Julie Danielson

Much has been made lately of the so-called (and very popular) “meta” trend in picture books, which feature intrusive narrators who acknowledge that the action is happening in . . . well, a book. Snappsy the Alligator is one such story, and it’s likely that, when 2016 is over, we’ll look back on it as one of the funniest picture books of the year. It definitely kicks off 2016 in high spirits.

The main character, Snappsy, is doing one thing, and the narrator is telling a story that altogether does not jibe with Snappsy’s actions or feelings. Furthermore, Snappsy is aware of the narrator and talks back to him (and readers). For instance, in the beginning, we’re told Snappsy isn’t “feeling like himself,” yet Snappsy turns to the reader to say, “This is terrible! I’m just hungry!” And so it goes, with very funny results. At one point, commenting on the picture-book form itself, Snappsy says in desperation to the narrator, “You’re an awful narrator. You’re just describing what you see in the illustrations.” Eventually, Snappsy snaps, echoing the book’s title: “You know what? I did not ask to be in this book!” The narrator talks Snappsy into throwing a party and, in the end, appears on his doorstep.

Julie Falatko, never getting in her own way with too much cleverness, charms readers with her hapless but sincere main character, who is on to the unreliable narrator from the very first page. This is the picture-book debut for Tim Miller, whose cartoon illustrations channel James Marshall in fresh and exciting ways, and whose deadpan humor is spot-on—especially the moments where Snappsy stares incredulously at us or the out-of-control narrator’s disembodied voice. The book’s cover varies from the jacket—be sure to take a peek—and the difference is laugh-out-loud funny: Snappsy is just trying to sleep, looks at readers and says, “Hey! Do you mind?”  

It’s utterly irresistible, and I hope we see more from Snappsy in the future. (We’ll have to talk to the narrator about that.)

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

In this exuberant story from the award-winning duo of Doreen Cronin and David Small, a castle that resides in a fragile glass kingdom is maintained by a spirited fairy named Bloom, though she’s too rough around the edges for the royalty who live there. Her footsteps are heavy, she has dirt in her teeth, and she tracks mud everywhere.

Everyone is relieved when Bloom leaves to settle in the forest—until the kingdom crumbles. No one, including the king and queen when they go trotting into the forest to ask Bloom what can save the kingdom, will accept the fairy’s answer: “Mud.”

What happens next is the most surprising and beautiful part of the story. Just when you assume that Bloom will somehow return and show everyone the error of their ways, instead the king and queen send to the forest an exceedingly timid girl with a tiny voice, told by everyone that she’s “ordinary.” She’s also confused by Bloom’s response, but instead of storming off in a huff, she stays. Bloom teaches her to get her hands dirty in more ways than one, and the girl finds her fortitude and voice along the way, even yelling in the end, “I can’t believe what we’ve done!” When the girl is unsure what to tell the kingdom upon her return, Bloom instructs her: “Tell them there is no such thing as an ordinary girl.” 

Small’s illustrations in this empowering story are sublime. His delicate yet energetic lines and warm colors on cream-colored pages pull the reader into this carefully constructed world. Cronin’s lengthy text, peppered with playful font sizes and typography, is precise and evocative. 

Don’t miss this utterly radiant tale, one of 2016’s early charmers.
 

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

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

In the opening of this spirited picture-book biography, young Marie Tharp declares her love of maps. It’s a passion that comes honestly: Her father makes soil maps for farmers, and she follows him as he draws, often holding his pads and pencils. As a result of his work, Tharp’s family travels a great deal, and her love only intensifies.

After graduating from college, Tharp is met with the limitations placed on female scientists during the 1940s. But she persists, growing curious about the terrain of the ocean floor and working with a colleague to map it using sound waves. Her research leads to the confirmation of plate tectonics. 

Robert Burleigh’s writing is intimate, almost chummy. Just before he tells readers about Tharp’s discovery of the deep rift running along the mid-Atlantic ocean floor, which offered proof of continental drift, Burleigh writes simply: “But there was even more. Listen.” It’s as if he’s present with readers, drawing us in with his own wonder for her work. He knows that Tharp changed the way people looked at the Earth, no small feat indeed. And his reverence for her accomplishments makes the story even more compelling. 

Raúl Colón’s illustrations accentuate Tharp’s curiosity; in many of the opening spreads, we see her from behind, always staring out—at her father at work, at a map on the wall in school and at the ocean, wondering why science wasn’t yet free of discrimination against women. After Burleigh’s charge for readers to stop and “listen,” readers find a beautiful wordless spread, showing a vessel at sea with a glimpse of what the ocean floor looks like beneath it. 

It’s an inviting story of gender equality and one of science’s brightest minds.

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

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

A young girl, who lives in the Arctic tundra with her grandfather, yearns for more color in her surroundings. In her snow-filled world, she sees her fair share of white. She’ll occasionally see gray, but “gray is still a shade of white.” Nights don’t give the girl any more hope for color: Winter days in the tundra are as dark as night.

But the girl’s grandfather has a secret, and it’s a good one: the Northern Lights. One night, he leads his granddaughter to a snowy mountain, and they—and the friends they gathered on their trek there—take in the colors dancing across the sky and “forget all about the cold.”

