Julie Danielson

It may be only January, but at year’s end, we’ll look back on this picture book as one of 2017’s funniest.

On the book’s title page spread, we see an ox traipsing along, sniffing a rose, and in the sky the clouds form the dramatic image of a graceful gazelle. Yep, Ox is smitten. Thus this epistolary story begins. Ox sits in his bedroom, an image of the beautiful gazelle on his wall, and writes his first letter, declaring his love for her in no uncertain terms. The entire book consists of their correspondence brought to life in Scott Campbell’s earth-toned, relaxed-line illustrations, though the gazelle’s first two letters—because she is such a stah, dahling—are impersonal form letters. Ox, however, doesn’t seem to notice: “This is an amazing coincidence! I have written you two letters, and both times you have written back using the exact same words!”

There’s so much humor here, all of it in Adam Rex’s trademark gloriously understated style. When Gazelle writes (clearly fishing for compliments) that she has many faults, Ox naively responds that she really has only one or two. When she scolds him, he responds with heartfelt thanks, calling her the “unflattering light of my life.” His intentions may be sincere, but he unknowingly stumbles with his words and she becomes exasperated. Love conquers all, though—even narcissism. Gazelle falls for Ox in a deliciously mysterious open ending, in the form of an unfinished letter. The final endpapers show the happy couple in a series of spot illustrations.

This is a book to fall in love with.

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

This article was originally published in the January 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

In the closing note of this contemplative picture book from the talented Newbery Honor-winning poet Joyce Sidman, the author notes that she constructed the text of the book in the form of an invocation, a “poem that invites something to happen, often asking for help or support.” She notes that humans have been putting invocations to use for a long time, and she prompts readers with a series of questions: Do they work? Can they comfort us? “What is it you wish for?”

What comes before is a spare, evocative poem, one in which an unnamed speaker asks for the sky to “fill with flurry and flight.” The speaker is asking for snow, and in the next few lines of her poem, Sidman brings the fluffy white stuff to life with fresh and vivid metaphors. The speaker longs for a kind of paralysis of the day—a slow but happy and white day of not having to go out and engage in the usual routines, a day that is changed and renewed by the weather, a day that cancels plans.

Caldecott Medalist Beth Krommes takes Sidman’s words and seamlessly extends them into the story of a young girl, whose mother is a pilot. Is this the girl’s wish? The father’s? Maybe even the mother’s? No matter, because either way the wish is granted: When the snowstorm prevents the girl’s mother from doing her day’s work, she heads home, back to her husband and daughter with some hugs, hot cocoa and pastries to boot. Many spreads, including the first two and final one, are wordless. Krommes’ scratchboard and watercolor illustrations are highly textured and patterned, and just as in the natural world, no two snowflakes are the same. Her spreads are busy but never overwhelming to the eye, and what she does with light and shadow in many of these evening scenes is spellbinding.

It’s a sweet, but never saccharine, tale of family—and so cozy in every possible way that readers will want to return to it again and again. Pair it with your best hot cocoa recipe. Read. Repeat. 

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

You’ve gotta hand it to Mo Willems for knowing how to bring his readers the unexpected. Although he’s arguably best known for his Pigeon books and Elephant and Piggie series, Willems departs from those familiar characters for a charming new story about frogs and baguettes, of all things.

This is the story of Nanette, a frog who is sent on an errand to retrieve a baguette from the bakery, complete with a narrator who speaks directly to her. She finds the baguette so warm and wonderful that she doesn’t succeed in bringing it home. Instead, she devours it on the way and is left guilt-ridden. The story is in rhyme, but those who fear stale, singsong couplets need not worry. Willems rhymes the “ette” sound all throughout (Nanette, baguette, fret, upset) in a pleasing way. His meter is spot-on, and never once does he force words in the name of rhyming. (He even manages to make clarinet fit seamlessly.)

The humor here is deliciously over-the-top; cue the delighted laughs of children as they watch Nanette devour the bread, knowing full well she shouldn’t. Willems renders the illustrations of the crime itself with lots of drama—loud, comic-style cartoons, replete with jagged, sharp lines, as well as onomatopoeia. (“KRACK!” goes the baguette as she chomps on it.) But there are also laugh-out-loud moments of dry humor, including the one where he manages to rhyme “Tibet.” (Nanette figures she’ll be in so much trouble that she should perhaps leave the country.) And the fact that Nanette loves bread and not Mr. Barnett’s pet fly is a moment of absurdity that could only come from the likes of Mo.

Willems created a cardboard community for Nanette’s setting—evidently, toilet paper rolls were the name of the game—which he then photographed. The title page spread shows Nanette’s neighborhood in all its paper glory. The story wraps up with a twist, one that eases Nanette’s shame.

Breaking bread with a frog (words I never expected to string together) is wildly funny when it comes from Mo. 

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

It’s all fun and games till you and your mortal enemy have to strip down in a hot air balloon way up in the clouds.

As noted by the subtitle for A Voyage in the Clouds, this is the story of the first international flight via hot air balloon, fraught as it was with two bickering, older men from different parts of the world. It’s 1785, and Dr. John Jeffries, who puts up the money for the flight, and Jean-Pierre Blanchard, who provides the balloon, insist on flying together from France from England, though they don’t get along. Author Matthew Olshan plays up their lighthearted, though very real, bickering to great effect. An opening sequence in which Jeffries busts Blanchard for lining his vest with lead so that Jeffries will think the flight is too heavy for him is impishly fun. They even argue about who will climb out of the balloon first after it finally lands.

