Maggot Moon by Sally Gardner

The landscape of this book is probably (hopefully!) unrecognizable to anyone who reads it: a brutal, bleak, totalitarian society in which the laws of intimidation and suspicion oversee all. It reads like a dystopian novel, yet the book is firmly dated in the past. 1956, to be exact, mentioned in a "blink and you miss it" moment. Where the story is taking place is unknown, although the singing of the first two lines of the hymn "Jerusalem" perhaps provide a clue. Standish Treadwell is living on the edge of society with his grandfather in Zone 7, where the undesirables of society--particularly political adversaries of The Motherland--are corralled until they disappear. The government is preparing a moon launch which will establish its position as the master race of all the world. Standish and his friend Hector, however, know the truth behind the lunar program.

This book, which won the Costa Book Award in the UK for best children's book of 2012, is surreal, disturbing, and compellingly original. The tone reminded me of Eugene Yelchin's Breaking Stalin's Nose, in which a brave child breaks through the dreamy haze of political misdirection. It also reminded me of Gunter Grass' The Tin Drum, although the narrative is much more straightforward, and Standish is an infinitely more reliable narrator than Oskar. Standish's point of view helps the reader navigate through what is at times a difficult read full of uncomfortable imagery and nightmarish scenarios. New York designer Julian Crouch provides black and white illustrations which in any other book might be labeled as spot illustrations, but in this case provide a subtle compliment to the text which does not fully make sense until the end. An unusual and unforgettable read.

Maggot Moon goes on sale in the United States today, Tuesday 12 February 2013. Thank you to Candlewick Press for providing me with a copy of the ARC.

The Wolves of Willoughby Chase

My review of The Wolves of Willoughby Chase by Joan Aiken is today's Retro Review over at the Nerdy Book Club. Check it out!

Rave Reviews: Okay for Now by Gary D. Schmidt

I know I'm late for the lovefest for this book, but I say 'better late than never.' I am so glad I read it. I really enjoyed The Wednesday Wars, in which the character of Doug Sweiteck first appears, but I have to admit that I don't remember much about the story. However, I am confident there will be no memory lapses with Okay for Now.  And the credit for that goes to John James Audubon.

Like Doug, I had my own Audubon epiphany almost 20 years ago, when I went to see an exhibit of his Birds of America at the Boston Museum of Fine Arts. I had no expectations, just an hour's lunchtime to kill between classes at Simmons. I figured I knew birds. They're everywhere; see them all the time. Well as Doug would say, I was a chump. I stood in front of those paintings, which were much larger than I had anticipated, for one thing, and was blown away by the strength and down-right drama in them. Do you know how that feels? Doug Sweiteck does.

Doug's story is, as the dust jacket says, about "the power of art and story over despair and loss." That sums up the plot pretty well; Doug is the youngest child in a blue-collar family in 1969 small-town New York. His father is an abusive lout, his oldest brother, Lucas, returns from Vietnam a blind amputee, and his other brother, Christopher, is following in the footsteps of the dad. His mother is a beautiful soul, and you wonder how she ever got roped into this existence. Doug has nothing going for him except himself. And, thanks to the local library, (hurrah!) John James Audubon. The library has a copy of the Birds of America, which they display on the top floor--and which the town draws from "like a bank," razoring out prints and selling them each time money is needed or some good doobie merits recognition. It is an act of cultural vandalism which Doug is insightful enough to recognize. As his relationship with the paintings becomes stronger, he resolves to rectify this wrong, just as he is fixing so many other broken things in his life.

The nature of Doug's relationships with the prints is two-fold. As a budding artist, he wants to draw them himself; with the help of one of the librarians he learns how to capture and imitate Audubon's techniques. But just as importantly, Doug learns to read the paintings. And these readings stay with him as he interacts with his family, his classmates, and his neighbors. There is a wonderful "pay it forward" feel to the book, without the piety of the sentiment. A magnificent example of this is in Doug's relationship with his PE teacher, Coach Reed, a man who has spent the better part of the book bullying Doug. At this point Doug is working on copying The Forked-Tailed Petrel.

He has also discovered a notebook of pictures that Coach Reed has drawn of his time in Vietnam; nightmarish images which look like Lucas' dreams sound. With the two petrels in mind, buffeting on the wind moments before their paths cross, Doug sees and seizes an opportunity to help two men--one he loves and one he despises--help each other heal.

The final triumph of the paintings is in Doug's reading of The Arctic Tern, the bird which opens and closes the book (the chapters are named after individual prints.) Despite the tone of the title, which suggests that Doug has settled into an acceptable existence, everything is much better than okay. Not necessarily fixed, but full of promise. And at the center of that promise is Doug, with his artist's heart and his artist's eye, looking for the next spectacular thing that is going to come into his life.

Author Interview: Krista Russell

New Bedford, Massachusetts, 1851

With the establishment of time and place, Krista Russell sets the stage for her debut novel, Chasing the Nightbird. This historical adventure for middle grade readers (or anyone with an interest in the history of whaling) tells the story of Lucky Valera, a fourteen year old boy who has grown up at sea, working on whaling ships with his father. After his father's death, Lucky plans to continue working as a whaler, until the appearance of an unknown step-brother, Fernando Fortuna.

A landlubber through and through, Fortuna forces Lucky into a sort of endentured servitude to pay off a debt owed him by their father. Lucky has no intention of working for his brother, particularly when he finds himself laboring in a textile mill, and is constantly scheming to get back out to sea and reconnect with the Nightbird. But encounters with Emmeline, a Quaker girl involved in the Abolitionist movement, and a fugitive slave named Daniel, force Lucky to change his plans.

As a Cape Verdean, Lucky suddenly finds himself at risk of losing his physical freedom--not simply his economic freedom--when slave catchers come to New Bedford to enforce the Fugitive Slave Act. Having always lived as a free citizen, Lucky does not identify himself with Daniel (although there is a lovely moment when Daniel sings The Drinking Gourd and Lucky mentions that sailors navigate by the Big Dipper as well.) Lucky might wish nothing more than to return to sea, but fate and circumstances conspire against him.

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Not Just For Kids: I have to start by saying how much I love the lyricism of the book's title. Did you come up with it or was it a collaboration between you and your editor? Other than the image which it creates in my mind of pursuing an actual bird (which of course isn't what the book is about, despite the ubiquitous Delph,) so much of the story is about pursuit: Daniel pursing freedom, Lucky pursuing freedom, Emmeline pursuing social justice, the slave catchers pursuing runaway slaves, Fortuna pursuing wealth, and Lucky's initial desire to actually track down and catch-up with the Nightbird. Was that a theme that you were consciously developing as you wrote the story? How did the story change from what you originally set out to write (if it changed at all?)