Author Danna Smith lays out this tale in a present-tense, second-person voice (“When you live in the Arctic in winter . . . ”), which places the reader right in the center of the story and gives the book immediacy. She includes the types of details about snowy landscapes that will snag even city-dwelling children who live where there’s little of the white stuff. Even footprints are white when you live in the Arctic, Smith notes as the girl and her family and friends trudge up the mountain to watch the light show.

The book’s watercolors are dominated by grays, browns and whites, and illustrator Lee White manages to bring texture to the snow and keep the landscapes varied, despite the sameness that makes the girl weary. The two Northern Light spreads are vivid and shimmering with color. Both author and illustrator seem to be going for a genericized setting and grandfather-granddaughter pair. It’s not clear in precisely which North Pole region they make their home, and their igloo home and clothing are also not terribly detailed or specific. The bond between the two makes this a multigenerational tale; they each seem to be the only family they have for one another.

It’s a wintertime read, one that brings color to the coldest of days.

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

In this tall, 56-page picture book import, originally published in Italy two years ago, readers explore two stories that meet in the middle.

Snowflake drifts through the sky, hoping to fulfill the dream of landing in an inspiring location. He considers the possibilities: Will he land on a building in a quaint town or even on a circus? On children at a playground? On a bakery window? Readers turn the pages of large, cut-paper snowflakes to discover Snowflake’s fantasy landscapes.

Readers can then flip the book to meet a drop of ink, waiting patiently inside her bottle, as she longs for her artist to “carry her into one of his wonderful drawings.” When the wind makes its way into the artist’s studio, paintings catch flight, and Inkdrop watches as the art dances before her. Cut-paper drops of ink reveal the artist’s colorful visions, as Inkdrop imagines her joy at having left her confinement to join one of the paintings and see the world through new eyes.

The two stories offer up distinctive palettes: Snowflake’s is predominantly white and ethereal, and Inkdrop’s black ink dominates. This makes the vivid paintings readers get to see, the ones that Inkdrop longs to enter, all the more striking.

When the wind blows forcefully enough to tip the bottle of ink out the window, Inkdrop is free. She meets Snowflake and feels immense joy. In the story’s dramatic gatefold spread, which sits in the book’s center and serves as the closing to each story, Inkdrop and Snowflake delight in one another’s presence, telling stories—and their “embrace lasted forever.” It’s an intricate, finely drawn spread, one to pore over for a while.

And it’s precisely this moment that is the book’s heart, this merging of two souls—perhaps they are soul mates always meant to be one—and the beauty that results.

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

What do you do when your pet is a tiny elephant and you “never quite fit in”? You find your people, that’s what you do. 

This is the struggle faced by the boy in this loving, affirming debut picture book from YA author Lisa Mantchev. The boy and his elephant are inseparable, and their friendship is a thoughtful one: The elephant holds an umbrella over the boy’s head on a rainy walk, and the boy carries the elephant over scary sidewalk cracks. “That’s what friends do,” after all. But when they head to Pet Club Day in the boy’s neighborhood, the sign on the door says, “STRICTLY NO ELEPHANTS.”

After the boy leaves, he meets a girl with a pet skunk. “The sign didn’t mention skunks,” she tells him, “but they don’t want us to play with them either.” The two start their own club, because friends don’t leave anyone behind. A group of children with unconventional pets follow the boy and his new friend to a treehouse club where they paint a sign: “ALL ARE WELCOME.” The boy’s tiny elephant will even give directions to any fellow misfits who need them. Now that’s hospitality. 

In her linoleum block prints, illustrator Taeeun Yoo brings it all to life with great warmth and a delightful cast of creatures, from a narwhal in a small fishbowl to a penguin on a leash. 

Misfits unite—and stand up for each other. That’s what friends do. 

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

This article was originally published in the November 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Award-winning author-illustrator Laura Vaccaro Seeger tells a story of childhood fears in her newest picture book, starring a young protagonist who looks life’s scary things right in the eyes. She manages to find wonder where she once saw worry, such as marveling in the shimmering web of a scary spider. She learns that a friend can help keep fears and loneliness at bay, whether that friend is a beloved pet or a stack of storybooks. Even the scary shadows of her room become happy moments. It’s all in how you look at it—and where you place yourself in the light.

Using acrylic paints, collage and cleverly placed die cuts, Seeger reveals surprises via compelling page turns. The colors are rich, and there is a real texture to the artwork, with spider webs that nearly look 3-D and tree bark that looks like the real thing.

This story, however, is about more than just fears of the dark or the fear of arachnids. The girl is also afraid of change and possesses the vulnerabilities of someone afraid to get hurt, as many children do. For instance, she used to be afraid of merely “making a mistake but not anymore.” When her friend leaves, she conquers her fear of solitude with a wagon full of books. In the end, she wisely acknowledges that some things are always scary. Here, her brother may chase her with a scary mask, but revenge is sweet when she gets hold of the same mask later. But big brothers are also sweet, as readers see them playing happily on the final page.

Honest and straightforward, this is an engaging read for young children, especially those experiencing big transitions in life. Never fear: This is a book well worth your time.

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