The House No One Sees offers a guiding light to readers through its depiction of a young person who has built a labyrinth of trauma and grief.
The House No One Sees offers a guiding light to readers through its depiction of a young person who has built a labyrinth of trauma and grief.
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The first book in this planned trilogy, The Door of No Return, was set in 1860, ending with the main character, Kofi, facing an unknown fate. Black Star jumps forward in time to the 1920’s segregation era, to when Kofi is a Nana himself, with the gaps in his story slowly being revealed as he shares them with his granddaughter, Charley. What inspired you to structure the trilogy with a multi-generational jump in between books? 

I thought about a couple things. For one, I did not want to write about slavery. Writing The Door of No Return was tough enough, and I found myself often being sad or feeling in a dark mood. I knew if I delved deeper into what happened at the end of book one, I would be back in those blues. And I’m generally, you know, a happy person. I try to stay in that space. 

So, I thought: well, why don’t I do this? I’ve been watching a lot of sci-fi, and I love books that play with time. While Black Star isn’t sci-fi, I did play with time in the sense of doing a time jump and giving myself a story set 60 years in the future. I asked myself, what would that look like for Kofi? Of course, for us, it’s historical fiction, but for Kofi, it’s 60 years later. This was a cool thing for me to do as a writer: to be able to do that and then also still reveal what happened at the end of The Door of No Return, to bring some closure to that narrative while not delving deeper into it. 

The last thing is that I really wanted was to write some new characters and tell the same story. All these things came together and contributed to my decision. 

A theme throughout both books is the power of storytelling, as Kofi used to revere his nana for his storytelling abilities and has now stepped into the role of the storyteller for his family. Why was it so important for you to show readers this way Black history is passed down?

I thought, he’s going to become his grandfather now, and I felt like that was a really cool thing to do in the story. I felt like it came kept it fresh, definitely for me and hopefully for the reader. 

Read our starred review of Black Star. 

Stories have always been a way that lessons are passed down generation to generation. In West Africa, there are these men and women who are called griots, and they are responsible for keeping the history of the community, the village, the family, intact, generation by generation. So, they passed down these stories, and they share them. My mother was also a storyteller. She told African folk tales. And so, storytelling as a way to teach, a way to learn, as a way to ensure that your history is remembered – I knew that this was going to play a huge role in continuing what I had started in The Door of No Return.

I read that you chose to make Kofi’s granddaughter the protagonist of Black Star because a fan wrote in saying she enjoyed your books but wished one would feature a girl main character. How did you approach writing your first female protagonist to create Charley’s authentic voice?

I have two sisters, a mother, a bunch of aunts. I have two daughters, and I’ve been married. So, when I decided to tackle this book with the girl as the main character, I was like, oh, I got this. It’s gonna be easy. I know women. I’ve grown up around them. I love them. They love me. I mean, this is easy. And so, I wrote the first draft, and I let four of my writer friends read it, who are all women. They all came back to me very politely, and they were like, Kwame, this is a beautiful story. But you haven’t given any agency to the main character. You’ve given it all to her best friend, Willie Green. In the earlier drafts, Willie Green was basically telling the story. Charley was almost a side character. I was straddling the fence, not really delving into Charley’s personality or giving her agency. Instead, I was basically having her follow along with Willie Green. 

I’ll give you an example from the first draft of the book. Willie Green loves baseball. It was his thing, and he was convincing Charley to play with him. My friends were like, “well, Kwame, wouldn’t it make sense if she’s the main character, and this is her story, that she loves baseball? He can love it too, but perhaps it emanates from her, her desire, her obsession with the sport.” I was like, oh yeah, duh, and I began to give her more agency and delve deeper into who she is, what she wants by the end of the novel and by the end of her life. I explored the things that are important to her, the things she doesn’t care about. I asked myself, how are her relationships with her friends, with her rivals, with her family? How do we see these people through her eyes? Once I figured all of this out, which took some work, I arrived at a fully fleshed out, whole, three-dimensional human being. 

All your middle grade fiction books feature a main character that is completely devoted to a sport. As you say in your author’s note, “I love writing about America through the lens of sports.” What is it about sports that draws you to incorporate them into your verse novels?

I love sports. I’ve played a lot of sports. Sports are a great metaphor, and they’re almost like a hook. We can all connect or relate to a sport. We can relate to the different concepts in sports: teamwork, winning, losing, perseverance, grit, being motivated, dreaming. Sports are a great way for us to talk about the things that are happening in our lives vis-à-vis what’s happening on the field or the court or in the pool or on the track.