Krista Russell

Krista Russell: I love the title, too! I wish I could take credit for it, but it came from Jessica Alexander, my brilliant editor at Peachtree. The original title was A Following Sea, but the marketing folks at Peachtree thought it sounded too adult (on reflection, I had to agree). I tried for weeks to come up with a good alternative, but nothing sounded right. As soon as Jessica suggested Chasing the Nightbird, I knew she’d found the book’s title.

I’m not sure I was conscious of the theme of pursuit until Jessica suggested the title. I added the line where Emmeline says “Keep chasing your precious Nightbird. And good riddance!” (along with other references to the ship and where she’d be) at that time.

NJFK: Having grown up in the Boston area, I really identified with Lucky's connection to the sea. I loved the bit at the beginning, during his first day in the mill, when Lucky is trying to center himself by finding the harbor, and his distress at being so land-locked within the walls of the mill. I lived for six years in England, and 4 1/2 of those years were spent in Derby. You are probably not familiar with Derby, but it is in the Midlands, smack in the middle--about as far from the sea as you can get. That's unfortunate when you think that England is an island! Having never lived more than twenty minutes from the shore my entire life, it was an adjustment.

KR: I grew up in MA and in Kennebunkport, ME and I sooo identify with the land-locked feeling. Atlanta’s fatal flaw is that it’s a 4 hour drive from the beach :). We have lovely lakes nearby, but it’s not the same, is it?   


 NJFK: I was unaware of New Bedford's mill history (I always think of Lowell when thinking of mills.) I like how you represented the two cultures in the town: whaling culture and mill culture. While they are not necessarily in conflict with each other, as a reader I got the impression that they were rival businesses competing for the economic heart of the city. Is this true? And that clash of culture comes through in other aspects of the story; Lucky certainly looks down on "land-lubbers" at the start, and Fortuna has turned his back on the sea and the life of their father. And then there is Brisco [the mill manager] who repeatedly refers to Lucky as lazy and incompetent simply because he can't keep up with the more experienced spinners. How much research did you have to do into the two industries?

KR: I found the contrast between the whaling and textile industries really interesting and enjoyed researching both. What happened in New Bedford reflected what was happening in the US (more so in northern states) during the Industrial Revolution. The mills came to New Bedford during the golden age of whaling, but grew as whaling began to wane – finally becoming the engine driving the city’s economy.

Just as New Bedford’s identity had begun to change, our country was facing an identity crisis – illustrated by the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850. I was interested in this theme, and how our beliefs, experiences, and the groups we belong to shape our identities. 

NJFK: Did Quakers settle in New Bedford because the city was tolerant, or did New Bedford become a tolerant place because of the presence of the Quakers?

KR: Great question! Some of the founding families of New Bedford were Quaker, and more came over from Nantucket (where whaling had started) after a fire in 1846 destroyed Nantucket’s commercial district and sandbars made it hard for the increasingly larger whaleships to dock.

I had attributed New Bedford’s prominence in the abolitionist movement and its reputation as a safe haven for runaway slaves (who made up a higher percentage of the population than in New York or Boston) to Quakerism. But I found that the whaling industry and the whalemen themselves also played an important role.

I was fascinated that men who lived by the whalemen’s commandments (tongue-in-cheek though they may have been) were also active in the abolitionist movement. Although many captains and ship owners were Quaker (hard to picture them embracing the whalemen's commandments) the average sailor was not. A whaleship formed its own society (understandable given that the average whaling voyage was over 3 years) and in many ways a more egalitarian one. The work was so dangerous and the crew so dependent on one another for survival, that judgments tended to be made based on ability rather than skin color. It seemed to me that when prejudice existed it tended to be green hand (landlubber) vs. experienced sailor. Have you ever seen the show Deadliest Catch? The same dynamic exists today.

NJFK: How much research did you have to do into sailor suspicions? They are so ingrained in Lucky's philosophy. And what about the whalemen's commandments? What is their source?

KR: I did a good bit of research on sailor’s superstitions – mainly because I was intrigued by how suspicious they are (I love that a black cat is good luck to a sailor). But also because I was trying to get a feel for the world and worldview of a whaleman. The whalemen’s commandments came from Black Hands, White Sails, an amazing book about the history of African-American whalers by Patricia C. and Frederick L. McKissack. I’d been struggling with building a compelling main character, and as soon as I read the commandments I knew I’d found Lucky.

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Readers, you should go and find Lucky, too. Chasing the Nightbird is a satisfying read with strong characters and thought-provoking contrasts between freedom and slavery, land and sea, plans and destiny.

Thank you to Krista Russell for kindly answering my questions and Blue Slip Media for providing me with a copy of the ARC.

Anticipated Arcs: Dead End in Norvelt by Jack Gantos

My experience of Jack Gantos consists almost entirely of Rotten Ralph. I haven't read the Jack Henry books, and I have only gotten as far as borrowing Joey Pigza. It was returned unread, another victim of a hydra-esque TBR pile. I mention all this because Gantos' latest book, Dead End in Norvelt, features a character named, funnily enough, Jack Gantos. But this middle-grade story bears almost no resemblance to the one he told in his compelling YA autobiography Hole in My Life--unless you compare a summertime grounding to a prison term. So I am at a bit of a loss when reflecting how the new book compares to his previous fiction (naughty red cat aside,) and utterly flummoxed if I try to match it to his actual life story. So let's examine "Norvelt" on its own merits.

The story takes place over the course of two months in the summer of 1962. Jack Gantos is the only child of a couple who might very well become Archie and Edith Bunker when they retire. They live in a Pennsylvania town called Norvelt, a cooperative social experiment created after the Great Depression and championed by Eleanor Roosevelt, after whom the town is (re)named. Grounded almost as soon as vacation starts, Jack finds himself hired out by his mother to elderly neighbor Miss Volker, a woman who doubles as coroner and obituary writer for the local paper. But her hands are so crippled by arthritis that she needs to dip them in hot paraffin just to regain temporary dexterity. She dictates her obituaries to Jack, concluding each with a history lesson which is sometimes relevant to the deceased, but usually is just a chance to pontificate about forgetting the lessons learned from history. Add to that: a best friend whose father runs the local funeral parlor, an invasion by a group of surly Hell's Angels, constant nose-bleeds, an inexplicably loaded Japanese WWII rifle, some human-deer interaction reminiscent of The Queen, (but funnier,) a never-ending supply of Landmark Biography references, a twelve-year old who drives a car, and a retiree who rides a tricycle. That goes only some of the way towards explaining how completely off the wall this book is.

Thankfully, Gantos maintains a sense of nostalgia which allows the reader to laugh at the ensuing wackiness in the context of an era so different from today--as opposed to just being weird for weird's sake. Although I'm pretty sure there is some of that, too, since I don't know which part of the book is factual and which he completely made up. Not quite historical fiction, not quite autobiography, not quite postmortem for an America that is long-gone, Dead End in Norvelt is definitely one of the funnier and more unusual books you are likely to read.

