Julie Hale

For many parents, getting the little ones to consent to sleep is a contest of wills requiring the skills of a diplomat. Fortunately, a terrific new picture book has arrived that can help families keep the peace. Sleep Tight, Anna Banana!, by mother-and-son team Dominique Roques and Alexis Dormal, shows that bedtime can be a blast, especially when the company includes a group of irresistible critters intent on making mischief.

Tucked in bed, flanked by her favorite stuffed pals, Anna Banana has her nose deep in a book despite her parents’ orders to go to sleep. Soon her fuzzy friends start to complain. They’re tired! Grizzler, Foxface, Whaley and the rest of the crew urge Anna to put out the light, but she’s too interested in her book to pay attention. When she’s finally ready to sleep, her friends give her a taste of her own medicine by pulling some pranks—a musical serenade, a sprint around the room—that make it impossible for her to snooze. After a bit of negotiating and an apology from Anna (“I’m sorry, my little peeps.”), the gang settles down for sweet dreams. Or so it seems . . .

First published in France, Roques’ appealing tale brims with late-night merriment. The story’s ebullient illustrations, presented panel-style and executed in mixed media by Dormal, bring this one-of-a-kind slumber party to life. Who knew that hitting the hay could be such fun? Once little readers become acquainted with Anna Banana, they’re bound to look forward to bedtime!

Kristy Dempsey revisits a watershed moment in performing arts history in her sparkling new book, A Dance Like Starlight. The story’s spirited young heroine, an African-American girl who dreams of becoming a ballet dancer, lives with her mother in Harlem. The year is 1951. Struggling to make ends meet, the girl’s mother takes in washing. She also sews costumes for the ballet school, and the girl often accompanies her there. It’s a magical place, and the girl harbors secret hopes of joining the other students in class. When she dances by herself in the theater one day, the ballet master takes note. He’s impressed by her grace and invites her to take lessons.

Although the girl is forced to stand in the back of the studio during ballet class, she works hard and grows as a dancer. When she sees a concert at the Metropolitan Opera House featuring ballerina Janet Collins, the first African American to be hired by the revered institution, the performance proves incredibly inspiring. “It’s like Miss Collins is dancing for me, only for me, showing me who I can be,” the girl says.

A gifted ballerina, Collins was instrumental in breaking down racial barriers in the world of the performing arts. Dempsey skillfully intertwines the true story of Collins’ performance with that of her ambitious young heroine, building an inspiring narrative out of brief, poetic lines. Floyd Cooper’s expressive mixed-media paintings capture the transformative atmosphere of the theater and communicate the girl’s sense of awe and wonder as she watches Collins dance. His illustrations of old New York have a wonderful retro glow that adds to the magic of Dempsey’s story. A bravura performance from start to finish.

The Snatchabook, an irresistible new release from Helen and Thomas Docherty, is the tale of an unlikely little book bandit and the reason he went to the bad side. When young readers get wind of what goes on in this thrilling story, they may stand sentry at their shelves.

Set in Burrow Down, a hillside in the woods that’s home to a furred and feathered menagerie of readers—squirrels, possums, owls and rabbits, bibliophiles all—The Snatchabook harks back to the classics, bringing to mind the insular, animal-inhabited worlds of A.A. Milne and Richard Scarry. The Dochertys’ forest-dwelling characters live in dens and hollow trees—all cozily appointed, of course—and possess decidedly human dispositions. They talk and walk upright and, perhaps most importantly, they apply human-style logic to the solving of problems.

A problem is exactly what they’re faced with when, all around Burrow Down, books begin to disappear. During a snug night of reading in bed, bunny Eliza Brown is astonished when her book whizzes away through an open window. The Owl clan and the Squirrel family have the same experience, as books inexplicably vanish from their hands and shelves. Who could possibly be behind the thievery?

Eliza, determined to solve the mystery, assembles a stack of volumes to tempt the culprit. When he takes the bait, she finds herself face to face with the guilty party—a wee creature with wings, a billowy tail and a melancholy demeanor, who admits that he’s a “Snatchabook” and confesses to his crime: “I know it’s wrong, but can’t you see—I’ve got no one to read to me!”

Eliza soon reforms the Snatchabook, and, while the inhabitants of Burrow Down snooze, he replenishes their denuded shelves. In the end, the mischievous little outsider becomes a part of the book-loving community. Best of all, he’s read to regularly by Eliza.