What’s interesting to me is, I heard this commentator talk about how Usain Bolt, who was the fastest man in the world, ran the 100-meter dash in 9.58 seconds, which is insane and incredible, but that was just 10 seconds of his life. That’s it. And like he’d been practicing and training for 10 years. He trained 10 years of his life for 10 seconds. Like that’s incredible. And so, I think sports are a way for us to acknowledge the 9.58 seconds, but to really try to get behind those 10 years. What made that person? How did they become this dedicated, this committed? So, I like talking about someone’s backstory and using the sport as both the hook and the framework. 

You also say in your author’s note that Black history, while about historical timestamps, is “also about the regular families that lived, laughed, loved, danced, worked, failed, hoped, cried, and died just like everybody else.” Your dedication to portraying this is most evident in the Sunday dinner poems. Are there any moments in your own family’s story that inspired those scenes?

Yes, every moment, literally. I mean, people often think, Black people sit around and talk about racism over at the dinner table. No, we talk about the Olympics, and we crack jokes just like everybody else. That’s always my goal with writing. It’s just to remind Black people that we are human beings and to not allow ourselves to be othered, and to remind non-Black people that y’all need to remember that we are all human beings. And it sounds cliché, but we don’t hear it enough, and we need to know it. 

Charley uses a lot of creative hyperboles throughout this book, my favorite being “It’s so quiet / I can hear the moon.” How do you come up with such impactful figures of speech?

Other than being brilliant? I mean, I’m a poet. This is what I do. I traffic in words, in images and similes and metaphors and showing rather than telling. That’s my goal. I think that’s probably one of the big differences between writing a novel and prose versus a novel in verse. You don’t have a whole lot of words with a novel in verse. You’ve got to make sure that every word counts, and every word has to be the right word in the right order. We want to show you something. We want you to feel something. You know, my chapters are maybe 30 lines, if you viewed each poem as a chapter. A prose writer would have three to 30 pages to write one chapter. So, it’s an economy of words, and that makes me focus on the rhythm, the figurative language, the conciseness, the feeling. 

In both this and The Door of No Return, there is sparing use of typographical manipulation, which adds impact to the moments you do things like change the font or spacing on a page. How do you go about choosing which moments need the emphasis?

I read each poem out loud, and when I’m writing it, I’m reading it out loud, I’m saying it out loud, and how it sounds to me is how I want it to look on the page, so that when you read it, it will sound as close to how I intended as possible. 

Both of these books, as well as several of your others, feature a major climatic moment toward the very end of the book. Why do you like throwing readers those curve balls (pardon the pun)? What do you think it adds to their reading experience, especially with this series?

So that’s really that’s a really cool pun. I’m so gonna steal that when I go on book tour. It’s so good. Love it. 

It’s a trilogy, and I need you to finish reading one book and say, oh snap, I can’t wait for the next one. That’s one reason. The second reason is, I’m a big fan of imagination and allowing readers to wonder and sort of figure out what’s going to happen next on their own, figure out what’s possible. I don’t like to tell everything. I like to keep some things for myself and for the character, and I think at the end of Black Star, that’s the situation that Charley finds herself in. It could go a number of different ways, and I like that. But ultimately, everyone knows that if you’ve read any of my books, I am quite hopeful about life, and I sort of envision a world where eventually things are going to work out. So, if Kofi is in book two, then you know, it’s some in some capacity, his story worked out. But there are still things to deal with. There’s still drama, and in some instances, there’s still trauma. I like playing around with that when I end.

Can you tell us anything about where the next book in this trilogy will take us? 

Oh my gosh, I so want to tell you. And I’m trying to think, can I give you a hint? Well, I will say this. The Door of No Return was set in 1860. Black Star was set in 1921. So, stay tuned, people. 

The author dives into the role of storytelling and history in Black Star, his hotly anticipated follow-up to The Door of No Return.
Review by

Once upon a time, there was a little doll who lived in a house perched on the corner of a busy street with bright lights. The road was so busy and the lights so bright that no one could see the house. The doll lived with a princess who slept and slept and almost never woke up. The doll tried to wake the sleeping princess, but once the princess opened her eyes, she called the little doll terrible names. The little doll ran from the house and found a new version of home. But some part of her remained, buried deep in the foundation of the house that no one saw.