Reviewed from an Advance Readers Copy. Dead End in Norvelt--coming your way September 13, 2011.

Rave Review: Hereville: How Mirka Got Her Sword

Now--here's something you don't see everyday. A graphic novel (or any book for that matter,) with the by-line, "Yet another troll-fighting 11-year-old Orthodox Jewish Girl." Whaaaat?! You can't judge a book by its cover, but you sure can be pulled in by a hook like that. And since Hereville is one of the contenders for the School Library Journal Battle of the Kid's Books, and I need to make some serious hay with that list.......no brainer.

The story is this: Mirka Hirschberg wants more from life than knowing how to knit and snare a good husband. She wants to slay dragons. But to slay dragons, she needs a sword. When the opportunity arrives for her to gain such a sword, she takes her chance. Pretty straightforward, right? Well, as Hamlet said, "There's the rub." Because beyond the graphic novel format, it is difficult to pigeon hole this book as a type.

First, there is the cultural angle. Everything I knew previously about Orthodox Judaism I learned from Chaim Potok, so I felt reasonably well-armed to absorb any cultural differences which I might encounter in the reading. But truthfully, no previous knowledge is necessary to enjoy the book, and not just because Mirka is a feisty, headstrong girl, and feisty, headstrong girls are a staple of childrens' literature whatever the culture. Let us not underestimate the importance of Mirka's heritage--this story works so well because she is an Orthodox Jewish girl. But while this book provides a window on Orthodox Jewish life, that's not what it is about. Nor, despite some angsty moments, is it about a tween trying to break free from a life that everyone but an Orthodox Jew would find unusual. You could call it an adventure book because there is lots of adventure--fast-paced, hair-raising, breath-taking adventure--contained in these pages. Then again, it is also a family drama, as readers meet Mirka and her rather large blended family. Witches, trolls, and dragons are discussed with a completely straight face, so in some ways the book is a fantasy. And last, but not least, it is FUNNY! Perhaps it is just me, but does anyone else find the words "funny" and "orthodox-anything" a strange mash-up? Well it works here. I'm not giving anything away when I say there is a scene towards the end where Mirka is fighting for her life, and it had me.....well.....in stitches.

So who should read Hereville? Everyone! Wise and daring, spiritual and exciting, poignant and hilarious--this book has it all. Fans of graphic novels will appreciate such a quality addition to their favorite genre. Readers new to the format will be impressed by the mediums efficiency and unique ability to propel this most original story. I am probably being greedy to hope for a sequel, but there is one unresolved revelation that I would like to know more about. So here's hoping.

FYI--like Wimpy Kid before it, Hereville started life as a web-comic. (The similarities pretty much stop there.) Anyone who has read the web-comic will want to get their hands on the graphic novel, because there is loads of new art and the story has been expanded. If you read the book first, check out the original to see how the story grew and developed.

Subversive Favorites: The Worst Person in the World at Crab Beach by James Stevenson

While it is generally understood that bad behavior in children is not tolerable, bad behavior in the elderly seems to be more acceptable. I am generalizing, of course, but allowances are made for age, and the older you are, the more people let you get away with being a curmudgeon. This is certainly the case with The Worst, the eponymous anti-hero of the "Worst Person in the World" series. He is a cantankerous codger who is surrounded by kindly, patient neighbors who humor his foul moods while they wait for him to come round to their way of thinking.

The Worst is not only bad tempered and unreasonable, but he is at his happiest when a situation is at its worst. If he's not making life miserable for someone else, he's more then willing to make life unpleasant for himself. When he goes on vacation in The Worst Person in the World at Crab Beach, he chooses a hotel based on how many mosquitoes they have (in this case, many,) how awful the food is, and, when given the choice of room, he chooses a room in the cellar with a hard bed and "no view whatsoever."  However, The Worst meets his match in caustic Miriam and her odious son, Cranston. And that's what makes this, for me, the best of The Worst.

Miriam is considerably younger than The Worst, so there is no justifying her surliness. Described as "shrill and screechy," she is liberal with her use of insults and would be a nightmare to meet in person. And yet, she has her softer side. In an unparalleled display of maternal love, she flings The Worst's lunch into the ocean when he kicks over her son's sand castle. '"Lunch is over," she said. "Why don't you shove off?"' When The Worst declares that he is leaving, Cranston, not to be out done by his mother, quips, '"Not fast enough."' You just can't get dialog like that in a children's book anymore! At least, not without a moral.

So why do I recommend this book about grown-ups behaving badly? Well, it's funny. And other than enjoying The Worst and Miriam fling Three Stooges-style zingers at each other, I am always in favor of books that show that grumpiness is an option. I don't believe that a book has to be an edifying experience every time a child picks one up; it's okay for them to laugh at foibles for the sake of them. But since an entire book can not be sustained by one joke, author/illustrator Stevenson slips in an almost unrecognizable dose of warm-fuzzy into his Worst books. In this case The Worst, Miriam, and Cranston clearly recognize kindred spirits and become friends. For them, friendship means sitting around drinking prune juice, watching poison-ivy grow, and chasing away would be visitors. It works for them (and Klingons, but that's a tangent we don't need to visit right now.)

An argument could be made that The Worst is simply lonely, and his behavior is a way to shield that. Like someone who practices false modesty to fish for a compliment, The Worst always manages to surround himself with people, despite the "Go Away" signs in his yard. I'm not totally convinced; I simply think The Worst is crusty, difficult and unrepentant. By crossing paths with Miriam and Cranston, The Worst is actually challenged by behavior as bad as his own. Fortunately, for all of us, it only makes him.....worse.

Rave Review: Jack's Path of Courage

Thursday 20 January 2011 marks the 50th anniversary of the inauguration of John Fitzgerald Kennedy as the 35th president of the United States. Growing up in Boston, I have lived a lifetime within the sphere of the Kennedy family's local influence. And as the daughter of an immigrant who grew up in post-war Italy with her eye on JFK and all that was promising about the USA, I am steeped in Kennedy lore. So, frankly, I am inclined to like this book. The fact that it is well-written and exquisitely illustrated just makes the admiring easy.

I love the decision to have the cover completely free of text. The man on the front is without a doubt the man who inspired a generation of people around the world; he is handsome, charismatic, and looking onwards and upwards. The profile which is presented within the pages of the book is of an individual who grew up loved but challenged by the expectations of his father and constantly in physical pain due to a back injury exacerbated by war-time damage. Kennedy's is a life defined by courage: the courage to compete with an admired older brother, the courage to fill his shoes when necessary, the courage to make mistakes and own up to them. And while his assassination always leads to discussion of a life cut short and potential snuffed, this book highlights how much he did manage to do in a short period of time. His was a life of privilage, but also a life of service.

