lechner clearly has skills as an artist, because his backgrounds are wonderful, but the main characters are little more than jagged circles, a tiny doodle any kid could have created. The comic originated online apparently and Lechner's personal connection with illustrator Peter Reynolds may hold the key as to how this landed in Candlewick's lap.

Why is this in hardcover?

Why is this at all?