Things go from amusing to laugh-out-loud funny when the balloon loses gas and they have to empty it of any excess ballast—all the way down to their trousers and even their bladders. Their panic is palpable and entertaining, despite the loss of valuable items from the balloon, including a violin. Needless to say, neither man is particularly eager to be the first to step from the balloon upon landing. Best of all, they step out as two men who have shaken hands and see each other as equals.

This book marks the second time Olshan and Caldecott Medalist Sophie Blackall have paired up (the previous being 2013’s The Mighty Lalouche). Olshan’s closing author’s note fleshes out a bit more detail about this true story, indicating his primary source matter, but also clarifies the “liberties” he took with the story. Blackall uses speech balloons for some of the dialogue and occasionally goes from full-bleed color spreads, which elegantly capture the time period, to sepia-tone action, divided into small, briskly paced panels. The body language and facial expressions of the two men (and their companion dogs) are spot-on, adding much to the book’s high-flying humor.

This is a comedy of manners of the drollest, most charming sort. 

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

In this picture book debut from author Michelle Cuevas, illustrated by Caldecott Medalist Erin E. Stead, we meet the Uncorker of Ocean Bottles, who lives in a tall house on the shore with only his cat for company. We see he’s a bashful man—Stead paints his body language with beguiling precision—possessing slightly slumped shoulders, a thoughtful brow, a quiet demeanor and a kind face. His job is to keep his eye on the waves and gather bottles at sea, the ones containing messages. He then journeys as near or far as he must to deliver the letters. He longs for his own message in a bottle, addressed just to him, his own note from a friend. But “he had no name. He had no friends.”

Cuevas writes with a gentle pace and vivid, evocative language: The man, she tells us, sometimes “felt loneliness as sharp as fish scales,” and he longs to see his own name “winking” from a page, because a letter can “hold the treasure of a clam-hugged pearl.”

Using woodblock prints, oil pastels and pencils on a particularly warm palette, Stead fills this quaint, seaside town with townsfolk (each so distinctive they could each have their own story) who are seemingly oblivious to the anonymous sender of a party invitation the man finds in a bottle. He asks them, one by one, if they know to whom it belongs, but he finds no answers. When he shows up to the party to apologize to whomever it was intended, there they all stand to greet him, ready to celebrate. Clearly, the Uncorker is already a friend to many, whether he realizes it or not. He decides to stay at this party that astute readers will realize was thrown just for him.

This sweet-tempered story of kindness (if the entire world operated as these townsfolk do, it’d be a much better place) is as quiet and unassuming as its protagonist. Don’t let it slip by you. It’s utterly enchanting. 

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

“A name. An age. A price. People like you. Like me. For sale!”

This is how Ashley Bryan opens the author’s note of his latest picture book. Years ago, Bryan acquired a collection of documents pertaining to slaves, dating from the 1820s to the 1860s. His inspiration for Freedom Over Me comes from an 1828 document in which 11 slaves were listed for sale by a woman named Mrs. Mary Fairchilds.

No ages are listed in Bryan’s source material, but for the profiles of the 11 slaves that constitute this book, he assigns ages to them, fleshing out their lives via free-verse poems. After opening the book from Mary’s point of view, Bryan brings readers a profile of each slave, followed by another poem about what he or she aspires to and dreams of. Peggy, for instance, is 48 years old, was sold on the block with her mother, was named “Peggy” by the men who took her from Africa and now cooks for the Fairchilds. In “Peggy Dreams,” we read that her parents named her Mariama and that the other slaves call her “Herb Doctor” for the healing root and herb poultices of which she is so knowledgeable. 

Bryan brings the slaves’ innermost pain to detailed life in these poems, and the effect is quite moving. The poems are accompanied by brightly colored pen, ink and watercolor portraits of the slaves, many of which look like stained glass. 

This is a compelling, powerful view of slavery from a virtuoso of the picture book form.

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

This article was originally published in the September 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Ian Lendler’s meditation on the first half of a weekend is from a child’s point of view, and therein lies its humor. A young boy’s sunny outlook on all the good things a Saturday offers is juxtaposed with the parents’ view of the proceedings, and as you can see on the book’s cover, they have very different views of the matter.

The boy loves Saturdays, because everyone stays home. He and his younger sibling get to play with their parents, work on projects, play superhero and much more. After each activity the boy lists, a page turn reveals the reality of the situation from his parents’ perspective. The boy loves to play “rocket ship ride to the moon,” and illustrator Serge Bloch shows him and his brother on an adventure of the grandest sort, complete with a ship and helmets. But a page turn reveals that, in reality, his dad is swinging them in a blanket, which takes strenuous effort on his part. Sometimes, the boy notes, “our rocket runs out of gas,” and we see Dad working up a sweat. Playing the defend-the-castle game really means the boy’s long-suffering parents are his prisoners; once again, a page turn reveals these shifts in reality, all played for humor.

Lendler, who has written several graphic novels for young readers, leaves room in this relatively spare text for Bloch to have fun. Bloch uses a lot of patterned textures and halftone surfaces (the endpages are the trippiest ones you’ll see this year) in his pencil-and-Photoshop illustrations to give the book a modern look. And it’s not all misery for the parents: The boy’s favorite part about Saturday is “when there’s nothing left to do,” and here the whole family piles on the couch for a jumbled group hug of sorts, albeit one filled with lots of elbows. Bloch puts a smile on everyone’s face, including those of the fatigued parents.

It all adds up to less of a narrative but more of a snapshot of a happy weekend day with an overly excited boy and his loving, if worn out, caretakers.

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.