The doll is really Penelope Ross, a 16-year-old girl trying to both outrun and unravel the memories of a childhood spent in the trenches of her mother’s drug addiction. On the night of her 16th birthday, surrounded by friends, Penny is finally feeling the sense of normalcy that the doll never could—until the sleeping princess sends a text, summoning her back home.

In the tradition of Carmen Maria Machado, whose acclaimed memoir, In the Dream House, details an abusive relationship through surrealist vignettes, Adina King’s debut novel The House No One Sees depicts a young person who has built a labyrinth of trauma and grief and must subsequently learn the art of both deconstructing and reconstructing her life. Machado’s memoir quotes the artist Louise Bourgeois: “You pile up associations the way you pile up bricks. Memory itself is a form of architecture.”

Written in a hybrid form of verse and prose, Penny’s story comes in nonlinear pieces. In the present, Penny navigates her way through the house and a flood of memories, while the details of her past are filtered through poems. Though King’s metaphors occasionally become muddled, this figurative exploration of the effects of parental drug addiction is brilliant. After all, trauma and its aftermath is not usually a legible experience: It exists in the margins of a life, coloring everything contained in between. The House No One Sees is not a perfect book, but it is an important one that might offer a guiding light to countless other little dolls.

The House No One Sees offers a guiding light to readers through its depiction of a young person who has built a labyrinth of trauma and grief.
Review by

Two charming anthropomorphic nubs of cave rock take center stage in Drew Beckmeyer’s Stalactite & Stalagmite: A Big Tale from a Little Cave, a superbly funny and profound introduction to the history of the world thus far.

Beckmeyer is an elementary school teacher known for imaginative books like The First Week of School, and Stalactite & Stalagmite does not disappoint. His titular mineral formations are a pointy practical-minded fellow who hangs from the ceiling and a squat little dreamer-philosopher who rises from the cave floor. Together, the duo have amusing chats, host a variety of animal visitors and bear witness to millions of years of earthly transformation as viewed through their picture-window-esque cave entrance.

And oh, the changes they see! Inside the cave, an Ichthyostega (“kind of like a fish mixed with a frog”) with appealingly buggy eyes and bright green skin wraps the stalagmite in a friendly hug. It heralds the arrival of new creatures, too, being “one of the first animals that could walk on land and swim in the water.” Outside, the Cretaceous Extinction meteor shower creates a breathtaking backdrop for a poignant portrait of a red-dotted triceratops mesmerized by “dazzling lights flying across the sky.”

As the epochs and eras roll along, the dripping of the mineral-infused water that formed the nubs remains as steady and enduring as their friendship. Whether shooing away a bat that rudely hangs from the stalactite’s tip or asking each other, “If you had arms, what would you draw?” the chatty duo’s conversations punctuate the inexorable passage of time with humor and sweetness.

There is trepidation as the day they merge into a stalagnate (also known as a column) looms large. “I don’t know what I will be when we are us and I am not me anymore,” the stalagmite says. “Maybe becoming the us is where our story really starts,” the stalactite posits. It’s an affecting, thought-provoking exchange in a book filled with opportunities for readers to ponder the wonder and beauty of our world—and the loveliness of having a trusted companion through it all.

Stalactite & Stalagmite is filled with opportunities for readers to ponder the wonder and beauty of our world—and the loveliness of having a trusted companion through it all.
Review by

Faith is used to riding the train back from Grandma’s house. She always sees the same commuters, hears the same musicians, walks through the same stations. But when Faith one day shares her sandwich with a hungry friend, the “same old” becomes a little bit more wondrous. Written by Kesi Augustine and illustrated by Mokshini, Faith Takes the Train turns a sandwich and a subway into an unpretentious and sweet story of kindness and compassion.

Faith Takes the Train is narrated in first person, which lets us into Faith’s inner thoughts as she undergoes her journey, making for a story that is reflective, observant and even a little silly in turns. Kesi Augustine makes fruitful use of alliteration, keeping Faith’s voice childlike while also making for an easy read-aloud. One of this picture book’s best aspects is how it manages to be sweet and earnest without being overly sentimental or heavy-handed. Faith Takes the Train is full of a child’s open-hearted innocence and joy at sharing and helping others. Adults and older readers will appreciate the deeper layers to the narrative addressing societal issues such as homelessness and charity, which underscore a broader, simpler lesson of being kind to those around us.