The images and text combine to introduce to readers a man who was nothing less than remarkable. Illustrator Matt Tavares mentions in a note that he used actual photographs as reference for his illustrations. The photographic influence is evident; many of the illustrations have the intimacy of captured moments, as if someone peeked in and snapped a quick picture. The text by Doreen Rappaport, which incorporates quotes adapted from original sources, is straightforward, reverent, yet honest.

This book is a beautiful tribute to a man who, whatever his detractors might think, will always be looked to as an individual who inspired not just a single nation, but the whole world in a way that no leader has been able to do since. His legacy is far-reaching--the death this week of Sargent Shriver was a link to that legacy.  Legacies are not created by men and women who turn away from life's challenges, but by those who face them head on, and this book shows how John Kennedy spent a lifetime doing just that.

To see more of the artwork, check out this book trailer

Rave Review: The Last Train

In the interest of full disclosure, I need to make a confession: I am a former railway conductor. I worked for Midland Mainline, a railway operating company in England, for four years, working my way up from trolley dolly to guard. There was a time when I knew every bump in the line from Sheffield to London. Whenever I stand on a station platform, and watch a train leave, I am sorry for the adventure I am not having. In brief, as far as trains are concerned, I am soooooo biased.

The Last Train is based on a song by musician Gordon Titcomb, a song which he admits was heavily influenced by the railroad songs that came before. It is an extremely personal book. It isn't about the diesel-spouting High Speed Trains (HST's) that I used to work on. Rather, it is a nostalgic look at an age of shoveling coal and lonely whistles in the night; of an industry which shrank in this country so as to be almost unrecognizable. The title page shows a young boy, through whose eyes we follow the story, standing in front of a steam engine. On either side of him is a conductor and an engineer. We eventually discover that this is in fact his father and grandfather. Illustrations of the boy standing in front of a derelict station or walking beside a line overrun with weeds and wildflowers serve to show us how the last train to roll through his town spelled not just the end of an industry, but the loss of his legacy as well.

Lest the book sink into melancholy, the story is buoyed by the memories of the glory days of steam. The text is quite poetic. I particularly liked, "A ticket punch that clicked a million snowflakes every year." What a lyrical way to describe a rather routine job for a conductor. The text is complemented by the grand paintings of Wendell Minor. He makes full use of double page spreads to present a panorama worthy of the far-reaching power of a steam train, whether showing an approaching engine or zooming in on a detail of pennies flattened on the line ("little metal tears/That a railroad cries before it disappears.") Significantly, when Minor is representing individuals--a brakeman, a porter, a fireman--he forgoes the double-spread paintings for smaller, compact portraits. By focusing on the individuals with more intimacy, he reiterates the personal nature of the book. His paintings are literal to the text, which is an especially effective technique in a story where holding on to memories is vital.

When a conductor sees a train away from the platform (at least in England,) they are required, for various safety reasons, to look out a window (preferably from the last coach) and watch until the train has left the platform completely. There were many times, late night shifts in particular, when I would look out, and as the train curved along the bend of the track, the only light I could see was from the train itself. That lonely light in a dark night is, for me, evocative of the romance of trains and the railway life in general. Trains are powerful, magnificent, revolutionary machines. Yet even they gave way in the face of advancing technology. There is a painting towards the end of the book which visualizes this truth perfectly: a train (not even a steamie, but a diesel) rides along the rail while an airplane flies above it in the opposite direction. The plane's contrails leave a cloudy, imitation rail of its own in the sky.

Fortunately, trains--like dinosaurs--have immense kid appeal. The sort of appeal that is not generally outgrown (case in point--me!) The last train might have rolled through a lost America, but with books like this one, it can always roll through one more time.

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Folk fans take note: Arlo Guthrie, who recorded one of the most famous railroad songs ever, wrote the forward. Also, a list of Railroad Museum websites is provided to promote trainspotting delight. Thank you to Florence and Wendell Minor for providing me with a copy of the book to review.
 

Rave Review: Big Red Lollipop

Big Red Lollipop is a heartfelt, and heartbreaking, picture book about a girl named Rubina who is invited to her first birthday party. It is also a book about sibling relationships. It is also a book about the immigrant experience. It is also, in my opinion, a story about parental failure--a big, fat reminder of how much we forget about being children once we grow-up, and how parents demand wisdom from their children when we clearly don't have any ourselves.

When Rubina comes home from school one day, breathless from excitement about her first ever birthday party invitation, she is delivered a ghastly ultimatum by her mother, who has never even heard of birthday parties: she must take her little sister, Sana, with her or forfeit the party herself. The mother, dressed in the traditional garb of her home country, is lost in translation as Rubina tries to explain that that's not the way things are done. But the mother is adamant, and Rubina secures an invite for her bratty sister, despite the realization that her own social life is doomed. Rubina's one consolation for the day, a beautiful red lollipop received in her goodie bag, which she saves to enjoy later, is also lost to her when her sister eats it herself. 

Soon Sana is old enough to receive her own birthday party invitation. Rubina watches a familiar scene unfold as Sana's initial joy is squashed when her mother informs her that she must take both Rubina and the youngest sister, Maryam, with her. Rubina wants nothing to do with this scenario, despite the mother's insistence that it is fair. Sana, who has clearly forgotten her own role in the previous party events, is beside herself and pleads that she simply cannot bring the youngest sister with her.

Rubina's intervention is graceful, generous, and born of a wisdom which comes from stigma. The mother may or may not have noticed the lack of further party invites for her eldest daughter, but they are fresh in Rubina's mind. Sana proves herself to be grateful in the end, and the strengthened bond with her sister is a beautiful way to finish the book. But for me it is simply silver lining, because the central lesson revolves around the behavior of the mother. You can call it a cultural difference, an angle which is certainly emphasized in the story. But truthfully, I think the problem is in the process of growing-up. As adults we forget about the things which are important to children, such as the desire to not stick out. Compared to our weighty concerns, what's the big deal to bring a little sister--a child--to a child's party? How often do we tell children that life's not fair, and then force adult concepts of "fair" on them (such as being told to share a lollipop with a sibling who has already taken the lollipop for herself.) Or maybe it's just me. Perhaps this book struck a chord because I know how often I have failed my daughter with my own lapses of memory. Perhaps Big Red Lollipop simply speaks to my guilty conscience, that of a mother who has fallen back on the annoying get-out clauses my mom used ("Because I said so!") rather than remember my own nine year old cares and concerns.

