Julie Danielson

A young boy heads to Coney Island for a birthday outing, his mother treating him to ice cream once they arrive. The word “cream” shows through a die-cut hole (“‘Ice cream,’ I say, my birthday surprise!”), and on the next spread, after the boy drops his snack, we read: “‘Oh no!’ I scream, with tears in my eyes.”

This is the name of the game in Frank Viva’s newest picture book: It’s a story that plays with words (specifically oronyms, or pairs of words that sound the same but have different spellings or meanings, such as with “ice cream” and “I scream”), not to mention the cleverly placed die-cut holes on nearly every spread. “A Whole Story with Holes,” the cover states after all. It’s a superbly designed book, and page turns often reveal delightful discoveries: When the boy leans to the ground to mourn his fallen ice cream, with his mouth wide open in surprise, his teeth—appearing through the die-cut hole—consist of the lines and white space that made up the top of the subway train in the previous spread.

Viva’s illustrations, filled with vivid, saturated colors and dominated by teals, yellows, reds and browns, are a visual treat. Everything—line, shapes, patterns—works together to form pleasing compositions. His hand-drawn text type is handsome, and he proves once again that he has a very distinctive, all-his-own style.

Some of the oronym-starring sentences work better than others. A few of them feel forced (“her ear” and “her rear” in a sequence that initially confused me), though others flow organically in the story (“fork handles” pairs with “four candles” as the mother surprises the boy with a picnic birthday party).

This “whole story with holes” may have a couple holes in its text, but the wordplay is still worth the ride. And readers will appreciate the illustrations and design, which are just as the title tells you: outstanding.

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

A simple pen can do a lot. Christopher Myers shows us just that in his new book, a tribute to the imagination of children and the immense power of creativity.

A young boy sets the tone in the opening pages: He says that there are rich and famous people in the world who sometimes make him feel “small.” When their words are plastered everywhere, he feels insignificant, momentarily forgetting that he has his own voice: his pen. We know we’re in for the honest and vulnerable musings of a child.

On the very next spread, the boy notes, “My pen makes giants of old men who have seen better days.” Here is a drawing of a man who looks remarkably like Walter Dean Myers, the author’s father, a legend in children’s literature who passed away last year. If, like me, you’re still trying to get used to his absence, this spread will take your breath away.

The boy goes on to show where his sketchbook can take him: He can tap-dance on the sky, hide elephants in teacups and wear “satellite sneakers with computer laces.” His pen might worry about wars, but it exudes love. It might be simple, but it’s capable of grand adventures. It can even bolster the boy’s identity. “It draws me a new face every morning,” he writes.

Myers’ graceful pen-and-ink drawings are eloquent and expressive. The absence of color is a smart choice; it’s as if Myers leaves abundant room for young readers to fill in his or her own spaces.

This is a lively tribute to the wonders of expression.

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 2015 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Families come in all forms. Ame Dyckman’s new picture book, illustrated by Zachariah OHora, is all about the most unlikely new family member for a bunny family of three. They arrive home one day, surprised to find a bundle on their front stoop—and it’s none other than a baby wolf. Mama and Papa Bunny don’t even flinch: They agree he’s adorable and that he’s a keeper. Their daughter, Dot, has other ideas, however: “HE’S GOING TO EAT US ALL UP!” she says. In fact, she says it repeatedly. But no one listens. They’re “too smitten to listen.”

Eventually, Wolfie is up and walking around, and he’s crazy for Dot. But Dot still refuses to trust the canine—until one day, that is, when a giant bear tries to eat Wolfie and Dot finds herself coming to her little brother’s aid. Turns out she’s happy to be her brother’s keeper after all.

This take on the universal new-sibling story from Dyckman, who seems to get even better with each book, is fresh and funny. Both the author and illustrator handle Dot’s rollercoaster feelings with the respect they deserve. And her rather hapless state of affairs, as she watches her parents fall in love with this new family member she hasn’t yet accepted, is compelling. And she’s a funny bunny, too; OHora gives her entertaining angry brows. The depictions of the passive newborn wolf being doted upon, as Dot throws some serious shade at him with those mad brows, are laugh-out-loud funny.

OHora’s limited palette is dominated by mustards, pea greens and pink, giving the book a bit of a retro look. Dot stands out, as she should, in her bright red jacket, and the hungry bear at the book’s close has red pants, emphasizing this emotionally charged scene’s inherent drama. OHora’s vibrant and thickly outlined illustrations also capture a particular neighborhood. He writes in a closing Artist’s Note that the book’s setting is an homage to Park Slope, Brooklyn, where he once lived.

With winning characters and lots of humor, this is a welcome addition to the world of new-sibling picture books. Just like Wolfie, this one’s a keeper.

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

BookPage Children's Top Pick, January 2015

It’s not often that you see class addressed in picture books in ways that are subtle and seamless, but Last Stop on Market Street, the affectionate story of a young boy and his grandmother, does just that.