Mokshini’s art is bold and colorful, illustrating not only Faith’s journey but also life in a fascinating New York community. Crowded and bustling, every image tells countless stories. Mokshini fills each page with personality and detail (don’t miss the mouse with a suitcase), and the result is a world that feels exciting and alive, seen from up close. There’s a timeless, distinctly New York feel to the black outlines of Mokshini’s characters that is particularly visually appealing.

Despite all the hustle and bustle it portrays, Faith Takes the Train retains a sense of calm and safety, which makes for an excellent bedtime story. Faith Takes the Train gently reminds us that sometimes kindness is as simple as a sandwich, uplifting even those among us who are most prone to getting bogged down by the woes and complexity of the world.

Faith Takes the Train gently reminds us that sometimes kindness is as simple as a sandwich, uplifting even those among us who are most prone to getting bogged down by the woes and complexity of the world.
Review by

Alberto Salas Plays Paka Paka con la Papa tells the inspiring story of real-life Peruvian conservation scientist Alberto Salas, now in his 80s, who identified and conserved more than 60% of the potato (“papa”) collection stored at the International Potato Center in Lima, Peru. His important contributions preserve vital specimens of plant diversity, helping farmers and families around the world.

Paka paka means “hide and seek” in Quechua, an Indigenous language in Peru, and the book illustrates how Salas used many of the games and skills he learned as a child to enhance his plant-collecting superpowers. Sara A. Fajardo’s informative, playful text vividly showcases Salas’ adventures: “Up and down the crooked spine of the Andes goes Alberto, playing an epic game of paka paka con la papa, potato hide-and-seek.” This is both an epic quest and a serious game, and Salas’ ingenuity, determination and spirit sparkle on every page as he uses eagle-eyed observations to map “the potato constellation” while wondering, “How can anyone get lost when the world is so beautiful?” Fajardo seamlessly interweaves Spanish and Quechuan phrases into the text (a glossary appears later) while highlighting the scientist’s plant-finding skills in places that vary from the peak of a remote mountain to the middle of a city zoo.

Both Fajardo and illustrator Juana Martinez-Neal have Peruvian heritage, and both have personally observed Salas’ work, lending extraordinary enthusiasm and authenticity to this book. Martinez-Neal, who received a Caldecott Honor for Alma and How She Got Her Name, depicts Salas as a lovable, balding, ruddy-nosed character who has his head in the clouds in the very best way, while coated in a patina of potato dirt. Earthy browns and sunshine yellows are pronounced throughout, and mixed media collages impart texture and grit on each and every page, whether showing tuber roots intertwining beneath the soil, or Salas delicately wrapping a mountain specimen to transport it to the Potato Center.

This tribute to a contemporary figure will no doubt strike a chord with young readers. Extensive back matter further enriches Salas’ story. Alberto Salas Plays Paka Paka con la Papa is not to be missed, and may have readers gazing at potatoes in an entirely new light.

Alberto Salas Plays Paka Paka con la Papa is not to be missed, and may have readers gazing at potatoes in an entirely new light.

Dusty, sepia-toned darkness blankets the pages of Oasis, a  poignant and cinematic graphic novel by Guojing, whose prior acclaimed works include The Only Child and The Flamingo. Previously a concept artist for animated TV shows and games, Guojing has a knack for atmospheric lighting and a strong grasp of the power of scale, which is evident in this eerily beautiful story about two children named JieJie and DiDi (“older sister” and “younger brother” in Chinese) and their efforts to create and maintain a sense of family in an unrelentingly harsh world. 

JieJie and DiDi are adorably small, yet hardy and determined: Every day, they hike across massive dunes in a vast desert to a battered phone booth where they can call their mother, who works in Oasis City. In striking contrast to the kids’ lonely existence in a barren, polluted landscape, Oasis City is “a paradise with the purest water and air” that’s “designed, built, and guarded by AI robots.” But the humans—including the children’s mother—who build the robots are “forgotten ones,” who toil in an underground factory.

One fateful day, Mom misses their call. On their way home, the worried children detour into an Oasis trash dump where they discover a broken AI robot. The kids repair it and activate its “Mother Mode,” which kicks off a whirlwind of learning what it would be like to live with a mother every day—as opposed to the children’s reality of only seeing Mom during the annual moon festival. But the children’s longing for their human Mom does not abate, and when she unexpectedly returns, the characters must all reconsider who they are to each other. Can they create a new kind of household that offers hope for their future, and perhaps even the world at large? 

Oasis is a visually arresting, emotionally moving tale sure to resonate with readers drawn to stories about family in its many guises, as well as those compelled to contemplate the ways in which technology can pull us apart—or become a surprising catalyst for drawing us closer together.

