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The Man Who Caught Fish is an original story with an age-old moral: greed can be disastrous. Walter Lyon Krudop’s gorgeous picture book evokes ancient Thailand and tells the tale of a king who insists upon taking more than his due.

A stranger comes to a village, and lifts fish after fish out of the water. Instead of collecting them for himself, he hands one to whomever is nearby. The amazed and grateful villagers gather to accept their fish from the stranger, whose only words are One person, one fish. A haughty king arrives, decked out in jewels and finery. He expects this stranger to offer him a whole basketful of fish, since even the humblest peasants received one apiece. But the king, too, is told One person, one fish by the mysterious stranger.

The king’s greed won’t let the issue rest. After bribing and jailing the stranger to no avail, he discovers through trickery the stranger’s enchanted secret. Krudop’s story is simple and eloquent, like the stranger’s words. The Man Who Caught Fish offers a great chance to talk about morality and symbolism with children. It’s right to be grateful, like the villagers, for an unexpected gift. But why is it wrong for the king to demand more, since he is, after all the king? Are some gifts for everyone, such that not even a king can take more than a poor person? Laughter, love, friendship? Is the king happy with the result when he tries to sneak extra fish? Can deceit bring happiness or bad outcomes? Krudop illustrates his book with fabulous, expressive paintings. The stranger’s gaze is serene and intelligent; the king looks spoiled and sneaky. The king bursts onto the faded coastal scene like a radiant peacock, demanding attention and respect. The stranger blends in with the subdued colors of the coast and sky, the villagers, and the dungeon walls. Leaving out proper names and referring to characters by their roles enhances the fairytale quality of Krudop’s book. Visually lavish and intelligently simple, The Man Who Caught Fish is a pleasure for both children and adults.

Julie Anderson is the mother of two.

A picture book about the Holocaust? A tricky undertaking, to say the least. Not surprisingly, Patricia Polacco pulls it off. The beloved author and illustrator adds The Butterfly to a long list of extraordinary books for children, such as Pink and Say, Thundercake, Mrs. Katz and Tush, and The Keeping Quilt.

The Butterfly tells the true story of an incident in the life of Polacco’s aunt, Monique Solliliage, who was a child in German-occupied France.

Unbeknownst to little Monique, her mother was active in the French resistance, and routinely hid entire families in the cellar until safe transport could be arranged.

One night, Monique wakes to find a ghost sitting on her bed. The ghost turns out to be one of the children Madame Solliliage is hiding: a little girl named Sevrine. Sevrine is so desperate for companionship and play that she risks the lives of the whole household by venturing upstairs. The girls become secret friends, playing together every night, until they are spotted by a neighbor. They confess to Monique’s mother, who quickly arranges passage to a safer place. Adults reading to very young children might consider paraphrasing the action and keeping some of the dialogue to make the story shorter and more concise. The evocation of fear, dread, and actual violence may otherwise be too intense. For older children who are asking questions about the Holocaust or studying it in elementary school, it is an excellent read-aloud book as is. The book’s size is a bit deceptive: it looks like an ordinary picture book, so older children may be prejudiced against what appears to be a book for little kids. Were it the same size as a chapter book, it could avoid a case of mistaken identity. In its present form, however, Polacco’s artwork remains big enough to deliver its powerful message. Besides, adults familiar with Polacco’s other works know her books are always much more than just picture books. The Butterfly, named after a creature of hope and freedom, does end on a hopeful, albeit suspenseful, note. The real story continues years after the book’s last page: Monique and Sevrine remain friends to this day.

Joanna Brichetto lives in Nashville.

Fans of Lynn Curlee’s books will applaud this addition to the shelf that contains Rushmore, Ships of the Air, and Into the Ice. Once again Curlee combines text and pictures to tell a fine historical narrative in his new book, Liberty, the story of the creation of the Statue of Liberty and its move to New York.

In the text, Curlee doesn’t simply narrate the familiar history of Frenchman Auguste Bartholdi’s idea of a tribute to America; he explains how Alexandre-Gustave Eiffel applied his legendary engineering skills to designing an armature for Liberty. He describes Bartholdi’s own design innovations. And he points out how Joseph Pulitzer, owner of the New York daily The World, led the fundraising for the pedestal on Bedloe’s Island.

Curlee’s illustrations don’t merely portray the text, either; they add to the story. For example, he tells us about young Bartholdi’s trip to Egypt, which impressed him with the sheer scale of ancient monuments such as the Sphinx and the Pyramids. The accompanying illustration, however, shows Bartholdi with a mockup of the Liberty statue, and behind it on the wall is a drawing demonstrating how much Liberty owes to descriptions of the Colossus of Rhodes, an ancient Greek monument that guarded a different harbor. Curlee explains Bartholdi’s interest in neoclassicism, the stylized revival of Greek and Roman ideas in art that was popular in the late 18th and early 19th centuries. Curlee’s own illustrations of Bartholdi and his contemporaries are also stylized, in an appealing hybrid of neoclassicism and primitivism. Many scenes of men descending the interior spiral staircase, of several horses pulling a wagon holding Liberty’s head across an arching bridge, of workmen slowly building up the copper plates that form her robe are beautifully composed, active, and yet decoratively static. It’s a wonderful effect.

Lynn Curlee is as much draftsman as painter, and the drawings in Liberty are precise and vivid. However, his use of acrylic paint is masterful. He allows the texture of the canvas to show through just enough, especially in shadows, to lend texture to the pictures. The result is a fine tribute, in words and pictures, to one of the crucial symbols of American identity.