Julie Danielson

Three striking spreads open this well-paced book: First, readers see a spread dominated by clear skies, revealing a boy who looks up at an airplane that’s heading toward the Twin Towers. The second spread shows a crowded NYC street from the point of view of a driver, and in the car’s side mirror, we see a plane descending in the air. On the title page spread itself, we see a plane as its nose just touches the first tower on that fateful day in 2001. Illustrator Thomas Gonzalez does much to establish a mood of impending doom before the text even begins. 

But the mood quickly shifts to one of triumph. Janet Nolan introduces us to the USS New York, the Navy ship whose bow is made from a beam from the World Trade Center towers. The book’s title comes from the beam’s weight, seven and a half tons of steel, which came to represent the resilience of the American people in the face of such a horrific tragedy. The steel was transferred to Louisiana for its metamorphosis into the bow of the Navy ship. When Hurricane Katrina hit, it ruined the homes of many of the ship’s builders, and Nolan briefly covers this tragedy as well.

Nolan’s recounting of the ship’s journey back to New York for the 10th anniversary of 9/11 is reverent, as is her handling of the terror that spawned it. Gonzalez’s cinematic illustrations capture a wide range of emotions with grandeur and warmth. The book lacks sources at its close, but it does conclude with more facts about the ship. 

This is a stirring tribute.

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

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

Homework reports were never so fun.

In Jeanne Birdsall’s latest picture book, readers meet Gus on the opening wordless spread. With the biggest grin possible, he’s handing his teacher not just the report due in class, but also a gift wrapped in a bow. Readers soon learn why he feels the need for atonement, and the trip there is entertaining in many directions.

The book’s text is presented as if it’s Gus’ own handwriting on lined notebook paper; readers are getting a personal glimpse at his report. “My favorite pet is sheep,” it opens. Gus lives on a farm with 17 sheep in his yard. He lays out facts about the animal, and Harry Bliss’ cartoon illustrations extend the text with deadpan humor. “A girl sheep is a ewe,” Gus’ report says. “If you say, ‘Hey, Ewe,’ she won’t answer. Even if you shout it.” Here, Gus is hanging from a tree limb by his T-shirt, desperate to get down, while sheep stare helplessly at him.

Gus gets up to some delicious mischief: He attempts to trade his little brother for a lamb; puts his brother’s porpoise pajamas on a sheep’s head; makes an impromptu beard out of a sheep’s shorn butt; lets sheep into the house, which ends in the mess you imagine it would; and much more. (Observant readers will notice rewarding details in Bliss’ illustrations, such as a copy of Animal Farm in Gus’ living room, all while the sheep are chomping on furniture.) Turns out Ms. Smolinski had loaned Gus a scarf, which—you guessed it—a sheep destroys. In the end, readers see her grade on his report: It’s a B+ with a quick note, thanking Gus’ mother for “the chocolates and new scarf.”

My Favorite Pets: By Gus W. for Ms. Smolinski’s Class is impish fun.

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

Here in the States, we picture book readers often get to see imports from overseas, but Taro Gomi’s Over the Ocean is one we’re seeing nearly 40 years after its original publication in 1979.

On pages featuring a palette of cool teal and copper hues, readers see the same girl as from the cover, always from behind, standing with her hands clasped behind her back. She never moves from her spot on the shore, as she stares out across the vast ocean. We also see a ship moving its way across the water (with the exception of the title page and final page), far out from the girl’s spot on the sand.

The girl wonders what is over the ocean. Are there big farms? Cities full of tall buildings? She imagines children on the other side, living in small houses; animals she has perhaps never seen; a child sleeping under a sky full of stars; and more. In the end, she wonders if there is a beach, right on the other side, just like hers. She wonders, “Is someone walking along it?” Could someone be standing there, just as she is, looking out at her? The book is dominated by these questions but wraps up with a wish—that she could travel and see. Here, in the book’s final illustration, she imagines herself in a hot air balloon. She’s finally over the ocean itself, instead of standing at its edge. No longer left to wonder, in her mind’s eye she is out in the world, ready to explore.

Yet, the reader gets the sense that the wondering alone will suffice for now. She has the abundant curiosity of a child, and Gomi gives her an authentic child’s voice, straightforward and vulnerable. In one spread, the girl wonders if the children on the other side of the world are friends, noting, “I bet there are probably some bullies.”

This story makes for smooth sailing and good reading, especially for contemplative children, filled with questions about the wider world. 

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

Picture books about collective nouns for animal groups have been done before. You could say this is what Lane Smith’s new book is about, but delightfully it is much more. 

A boy in the wild is dressed in leaves and has no family or friends in sight. He wanders the landscape and meets animals—an army of caterpillars, a troop of monkeys, etc. The names for animal collectives are unusual ones, indeed, and Smith opts for the terms not as commonly used—a turn of turtles, a smack of jellyfish and an unkindness of ravens. Smith uses these delicious words to further the plot (the unkindness of ravens unkindly drop the boy, once again alone, on a formation of rocks). Even the book’s title refers to a name for a group of baby goats that is lesser known; most often we hear “a herd of kids,” not “tribe.” 