The Snatchabook is a tale that feels wonderfully old-fashioned (high praise these days!). Helen Docherty employs a Seuss-inspired writing style, complete with clever rhymes, and Thomas Docherty brings Burrow Down to life through his antic watercolor illustrations. He packs the pages with wonderful details (check out the cool carrot design on Eliza’s bedside lamp), and his large-eyed animals are adorable.

Parents, prepare yourselves: Burrow Down is a place the little ones will want to visit again and again.

Observant child versus oblivious adult: It’s a classic contrast. In Kathy Stinson’s delightful new picture book, The Man with the Violin, the opposition serves as the basis for the story of a mom-in-a-hurry who hears but doesn’t listen and her curious, receptive son—a little boy named Dylan, who’s wise beyond his years and in tune with the world, as sensitive to his surroundings as, well, a violin.

On a winter day, as mother and son make their way through a crowded metro station, Dylan’s attention is arrested by the sound of music. Its source: a nondescript man with a violin who plays with his eyes closed, clearly transported by the tune that issues from his instrument. The sound “makes Dylan’s skin hu-u-mmm,” and he, too, is transported. In one picture, he floats in mid-air, lifted by the song’s power—and surrounded by puzzled onlookers. Dylan wants to linger and listen. He begs his mother to stop, but she refuses. She sweeps Dylan onto an escalator and away.

Later, at home, the unimaginable occurs: Dylan hears the same tune on the radio. When he learns the truth about the man responsible for it, he’s ecstatic. His mother soon realizes that she should’ve taken Dylan’s advice and opened her ears. Together, they share a musical moment in the kitchen—a sweet note for the story’s end.

Stinson’s lovely book was inspired by an anonymous performance given by renowned violinist Joshua Bell in a Washington, D.C., subway station in 2007. Almost all of the busy rush-hour passengers ignored the violinist’s beautiful music—except for the children. As the Washington Post reported, “Every single time a child walked past, he or she tried to stop and watch. And every single time, a parent scooted the kid away.

Bell himself contributes a postscript to The Man with the Violin, bringing the story full circle.

Dušan Petri?i?’s fanciful illustrations play up the contrast between kid and adult. He portrays the metro as a gray point of transit teeming with intent, focused grown-ups and filled with white noise—a symphony of meaningless sound that takes the shape of jagged, zig-zag lines and spiky lightning bolts. This cacophony literally hangs in the air and competes with the violinist, whose music Petri?i? depicts as a cascading ribbon of color. 

There’s plenty to ponder in this melodious tale. It’s a story that’s bound to get kids thinking—about the importance of listening. And, of course, the power of music.

Now that the 4th of July, the most patriotic of holidays, is upon us, the time is right for reconsidering a national classic: “Yankee Doodle,” a quintessentially American tune—a song so well established that its absurdity slips right past us. What, after all, does it mean to stick a feather in your hat and call it macaroni?

Looked at closely, “Yankee Doodle” is less ditty than oddity. So what’s the deal with the song? Who wrote it? And when? Tom Angleberger addresses these mysteries and more in Crankee Doodle, a brilliant new picture book in which his twisted wit is on full display.

Dressed in Revolutionary-era duds of red, white and blue—including a cuffed coat loaded with buttons—Mr. Doodle is snoozing in a grassy pasture when the story opens. The reason for this repose? Ennui. “I’m bored,” Doodle complains to his pony, who is chewing grass nearby. “We could go to town,” his companion suggests. And so begins a series of hilarious exchanges, as the pony proposes various activities for their trip to town (foremost among them: purchasing the proverbial feather). Every one of the horse’s suggestions is humbugged by his grump of a master, who meets each with an extensive volley of complaints (Doodle is a long-winded dandy). After much comical give and take, the pony prevails. Doodle caves, and the two take off for town, but not in the way readers might expect. Capping off their adventure is a historical note explaining the origins of “Yankee Doodle,” which, in truth, seem rather murky.

This is the first picture book from Angleberger, the brain behind the best-selling Origami Yoda titles. His wife, Cece Bell, author and illustrator of the Sock Monkey series, provides the story’s wonderfully loopy line drawings. Together, this creative dream team has taken the tarnish off an American antiquity and created a classic of their own. Crankee Doodle is a charmer.