Oasis is a visually arresting, emotionally moving tale sure to resonate with readers drawn to stories about family in its many guises.
Interview by

What inspired the desert setting of Oasis?
The desert represents vastness, harshness and emptiness. It also symbolizes the destruction of old ideas, ways of living and civilizations. The story follows two children who show strength as they struggle to survive in a lifeless desert and create their own natural oasis. This extreme desert setting becomes the backdrop for exploring the metaphorical oasis, highlighting the stark contrast between the sacrifices demanded by shiny, artificial progress and the core of human nature and the true essence of humanity.

Your previous two graphic novels, Stormy and The Flamingo, both utilized vibrant colors. Oasis is more muted. What is your process when developing a color palette?

The children live in a forgotten and polluted city in the desert, which is also a landfill from Oasis City. It’s dry, chaotic and hopeless. Bright colors are obviously not suitable for this story, so I used low-key colors to express their mood and situation, and also the unique beauty of the desert.

JieJie and DiDi live alone while waiting for their mother to secure a way for them to join her in Oasis City. This resembles many real-life immigration experiences, and Oasis is specifically dedicated to the left-behind children within China. Can you speak about this theme of migration? 

In reality, many children are left behind for various reasons, and one of the most notable examples can be found in China. Many migrant workers move to the cities in search of better opportunities or a brighter future. However, due to the hukou system—a household registration system similar to a local residence permit—children face significant challenges in accessing education and social benefits in urban areas. As a result, a large number of children are left behind in rural areas, often living with their grandparents. This has led to a growing crisis, with countless children raised without their parents, resulting in emotional distance and a breakdown of fundamental human connections. This situation deeply saddens me, and in my story, the two children represent those who are left behind.

“Despite advancements in technology, why have our most basic and simple needs become luxurious and out of reach? Why are people feeling lonelier and more indifferent?”

The children find moments of happiness even while living in a brutal environment. For example, they enjoy the “beautiful pink color” of the sunset—despite it being a result of pollution. How did you maintain the gentleness in this story, despite its harsh circumstances?

I lived in Beijing for a while during the worst of the smog. I still remember the sight of the beautiful pink sun, partly hidden by the fog. Its color was soft and magical. I also experienced dramatic sandstorms that, for just a few minutes at noon, turned the world dark, as if it were the end of the world. I’ve kept these images in my mind and used them in my story. In one scene, the pink sun represents the children’s longing for their mother—an unreachable wish, like a dream lost in the mist.

The story takes place close to the Mid-Autumn Festival (“moon festival” in the book). What does that festival mean to you? 

The Mid-Autumn Festival, with a history spanning over a thousand years, is a day dedicated to family reunions, with the moon serving as a symbol of this togetherness. On this day, families gather to admire the moon together. In Chinese legends, the moon often represents family members who are absent. One such legend tells of a lonely beauty residing on the moon in a cold palace, longing to be reunited with her family. For me, the Mid-Autumn Festival is just as special as it is for any other Chinese person: It’s a time spent with my parents, grandparents and loved ones, filled with food, laughter and joyful talks.

Do you see Oasis reflecting the labor realities of our world?

In Oasis, which is an upside-down world, the children’s mother has no name. Instead, [she is referred to by] a number in a factory, while artificial intelligence provides the human emotions [in the story]. We see that humans have to work like machines, and having the most basic human emotions has become a luxury. This is not a plot in science fiction. We see it from [factory workers in real life] who fight for their family and a better future for their children.

The mother “works like a robot,” while the AI mom performs the actions of a human mother. How would you describe the dynamic between human and robot in this story? 

The human mother is simple and ordinary, not endowed with superpowers or magic like AI. Yet, for her children, she remains an irreplaceable figure. Her senses, smile, embrace, voice and even her scent cannot be replicated by AI in this story. The true essence of motherhood is unique and incomparable. Since becoming a mother myself, I’ve felt this strength more deeply than ever. The AI robot may serve as a caregiver, a guardian and perhaps even a friend, but it can never replace the warmth and depth of a mother’s love.

Read our starred review of Oasis here.

In Oasis, AI robots can build cities, or fight on the battlefield, or act as mothers. What was the significance of including these different modes? 

AI can become whatever we choose it to be, depending on how we use it. It holds the potential to either help or harm us. In my story, while an insecure human society creates technology driven by its own fears, two children demonstrate how they repurpose the same technology to play a different role, ultimately benefiting the core of humanity.