Before finishing, I must take a moment to comment on the illustrations of Sophie Blackall. As the illustrator of the Ivy and Bean books, I always associate her work with the mischievous, slightly subversive behavior of those two girls. Here she has used her talent for expressiveness to eloquently compliment the text. The exchange over the purloined lollipop is a masterpiece of scowls, indignation, and contempt for the plain, awful unfairness of it all. And the cover, with the striking visual of the dominant lollipop, conveys the import of that controversial sweet without revealing the magnitude of the life lesson learned inside the book.

Picture Book Review: Benno and the Night of Broken Glass

I've refrained from using my usual title "Rave Review" because this is not a book that one can rave about: it is a story about Kristallnacht. But as an example of how a picture book can break free of the perceptions of the format and be an intelligent, compelling, and sensitive way to tell a story to readers from ages 5 to 105, this book is an excellent example.

The action of the story takes place on Rosenstrasse in Berlin, and is told from the point of view of a ginger cat named Benno. He is a stray who makes his home where he leaves his hat, so to speak, and his transient lifestyle gives him the opportunity to spend time with the residents of Rosenstrasse. He shares Shabat with the Adler family, sleeps in the window of Mitzi Stein's dress shop, visits Frau Gerber for daily ear scratches, and watches Inge Schmidt and her Jewish friend, Sophie, walk to school each day. He is a non-judgemental observer of the comings and goings of a busy street--all is told in perspective to his own feline needs. Consequently, when the Nazis arrive, his non-judgemental perspective creates a stark contrast to the fear of the residents. He seems to be aware that something is wrong, but as he is a completely non-anthropomorphized character, his non-emotional observance of the terror and destruction wrought by Kristallnacht is unembellished. The evil speaks for itself. Afterwards, he tries to find some of his friends, but they are gone. He cannot know that they are gone because they are Jewish, but he notices that everything has changed on Rosenstrasse and that nothing will be the same.

Using the eyes of a cat to tell this story is a remarkably efficient technique for taking the emotional charge out of the events and presenting them to children in a way that they can absorb and understand what has happened. The heartbreaking images of the demolished shops and homes fill in the dramatic gaps in the text, and the historical note at the end, which in non-fiction picture books has become the bridge between young readers and the wider contextual details of a book's subject, provide the starting point for discussion. The thought of having to tell young children about Kristallnacht at all is pervasively tragic. Yet here is a book that is more than up to the task.

Blog Tour: Interrupting Chicken by David Ezra Stein

Ah.....the joys of bedtime stories. The snuggling. The sharing. The interrupting. The interrupting? That's right folks. In David Ezra Stein's new picture book gem, Interrupting Chicken, interrupting is both a plot device and a reassurance, as a little girl shares the time-honored tradition of reading before bed with her Papa. In fact, reading a story is vital--she simply can't fall asleep without one. Yet despite her good intentions to let the words lull her to sleep, the little chicken is continually wound-up by the crisis presented in each tale her Papa tells. Instead of relaxing, she is fretting. And fretting leads to action as, with a well placed, comical interruption, she takes control of each story and finds a short-cut to "happily ever after." After three failed story-telling attempts, the book takes another humorous turn when the daughter tries to read a story to her Papa. All's well that ends well, for this night at least.

Like a self-referential film, this is a story about reading aloud which is quite a good read-aloud itself. The text is snappy, and the visual humor never lets up, from Little Chicken's over-sized wattle, to her thoroughly interactive reading experience. Stein lays out each story as it looks to Papa when he reads, and consequently we get the full effect of the little chicken's interruption when she literally bursts into every story, giving a new, visual meaning to the term "fractured fairytale." The chaos between the pages establishes a nice counterpoint to the quieter action in the house, where we watch the father become ever-more frustrated with his daughter, who clearly shows no signs of falling asleep.

INTERRUPTING CHICKEN. Copyright © 2010 by David Ezra Stein. Reproduced by permission of the publisher, Candlewick Press, Somerville, MA.

Looking back at the Stein canon so far, Interrupting Chicken touches upon themes we have seen before; the "I've got your back" sentiments of The Nice Book; the parent/child relationship and all the safety it promises in Pouch; the unique way that the young view the world in the award-winning Leaves. But this book raises a rather intelligent point about the power of stories and the investment readers make to the written word. Little Chicken cares so deeply about the characters in her storybook that she simply can't bear the thought of them facing danger. She rewrites the stories to her liking, so that the only casualty is her own bedtime. It's not quite fan fiction, but it gets the job done.

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As part of this blog tour I was given the opportunity to put five questions to David Ezra Stein, which he kindly took the time to answer.

NJFK: It has to be asked: were you an interrupting chicken yourself?

DES: Yes I believe I was. My mother tells me that she never completed a conversation (like with an adult) till I was in school. I was kind of like Roo from Winnie-the-Pooh, always wanting her to "look at me jumping." Now I have a much bigger audience, but being an artist is still, in a way, about saying to the world, "look what I can do!"

NJFK: What are some of your own favorite read-aloud stories?

DES: There is a short story by Chekov called "The Siren" that my wife and I like to read aloud once in a while. It is full of delicious descriptions of food. On a younger note, I have always loved to read aloud James Marshall's "George and Martha" books. I also love "Little Bear" and "Frog and Toad". And Dr. Seuss and Madeline! since they rhyme in such a successful way. They are all stories that were read to me as a child and still delight me now.

NJFK: What comes to you first--the story or the images?

DES: Neither! The idea usually comes first, usually as a feeling, or a particular relationship between characters that I want to explore further. It's a poetic way of writing, I suppose. Then the words and the art help to crystallize that feeling and make it real and understandable to others.

NJFK: Are there any writers for whom you would love to illustrate, or favorite stories you would like to interpret yourself?

DES: I would love to illustrate a classic adventure story like Treasure Island, or an ancient legend. Something with battles! Testosterone is hard to come by in the 0–5 market. Interrupting Chicken did let me explore illustrating some fairy tales and I'd like to go further. I am always looking for a new challenge.

NJFK:  Can we look forward to more Cowboy Ned and Andy--I have to confess that they are a personal favorite with me :)

DES:  I do love Cowboy Ned and Andy, and kids ask about them from time to time. If they had a new story they really wanted to tell they might indeed ride again! Someday.

A big thank you to David Ezra Stein for the interview, and to Candlewick Press for providing me with a copy of the book. Be sure to visit the other stops on the tour and check out other reviewers' take on this entertaining and engaging picture book.

• Aug. 9 – Picture Book Review, http://picturebookreview.com/
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• Aug. 10 - Katie's Literature Lounge, http://katiesliteraturelounge.blogspot.com/
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• Aug. 11 – Readaholic, http://bridget3420.blogspot.com/
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• Aug. 12 - Two Writing Teachers, http://twowritingteachers.wordpress.com
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• Aug. 13 - Not Just for Kids, http://notjustforkids.blogspot.com/
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• Aug. 14 - Milk and Cookies, Comfort Reading . . ., http://janasbooklist.blogspot.com/
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• Aug. 15 - Bookworm's Dinner, http://bookwormsdinner.blogspot.com/
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• Aug. 16 - Where the Best Books Are, http://wherethebestbooksare.blogspot.com/
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• Aug. 17 – KidsLit review, http://kidslit.menashalibrary.org/

I can't finish, though, without giving the little chicken the final word.

