Julie Danielson

In what has to be the best-named picture book of the year, Newbery Medalist Patricia MacLachlan brings readers the story of the young Henri Matisse and his childhood inspirations, with eye-catching illustrations from Hadley Hooper.

There are any number of ways MacLachlan could have described the creativity surrounding the boy Matisse, but the manner she chooses is thoroughly engaging. The text is essentially one very long conditional sentence: “If you were a boy named Henri Matisse . . .” It’s an inviting way to bring to life the creative presences of his childhood, while also prompting children to ponder the inspiration in their own lives.

Matisse was born into a “dreary town in northern France where the skies were gray / And the days were cold.” He longed for color and light and sun. Here, Hooper brings us lots of grays and shadows. On the next spread, it’s as if a light has been turned on and cast through a prism, as Matisse’s mother brought life and color to his world. She painted plates; she put out paints for mixing; and she let the boy arrange fruits and flowers. In this way, the book is not only a celebration of color and art and everyday objects that bring inspiration, but ultimately a celebration of motherhood. And it’s simply resplendent: the writing; Hooper’s relief prints, which reflect the varied and intriguing patterns, textures, shapes, colors and layers Matisse’s mother brought to his life; and the way the art and words work together to tell this tale.

Closing author and illustrator notes are followed by suggested reading for those who want to learn more. Well crafted on every level, this is one of the year’s most beautiful books.

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

Size matters. Or does it? And aren’t things like “big” and “small” relative concepts anyway? You bet they are, as husband-and-wife author-illustrator team Anna Kang and Christopher Weyant make clear in their debut children’s book, the spare and thought-provoking You Are (Not) Small.

A furry, purple bear-like creature refuses to accept the “small” label give to him by a larger, orange creature. “I am not small. You are big,” he tells him. The orange creature calls over his similarly sized friends and declares that he’s not big, compared to them. “You are small,” the orange creature reiterates. An argument ensues, broken up only by the arrival (by way of a loud, sudden stomp) of two, humongous furry feet in the middle of one spread. “BOOM!” Along come tiny, pink creatures, parachuting down the massive beast’s body, thereby putting a serious kink in the creatures’ attempts to define scale. (And the mostly mute pink creatures add a lot of humor to this lighthearted tale—not to mention one of them gets the very last laugh on the book’s final page.)

It’s Relativism 101 for children, and it works. Very young children firmly entrenched in the ego stage of psychological development need a story this elemental and uncluttered to drive home the notion that “it’s true for me” doesn’t make something true for everyone. Kang and Weyant pull this off without belaboring the point, and Weyant’s loose and cheerful cartoon illustrations, rendered in ink and watercolors, make it all accessible and much fun. His palette is soft and warm, and his bulbous-nosed creatures, outlined in a thick black line, are endearing. The sunny yellow endpapers are an indication that the low-key strife within the pages of the book will resolve itself quickly.

It’s big fun.

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

“Once there was a library that opened only at night.” Thus begins Kazuno Kohara’s endearing story of one devoted librarian who gets the job done—and gets it done right.

A young girl, braided hair flying as she zooms around with stacks of books, runs the library with the help of three assistant owls. It’s a busy library, but it’s quiet, as libraries are expected to be.

When a band of squirrels playing loud music shows up (they’re researching the next best song for their upcoming show), she shows them to the activity room. When a wolf cries copious tears over a sad story, she sits down with him, and they read together. After all, she and her assistants know the story has a happy ending. When a tortoise refuses to leave when it’s time to close the library (he has 500 pages of his book left), she makes him a library card—to his utter delight. As the sun rises, she reads a “bedtime” story to three tired owls.

And who wouldn’t want such a librarian? She knows how to match her readers with the perfect book; she tells stories to comfort her patrons; and she knows the wisdom of having a room in her library for raucous noise and fun. Best of all, she loves to read and encourages others to do so.

Kohara’s expertly wrought linocut prints are bright and appealing, dominated by simple shapes, heavy outlines and primarily blue, black and vivid orange. Children will delight over the library’s patrons, an array of creatures from farm animals to woodland creatures. This is an affectionate and joyous tale that will resonate with young readers—and book lovers of all ages.

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

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

The co-creator of the best-selling Ladybug Girl series brings readers an entertaining tale of sibling camaraderie, starring three bears who live by the sea. Their story, a classic hero’s journey (home, adventure and home again), is one of excitement, danger, a little bit of mischief and lots of understated humor.