But herein lies the brilliance of Smith’s story: Instead of just listing unusual names for animal collectives, he brings readers a touching tale of family and belonging. The book opens with the lonely boy playing with a group of young goats, and bringing “tribe” full circle, he eventually stumbles upon a group of other wild folks. No longer will he wander alone. Cleverly, Smith makes effective use of tense in the book: All the sentences are in past tense until the boy meets his fellow humans. No more “was.” Now, “there is a tribe of kids” and there is a newfound family. The illustrations—textured mixed-media art that makes economic use of space to show the progression of time—are spectacular. 

It’s a story that is, at turns, funny and moving—and always entertaining. It’s not to be missed.

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

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

Young readers get to “build a book” with Japanese illustrator Kaori Takahashi’s unusually designed Knock! Knock!

It’s true that readers build this story in more ways than one, since it’s a book folded inside a tiny slipcase. Readers pull out the book and unfold the story page by page. It’s book architecture, if you will (wording the publisher likes to use). Fortunately, the way to physically, literally unfold the story is intuitive for young children. On the first “page,” a girl knocks on a door, saying “I’m home!” This unfolds to the right. She can’t find her bear and begins her search. She looks out the window, and readers immediately see that for the story to progress, the entire book must be lifted up. There, we see her knocking on a neighbor’s door, seeking her bear. Each door-knocking illustration is rendered in gray hues, yet when she enters the apartment of a neighbor, the world opens up in color, readers getting a view of various homes. The book, as we go along, climbs up and up (always folding right and up, left and up, and so on), revealing an apartment complex. Indeed, each “page” has red bricks in between.

There are surreal, delightful surprises along the way: One apartment is submerged in water, and sea creatures swim. In another, a forest grows. In one, we see a man who is hiding a Santa Claus outfit. The girl eventually finds her bear on the roof (look closely, and you’ll see a flying human in a cape!), and then the story heads down, unfolding back to its beginning. This part of the book is a series of steps, and it reads quickly. All in all, the pace works smashingly in this story, perfect for more tactile learners and children who love to build.

Be sure to knock and take a look inside. This one is a satisfying and truly inviting surprise. 

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

When the late Bill Martin Jr.’s name is attached to a picture book, you want to take notice. The author of more than 300 children’s books, he’s the man behind the beloved Brown Bear, Brown Bear, What Do You See?, as well as Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, both staples for the preschool set. And his newest book, published posthumously and in partnership with New York Times bestselling author Michael Sampson, the dean of the School of Education at St. John’s University, is a charmer.

This is a book that looks at young creatures, including humans, all over the world. They all wake to a new day with parents by their sides. The book explores, in very basic ways, their sounds and habitats. It all kicks off on the first full spread with the sunny, loving image from Caldecott Honoree Melissa Sweet of (human) mother-and-child duos. “Good morning, little one,” the mothers ask. “Can you hear the sounds of our world?” The following spreads feature various animals and the sounds they make—and with two simple sentences on each page, the last one noting which habitat constitutes “their world.”

With such spare text, Sweet has lots of room to show off her talents with watercolors and mixed media. Her palette is dominated by warm earth tones. (The bright red on the spread featuring the eagles steals the show.) Even if groups of animals are showcased, she always lets the parent and baby take focus on each spread. Several times, she switches from a horizontal orientation to a vertical one, such as with those eagles, who are “high above the mountain peaks”; the panda bears, whose world consists of the bamboo forest; and gila monsters, surrounded by the tall cacti of the desert.

The book closes with further facts about each animal, noting where in particular Sweet sets her families. These additional notes may spark further reading for the very young readers at which this book is aimed.

This is loving, affirming book. 

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

BookPage Children's Top Pick, March 2016

The warm yellow endpapers of this picture book bring to mind the sun, a symbol of a new day filled with new inspirations. That’s the subject of Philip C. Stead’s new book, Ideas Are All Around, but it’s also so much more. 

Dry on story ideas, Stead goes for a walk with his dog. The two see a shy turtle, listen to birds and visit Barbara, who owns a house the author once lived in upstairs. Stead has coffee with Barbara, and they discuss the fact that 10,000 years ago, the spot where they now sit was the bottom of a lake. I can imagine children talking back enthusiastically to this book: There are ideas for stories everywhere you look! This is, of course, the author’s point.

But there’s more. This is also a book that embraces imperfections: Stead tells readers he once spilled paint at Barbara’s house and left “a big blue blob on the sidewalk.” Barbara rejoiced in the blob and saw in it the essence of a blue horse. Stead also writes about his beloved typewriter, which he bought from a man who repairs broken things. On his walk, Stead sees a line of people waiting for the soup kitchen to open, one with a cane and one in a wheelchair. Stead and his dog follow the railroad tracks—“You should never walk on train tracks . . . but we do it anyway”—because that can lead to adventure. In the book’s opening spread, Stead even sees a sunflower, noting it was only one of many seeds that grew. “Planting a seed is always a risk,” he writes. One for sorrow, two for joy. 

The book includes Polaroid photos (be sure to remove the dustjacket) and text from the author’s typewriter. The mixed-media, collaged illustrations are spare and evocative. It’s a book that finds joy—and, yes, ideas—in this messy, beautiful world. 

The year is young. I can already tell you this is one of its best books.

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

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