Rave Review: Bats at the Ballgame by Brian Lies

They've been to the beach. They've patronized the library. And now, Brian Lies' adorable bats are going to watch--what else?--a baseball game. The third installment in this highly appealing series is full of charm, visual humor and--if you are a Red Sox fan--a couple of in-jokes for your reading pleasure.
One of the reasons the bat books are so much fun is the opportunity they provide for sight gags. After a couple of double page spreads of bats flying towards the ball park, Lies treats his readers to the sight of bats hanging from the rafters to take in the game, catching mothdogs and Cricket Jack from a flying vendor. Groundsbats prep the mound with a fork. A dismayed fan hides behind his wings. There is so much to see in each illustration--right side up as well as upside down. And in this particular title there is also the scope for word play to add to the humor. Start with the title: Bats at the Ballgame. Everyone knows that you can't play baseball without a bat! It was inevitable that the line "bats at bat" would be used at some time during the story, yet it's still funny when it finally comes round. And the opportunity to accuse the bat ump of being blind.......well, I suppose Lies just couldn't help himself there!

Red Sox fans will notice that the good guys are wearing red caps (and socks!) An old-timer talks reverently of a player, number 24, making an outstanding catch in the field (I wonder if Dwight Evans is a particular hero to Lies.) There is a green, manual--make that, "batual"--scoreboard, not unlike the one on the Green Monster at Fenway. And the mention of a "pesky pole" is just blatant! But even if the reader isn't a member of Red Sox Nation--simply a fan of the game--there is plenty to enjoy in this clever, affectionate, and engaging love letter to baseball and the fans who follow the bats of summer.

Bats at the Ballgame is due for release in September, 2010. Just in time for the postseason.

Rave Review: The Case of the Gypsy Good-bye by Nancy Springer

With the popularity of series fiction at an all-time high for elementary and middle grade readers, I often will read the first title of any series that is popular or promising. Dipping my toe in this manner allows me the chance to booktalk the series with a reasonable amount of competency and enthusiasm. But  with some series, I'm in it for the long haul. The Enola Holmes Mysteries is one such series. Starting with The Case of the Missing Marquess, where we meet Enola for the first time, to this final volume (yes--final!) I have followed her attempts to stay two steps ahead of her older brothers (one of whom happens to be a guy named Sherlock) as well as discover any information about her mother, a free spirited Suffragette who vanished on Enola's fourteenth birthday and sporadically communicates through the personals of the London dailies.

Let's just start by saying that these mysteries are wildly unrealistic. However, I don't think they stretch belief any more than the original Sherlock Holmes mysteries, so it's a level playing field. The premise is fairly straightforward: Enola is the much younger sister of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes. When her mother disappears, the brothers decide that their sister--who has far too much of her mother's personality--needs to attend a proper finishing school to become a proper young lady. Unbeknownst to the brothers, their mother has left Enola a sizable amount of money, with which she scarpers off to London and sets herself up as the secretary of one Doctor Ragostin, a fictional Scientific Perditorain, who specializes in locating the lost. Working within these Remington Steele parameters, with a myriad of disguises, street-smarts, and wisdom beyind her years, Enola solves crimes and finds missing people, all the while waiting until she reaches the age of her majority and is legally free from the guardianship of her brothers.

For me, one of the most enjoyable aspects of these books has been their use of codes. Enola's name is itself a code--it is 'alone' spelled backwards, and it is a moniker which sometimes weighs heavy upon the girl. Flowers and fans were tools that Victorian women used to communicate, often beneath the radars of men. When Enola and her mother communicate through the papers they reference specific flowers to represent people and feelings. It is Sherlock's inability to grasp the nuance of this code which prevents him on at least one occasion of catching Enola, who easily spots his mistake.

The Case of the Gypsy Good-bye neatly pulls together all of the plot-lines which have been developed over the course of the books: Sherlock and Mycroft's attempts to locate Enola and send her to school, Enola's search for her mother and affirmation of whether her mother cared for her, Enola's quest for independence, and one final code to crack--the scytale which Lady Holmes has sent to her daughter. There is also a missing person to find: the unearthly beauty, Lady Blanchefleur del Campo has disappeared without a trace, and both Sherlock Holmes and "Doctor Ragostin" are trying to locate her. It is a mystery that requires a feminine touch, as Enola ably proves to her revered brother.

I am sorry to see the last of Enola Holmes. As Sherlock himself says, "I have become quite addicted to [her]." I have had great fun visiting her Victorian London, watching her outwit her brothers, and trying my hand at cracking the codes myself (always falling short, I might add.) This is a spin-off series that really worked.

Rave Review: Funny Lunch by David Catrow

Max Spaniel, the star of Dinosaur Hunt, is back for a second installment in this chaotically funny series from Scholastic. Kids might think that they are reading a book about a dog, but, as Max will tell you himself, he is not a dog. He is a chef. A great chef! Observant readers who paid attention to the title page might question Max's culinary credentials, but hey--a chef is nothing without his ego. And judging from this story, if it is representative of every day at Max's Diner, then who's to say that he is not great? He placates demanding customers, provides entertainment between courses, and even handles a tricky order when his own resources fail him. Max is indeed, some sort of special chef.

Plot details aside, Funny Lunch achieves what all early reader titles aim for--a defined story with minimal text that is fun to read while also challenging developing readers. Books that do this well are heavily reliant on the illustrations, which often set the tone for the story as well as fill in the narrative blanks for the reader. David Catrow's frenetic watercolors convey Max's energy in a way that can only be described as, well, doggish (sorry Max!) He rolls, pats, and tosses; he sings, dances, and performs tricks (of the magic variety;) he mixes and bakes. In fact, Max is non-stop from the moment he bounces out of bed in the morning, till the final page, when he and his tabby cat side-kick have a well-deserved pizza party. (I would like to say this about the tabby-cat sidekick--more please! Slightly imposed upon, more roly-poly than sleekly feline, and 100% devoted to Max, he is just as much of a visual treat as our hero.)

Writer and illustrator David Catrow pays homage to a couple of well-known easy reader classics in Funny Lunch, which simply adds to the fun of this title.  As Max gets ready to go to the diner, he has to choose just the right hat. His modeling and subsequent rejection of various headgear--until finally settling on just the right one--is straight out of Old Hat, New Hat by Stan and Jan Berenstain (Catrow has even left a visual reference for sharp eyed readers to discover.) And Max's literal interpretation of some of his customers' orders (a dog who orders chili is bundled up in hat, glove, and scarf; a request for a hot dog results in an overheated pooch in front of a fan,) is reminiscent of none other than the queen of literalism herself, Amelia Bedelia. If readers meet Max having already encountered these other titles, it will increase their delight in this book, as well as provide a canonical context within which to enjoy it.