The three bears head out one day after knocking over their mother’s favorite blue seashell. (Naturally, they were after the honey, high on the mantelpiece.) If they can replace the shell, Mama will never know. They set out in a boat, passing other bears and finally meeting a “big, salty” captain of a bear, who tells them they’ll find what they’re looking for—but only if they look in the right place. He describes a faraway island, shaped like a “lumpy hat,” so that’s where the siblings go.

Even though the bears search the island, the watery world below (look for Soman’s impressive ability to personify an octopus), and nearly every spot on their way there, they are unable to find a beautiful blue shell. Grumpy and argumentative, they head back home. As they step ashore, where a solemn and towering Mama waits, they find a shimmering blue shell. It turns out that home is the “right place,” after all. Mama forgives them, but to keep things from getting too cloying, Soman closes the book with the very funny, matter-of-fact statement that they “didn’t get any dessert.”

Soman’s illustrations, showcasing all the blues and teals of a seafaring journey, are at turns majestic (the churning waters of a storm at sea) and laugh-out-loud funny (searching for seashells on a mountaintop, as a disgruntled ram humors them). Many story elements and illustrations call to mind other classic stories (Where the Wild Things Are and Moby Dick, to name two). This one utterly charms.

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

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

Let’s hear it for the where-do-babies-come-from picture book of the 21st century, Sophie Blackall’s The Baby Tree! If any author-illustrator working today is going to address this topic—the one that makes parents squirm the most—I’m glad it’s Blackall. She does so with wit and honesty, never once talking down to children. And she executes it with her distinctive Chinese-ink and watercolor illustrations—and with good humor to boot.

A young boy narrates the tale. He’s having a typical morning until his parents announce at breakfast that they’re going to have a baby. The boy is filled with questions, but his parents have to go to work, so he asks everyone else: the teenager who walks him to school; a teacher; his grandpa; and the mailman. He gets tiny nuggets of truth from each. The blushing mailman, for instance, stops after telling him babies merely come from eggs. With responses about planting seeds that grow into babies (hence, the book’s title) and storks, not to mention the typical they-come-from-the-hospital reply, the boy is mighty confused. (For the latter, Blackall paints a building with babies at every window and a line of swaddled babes filing out the front door. It’s funny stuff.)

At bedtime he asks his parents, who give him the truth. Their response incorporates the notion of seeds from the father being planted into an egg inside the mother, as well as the idea that most babies are born in hospitals. Only Grandpa’s stork theory is way off. (He’ll have to set him straight later, the boy decides.)

And what makes The Baby Tree the where-do-babies-come-from picture book of the 21st century? In a closing Q&A for parents, which includes recommended (and refreshingly honest) responses to the big questions (yes, external sex organs are named), not only does Blackall get fairly detailed about reproduction, but she includes the following: “What about babies who have two moms or two dads?” This is something you won’t often see in where-do-babies-come-from picture books of yore. Here’s to progress.

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

BookPage Children's Top Pick, May 2014

I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that Shaun Tan’s books are breathtaking—just consider his wordless graphic novel, The Arrival. But the effect is even more astounding when he puts words and images together, as he’s done in Rules of Summer. There is an underlying beauty to his work that transcends our everyday lives. His design sense is striking, and he pushes the boundaries of picture books in delightful ways.

As the title of his latest offering indicates, readers are given a series of rules, as a young boy looks back on the previous summer to share what he’s learned. But don’t expect rules that in any way embrace mundane realism. Tan always takes us on fantastical journeys, and this one is filled with mystery, fear, wonder and magic—all with the boy’s older brother by his side. “Never eat the last olive at a party,” we read with an illustration showing oversize, sharp-beaked creatures in suits, glaring at the boy who is reaching for the last olive on a dinner party plate. Stepping on a snail could immediately call forth a vicious tornado, and leaving the back door open can invite sea-like alien creatures that might overtake your den.

But it’s not all menace. There are parades with wildly imaginative creatures; a baseball-esque game with robots (just don’t argue with the umpire); and a luminous world towering over short concrete walls attempting to contain it (don’t forget the password, since big brother will ask for it). And Tan wraps it all up with a series of spreads connected by an emotionally poignant thread about brotherhood.

The rich, lush paintings are for poring over, as there is much to be found in Tan’s details. They tell cryptic tales that leave ample room for the child reader to wonder and reflect. The very title is deliciously fun, given that Tan is always up for subverting the standard storytelling rules of picture books.

Compelling and evocative, Rules of Summer is a great choice for both diehard Tan fans and those coming to his inventive books for the first time.

Illustration © 2014 by Shaun Tan. Reprinted by permission of Scholastic.

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 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.