CJ walks with his nana under an umbrella after leaving church. “The outside smelled like freedom” to the boy, who must have felt squirmy in the pews. They head for a bus stop, and CJ wonders why they always have to catch the bus, especially when he sees his friend zip by in a car with his dad. “Nana, how come we don’t got a car?” he asks. On the bus, he covets an older boy’s digital music player and earbuds. He also wonders why he and his nana always have to go where they’re going after church, a destination revealed at the book’s close.

His grandmother has a glass-half-full response for every query: Why, the bus breathes fire, and the bus driver always has a trick for CJ. There’s a man with a guitar right across from them on the bus, so who needs tiny music devices when you have “the real live thing” right there? The bus trip reveals a community of intriguing characters, and their destination promises the most colorful personalities. CJ and Nana even talk to a blind man, who tells CJ he can see the world with his ears and nose and shows CJ how to “feel the magic of music” by closing his eyes and letting go. When CJ and his nana step off the bus, readers discover that they’re heading to a soup kitchen. As they walk from the bus stop to the building, CJ wonders how Nana always witnesses beauty in surprising places.

With his crisp, uncluttered illustrations, Christian Robinson—the perfect illustrator for this story—captures the exuberance and wonder inherent in Matt de la Peña’s vivid, resonant text, giving abundant individuality to each community member we see. This ode to gratitude is 2015’s first must-read picture book.

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

Illustrations © 2015 by Christian Robinson. Reprinted with permission of Penguin.

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

In this ode to the natural world, the talented George Ella Lyon documents in lyrical free verse the wonders of a forest as the Earth travels through space around the sun and goes from cold to warm and back to cold again.

With pleasing alliteration (“warblers, woodpeckers, bluebirds / sing spring songs, / weave nests”) and satisfying and evocative imagery, Lyon takes us from our busy, media-saturated lives to the peace and natural order of the woods—and talks to us about what it “knows.” Readers follow an enthusiastic, rust-colored dog as he bounds through the woods and experiences the flora, fauna and wild creatures that call the woods home.

Hall—who rendered the illustrations in Photoshop, even sometimes creating them over old photographs—first gives readers just bits and pieces of the rambunctious dog. We see the dog exit a spread as a quick, colorful blur, breathless and curious. This makes for compelling page turns, and it’s gratifying once we finally see the whole dog, as well as the boy who’s caught up with him. In one of the closing winter spreads, the dog is right up in the reader’s face, as if he’s about to lick us: “Sniff. Forest knows everything belongs.”

Forest also knows growing, giving and letting go. It knows “waking, opening up.” It knows life and perseverance. It knows patience and that waiting can often bring beautiful results. Most of all, it knows that creatures need each other for survival. Towards the book’s close, Lyon speaks directly to the reader in a seamless shift: Get to know a forest, she coaxes. “Listen. Look.”

Readers will be happy to listen and look in this eloquent picture book.

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

Though both the author and illustrator of A Possum’s Tail have worked with British children’s magazine OKIDO—Gabby Dawnay is a regular contributor, and Alex Barrow is the art director—this is their first picture book collaboration. It’s offbeat and endearing, so don’t be surprised if children ask for multiple reads.

In this rhymed story, readers follow Samuel Drew and his toy dog on wheels as they head to the London Zoo. On his way, the boy passes people and places in a story that is, in many ways, a tribute to the city of London. The streets are busy: Children play; cars zoom by; people dine in restaurants. We even pass tourists and guards at Buckingham Palace. There is a lot to see, and children will want to take time to soak in the details.

Once Samuel gets to the zoo, we learn he’s most eager to see the possums, which hang upside down in their cage. Samuel watches a while and then leaves: “They’re all asleep. No games today!” But sure enough, five baby possums race after the boy as he leaves. They grab onto the toy dog’s tail and trail along behind Samuel on his way home (heading left through the pages, going back the same way he came, something we don’t see often in picture books). The boy has no idea they’re tagging along, wreaking havoc in the streets and causing people to stumble.

The book is playfully designed—on some spreads the text swings up and down across the page—and there’s a lot of understated humor. Here’s hoping Dawnay and Barrow collaborate again.

This article was originally published in the November 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Numerous legendary author-illustrators have likened picture books to film, as both mediums tell their stories through visible action. Some illustrators construct their stories in ways similar to film in even more creative and dramatic ways, as Raúl Colón does in his dynamic new picture book, Draw!

A young boy sits in his room, sketchbook nearby, while reading a giant book about Africa. By the next spread, we see he’s been inspired; his sketchbook is now in hand, and he’s drawing. In a series of drawings emanating from near the boy’s head, he imagines himself heading to a safari with his paints and easel in hand. We are treated to multiple spreads of the boy’s fantasy: He’s painting various safari animals, from elephants to zebras to majestic lions, and every scene pops with color and action. In the end, we’re drawn back (in more ways than one) to the boy’s room, and at the book’s close we see him sharing his drawings with his classmates.

Colón puts to good use perspective, compelling page turns and cinematic techniques. In one spread, we’re treated to two illustrations similar in many ways, yet one is suddenly closer to the reader. Another illustration is divided into panels, showing an encroaching, angry rhino. These successive pictures and dramatic cuts mimic film and make Draw! a magnetic tale.

One go-around on this safari, and you’ll want to immediately return.

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

This article was originally published in the October 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.