With it's lovable protagonist, humorous plot, and delightful messiness, Funny Lunch is set to build upon the appeal of Dinosaur Hunt. You can read more about Max and his adventures in cooking here. And be sure to check out the official book trailer, which incorporates much of the original artwork.

(Thank you to Scholastic for providing me with a copy of the book to preview.)

 

Finding a place for birds and frogs: non-fiction by Melissa Stewart

The close-quarters relationship between humans and indigenous wildlife has not always been neighborly. Whether intentionally or not, humans have impacted their environment in ways that adversely affect the lives and habitats of the animals living there. Birds and frogs, which are among our most common and plentiful wild neighbors, are the subjects of two books by author Melissa Stewart in an on-going series for Peachtree Publishers. A Place for Birds (2009) and A Place for Frogs (2010) introduces readers to birds and frogs in an easy to read format, spread across the tops of double-page nature spreads. Side bars and fact boxes provide more detailed information in support of the simpler text.

Birds undoubtedly benefit from the vigilance of bird watchers. Stewart uses the example of the Eastern Bluebird, which nests in old trees and rotten fence posts. But when farmers began replacing wooden fence posts with metal ones, bird watchers noticed that these little birds were losing their nesting ground. It was a problem easily remedied with nesting boxes, and a fabulous example to young readers of how sometimes it is remarkably easy to right environmental wrongs. Scientific study plays a large part in redressing the balance between human needs and environmental concerns, but advocacy really can begin at home. A few pages later we read about the Exxon Valdez and the devestating effect it had on the Common Murre, which lives off the coast of Alaska. Clearly there is no easy solution to this sort of environmental disaster, although the timeliness of the mention, due to the current Deepwater Horizon oil spill in the Gulf of Mexico, is compelling.

As for the frogs, the fact that there are thousands of species worldwide, with more being discovered on a regular basis, is a testament to how intricately they are knitted into the fabric of life on Earth. Frogs are everywhere, and it doesn't take much to infringe on their places. Often the victims of unconsidered consequences (pesticides, the introduction of domestic animals, Global Warming,) frogs need advocates, too. Examples of concerned citizens monitoring busy roads during mating season (Wood Frogs) or realizing that caves don't make good dumps (Puerto Rico Rock Frogs,) have helped to protect frogs in the face of man-made hazards.

One fact which both books makes clear, is that birds and frogs are just as important as links in the food chain as they are alive. It is vital that predators have these animals--and their eggs--on which to feed. It is an unexpected conclusion after so much emphasis is placed on protecting them. It seems that sometimes, the place for birds and frogs, is on the menu!

Special note should be made of the illustrations by Higgins Bond. The realistic acrylics are full of activity and detail which help to place the subjects in their natural environment. And, depending on the location of the reader, these environments might look familiar. I particularly liked the cover illustration of A Place for Birds; showing a Hermit Thrush flying past a dusky Chicago skyline, it highlights the delicate juxtaposition of humans and wildlife. And the corresponding story of turning off skyscraper lights during the birds' migration season reiterates the message that there is plenty we, non-scientists, can do to assist our wild neighbors and protect their places.

These are solid non-fiction books written and illustrated to appeal to the widest range of readers. They gently remind us that our wild neighbors need us, that there is plenty we can do to help them, and that the entire planet benefits when there are safe places for birds and frogs to live.

(Thank you to Peachtree Publishers for providing me with copies of the books for review.)

Anticipated Arcs: This Means War! by Ellen Wittlinger

In Ellen Wittlinger's upcoming middle school novel (due for release in April, 2010,) the subject of "boys against the girls" is played out in front of a dramatic historical backdrop. With the United States and Cuba locked in a nuclear stare-down, 4 girls and 4 boys in Wisdom Hill, a Southern Air Force town bearing the eerie markings of a military build-up, challenge each other to a series of "tests" to prove, once and for all, who is the best--boys or girls. Children's literature is no stranger to the battle of the sexes: Phyllis Reynolds Naylor's multi-volume "Boys against Girls" series is full of fun and pranks, and Andrew Clements' No Talking elevates a stubborn battle of wills into a constructive social exercise. In This Means War! however, there is no doubt that the stakes in this battle are high, as the children's game becomes complicated by a maelstrom of pre-teen disorientation, confused loyalties, and the escalating anxiety concerning the Cuban missile crisis.

There were times when this was a stressful book to read. I know how the Cuban Missile Crisis was eventually resolved, so the stress did not originate from the historical context of the book. Instead, the activity of the children, seen through the eyes of protagonist Juliet Klostermeyer, is fraught with peril. Each team is goaded on by a leader who simply cannot be seen to be weak or less than the best: Bruce Wagner is a juvenile delinquent in the making who is reduced to hanging out with children much younger than himself because he has been forced to repeat grades in school. He is a loud-mouthed bully that the younger boys don't know how to rid themselves of, despite the fact that he upsets and scares them. Patsy Osborne is a bold and confident girl whose fiercely competitive streak is antagonized by contemporary attitudes about girls. Bruce is the obvious villain, but Patsy is the danger you suddenly realize has been present all along and is consequently harder to contain.

This is a thought-provoking book about the fears of children, and the lengths to which they will go to face, combat, or mask those fears. If Juliet were not already distressed about a domestic situation in which her mother is too busy to spend time with her, her father's business is threatened by larger competition, her older sister thinks she is a nuisance, and her best friend (who happens to be a boy) is suddenly ignoring her,  the news about the missle crisis might have remained just that--news. But as Juliet sees chinks in her localized support system, there is space for larger concerns to creep in and threaten her. One of the most touching moments in the book is when Juliet cries because Mr. Ed has been preempted by the news about the missile crisis. Having been gifted a rare chance to sit and watch TV with her mother, the loss of that opportunity is indicative to her of an unsafe world that can reach her at any moment.

Just as the Cuban Missile Crisis dictates the fear factor in this story, so does its end project a sense a optimism on the book's finale. After an intense week that has seen both the larger and the local world teeter on the brink of disaster, Juliet and her friends are afforded respite, redemption and the luxury to reflect on their experience. The war, as it were, is over, and it is time to start the reconstruction. This is a book which will resonate with its core audience--preteens living in an uncertain world, where the meanings of bravery, fear, and loyalty are questioned everyday.

Anticipated ARCS: The Birthday Ball by Lois Lowry

I finally got a chance to tackle the mountains of ARCS I brought home last weekend from ALA, and started with the upcoming book by Lois Lowry. Due for release in April 2010, The Birthday Ball tells the story of Princess Patricia Priscilla, who, a mere five days before her sixteenth birthday, can bear the boredom of privilege no longer. Hoping to live a little before she is required to choose a suitor at her birthday ball, Patricia Priscilla changes clothes with her chambermaid in order to visit the village incognito. There she starts to attend the local school, where her eyes are opened not just to the inequalities within her own domain, but to the choices available to her as an intelligent princess.

This is a very funny book, with enough over the top characterization and mistaken identity to please Shakespeare. The slightly maniacal illustrations by the great Jules Feiffer heighten the comedic effect of the story, as does the narrator's convivial tone. Buffoonery abounds, from the stone-deaf Queen, who lost her hearing because she was too vain to wear a hat on an extremely cold day; to the incessantly bickering Conjoint Counts who can agree on nothing except toilet humor; to the professional Splashers, who's sole duty is to make waves in bodies of water so that their odious master may never see how ugly he is. The Princess herself is not initially a sympathetic character by virtue of her condescending attitude about "peasants". She is a quick learner, however, and her natural compassion, born as much from a quick mind as a kind heart, breaks through.

Despite the fact that a princess appears on the cover on the book, complete with sparkles and a girl-friendly purple background, boys will find the three dreadful suitors (four, if you count the Conjoint Counts as two) appealing with their nasty habits and unsociable manners. For instance:

"[The Conjoint Counts] had a particular annoying prank that they played on each other. One would wait until his brother's face was turned toward his own, and then belch loudly at it and cry, "Gotcha!"
The belched-at one would invariably respond with a full-scale wedgie."

Wedgies and princesses? In the same book? Hard to resist, especially as a read-aloud.

Just as Princess Patricia Priscilla finds a way to control her fate, so does The Birthday Ball find a way to buck the conventions of the fairy tale. The ingredients are all in place, but Lowry deftly redefines 'Happily Ever After'. This one is a crowd pleaser all round.

Rave Review: Stitches

I was not originally going to write a review of this book (and whether this post proves to be a critique or a rambling observation still remains to be seen,) but, having just put it down, I wanted to say something about it. I could have quickly tweeted--"Just read 'Stitches' by David Small. Wow!"--and anyone interested who saw the tweet would have no doubt commented. But that didn't seem fair treatment to this unusual autobiography. 'Unusual' is really an understatement; "harrowing', 'dark', 'grizzly', 'bleak' might be more accurate descriptors. But I want to keep a book which is so reliant on the use of images from becoming bogged down with words. Also, anyone who is familiar with the bigger picture knows that David Small grew up to become a Caldecott Medal winner, married a fellow writer, wrote and illustrated the playful Imogene's Antlers, and--most importantly--survived the story within the pages of Stitches. His is ultimately a story of triumph! And yet.....well.....let's just say, thank goodness for catharsis.

Small starts his story when he is six, an age when the intense emotional repression in his family has become evident. He talks about the language used by his family; his father pummels a boxing bag, his mother slams doors, and his brother thrashes away at a drum kit. David's language is not art, as the reader would be forgiven for assuming, but illness. There is not much that David can do about it, but he is chronically ill. He is born with a sinus ailment, and his father's attempts to treat the respiratory problems with radiation will result in David developing cancer. And yet, ghastly as this is, the story that Small tells up to this point is unimaginable enough. He tells about his mother, born with her heart on the wrong side of her chest, which becomes a tragic allegory for her inability to communicate; he tells of vacations spent with a grandmother who's taciturn nature masks increasing insanity; and always there is the presence of an inexplicable, unfathomable rage which courses through the family.

And yet, as I read this book, I was struck by the fact that I could not hate these warped, disturbed people who raised David Small. This is a testament to his storytelling craft as well as the images he creates; his mother, for instance, is often portrayed with opaque, flashing glasses which prevent us from seeing her eyes. It is as if he is acknowledging that there was more going on than any child could understand. When I read Small's brief note at the end, in which he says that "maturity, reflection, and some family research" has led him to a new understanding of his mother, I felt vindicated as a judge of character. However, Small makes it quite clear that his parents damaged him immensely, and he judges them appropriately.

And, as mentioned, there is the big picture. In a recent issue of Publisher's Weekly, Small wrote a three page article about why he writes. That article, like this book, is presented graphically. He represents himself as Frankenstein, a monster made monstrous through no fault of his own. In that article he explains how the writing of Stitches has helped him feel much better, though he is Frankenstein still. And while the book does not end happily, it does end--which means that there is a survivor to tell the story. Small has illustrated picture books which have been at times exuberant (When Dinosaurs Came with Everything,) reflective (The Friend,) and celebratory (The Library.) As readers we do not always get the full story behind the creators of the books we love. With Stitches we are treated (if that could possibly be the correct word in this context) to a level of revelation beyond what most readers could imagine. Read this book, and marvel.

Book of the Week: My Uncle Emily

Here is a delicate treasure of a picture book. It's an enlightening vignette from the life of poet Emily Dickinson. Part fact, part fiction, the book details the tender relationship between young Thomas Glibert "Gib" Dickinson and his aunt. There's is a relationship of shared joys; gardens, black cake, and poetry. Uncle Emily says that poets "light lamps", and although Gib does not always understand what her poems mean, the questions which they raise in him do, indeed, light lamps for his young mind. When Uncle Emily sends him to school with a poem for her teacher, Gib's protective affection for his unique aunt gets him involved in a school yard fracas. Gib tries to hide the incident from Uncle Emily, fearing that it will upset her kind soul to know that he got in trouble on her account. But she knows him too well, and uses one of her own poems to light a lamp for Gib, so that he may find his way to tell the truth.

In many ways, this book is slightly inscrutable like a poem, yet lights a lamp all the same. The reader is plopped in the midst of Dickinson's life with little explanation of her place in literary history and almost no biographical details except for what relates to Gib. It must stand on its own, which it does superbly. It is a great read-aloud, with text that reads smoothly, even when incorporating old-fashion terminology like "peculiar old maid." NMD was fascinated by a double spread illustration of the miscreants stood in separate corners, dunce caps on their head, which seemed much more arcane than an aunt who was called "Uncle" as a family joke and always dressed in white. Nancy Carpenter's illustrations are reminiscent of the work of Barbara McClintock, evoking a distant time with authentic detail which always seems pretty even when portraying dissent. Yolen mentions in an author's note that the poem for the teacher is factual, while the fight between Gib and a taunting classmate is fictional. In that author's note she also mentions that young Gib died at the age of eight. Such a conclusion adds an air of melancholy and mortality that Emily Dickinson would--and did--make note of. This is a lovely book which will evoke interest in a sensitive, compelling poet, who always noticed the little details that other grown-ups missed.