In the end, the AI robot provides a way for the mother to escape her struggles. Do you envision a hopeful future with AI?

Despite advancements in technology, why have our most basic and simple needs become luxurious and out of reach? Why are people feeling lonelier and more indifferent? Like the ending of the book, I hope AI evolves beyond a tool for the wealthy; I wish for it to help humanity reconnect with its true nature, embrace each other and support those in need.

 

In the author’s latest graphic novel, Oasis, two children seek comfort in a discarded AI robot, while their mother labors in a factory in order to give them a better life.

What does the wind know? How will the wind blow? Follow along as three siblings discover the answers to these questions and much more in Micha Archer’s Wind Watchers. In Spring, Wind ruffles flower petals and nudges rain clouds. In Summer, Wind fills sails and sends kites soaring. “Some summer days, when it’s too hot to move, we beg Wind to bring us a breeze.” Fall brings Wind scattering seeds and leaves, before Winter arrives and Wind forces us inside to watch for swirling snow.

As with many of Archer’s previous picture books, Wind Watchers is deeply rooted in nature and how we interact with it. While the narrative follows the siblings on their explorations through the year, it is Wind who is truly the main character of this story. Wind comforts, plays, sings, surprises. “‘Some days I like to be WILD!’ Wind roars.” Some days, Wind is so calm that readers might wonder, alongside the siblings, “Are you there?” The lyrical text moves slowly and gracefully, with subtle uses of alliteration and snippets of dialogue between the children and the wind itself. Wind Watchers begs to be read aloud again and again.

Archer’s signature collage illustrations bring the adventures of these three siblings to life in a way only she can. Like in Wonder Walkers (2021), Archer’s use of full spreads for every illustration allows a sense of wonder and playfulness with scale. Whether an intimate close-up of the siblings looking through a window, or a zoomed out view of the siblings next to a vast ocean, each picture captures a distinct moment in time and carries feeling and wonderment.

A breathtaking journey through the seasons, Wind Watchers is a perfect companion to Wonder Walkers. Readers will be filled with joy and whimsy and be inspired to get outside, no matter the season, to explore and experience the wind once more!

A breathtaking journey through the seasons, Wind Watchers will fill readers with joy and inspire them to get outside, no matter the season, to experience the wind once more!

The Peach Thief is absolutely a story any fan of The Secret Garden will devour: It features magic walled gardens, characters with mysterious pasts, and girls on their own. It’s no surprise then that Linda Joan Smith cites Frances Hodgson Burnett’s classic as an inspiration for her delicious middle grade debut, a historical novel set in Lancashire, England, in 1850.

Smith has written nonfiction gardening books, and her detailed knowledge of plants, orchards and garden history shines through this tale inspired by actual Victorian garden practices. The novel opens with a map of the Earl of Havermore’s kitchen garden, a place irresistible to hungry 13-year-old workhouse orphan Scilla for its promise of treasure—not gold but peaches. She’s had a bite of one and wants more, and there just might be peaches growing here in the earl’s glass garden house. Scilla sneaks into the garden at night, wearing boys’ clothes with her hair cut short, only to be caught by Mr. Layton, the gruff head gardener with a tragic past. To avoid being hauled off to the magistrate, Scilla gives her name as Seth Brown and talks herself into a job scrubbing garden pots.

Scilla, now nicknamed Brownie, discovers she loves the work. Scilla is earnest and likable; readers will cheer her on as she tries to keep her identity secret from the other workers and find her place. But Smith also gives her young protagonist some significant blind spots and challenges. Not all her choices are good ones, and readers will find themselves urging Scilla to be careful whom she trusts. Scilla gets unexpected help from Mr. Layton’s housekeeper, Mrs. Nandi, who has come with him from Calcutta, and from Mr. Layton himself. But Smith avoids sentimentality, wisely giving the reader only hints of what this brave young girl has come to mean to them both.

This lovely, well-drawn novel will appeal to historical fiction fans and kids who love plants, and will make a great bedtime read-aloud. And adults, be forewarned: You may cry at the end.

With its earnest and likable protagonist, The Peach Thief is a lovely, well-drawn novel that will appeal to historical fiction fans and kids who love plants.
Review by

The Gift of the Great Buffalo is a thrilling adventure story and an excellent history lesson about Métis-Ojibwe culture all wrapped up in one. The author of We Are the Water Protectors, Carole Lindstrom, who is Métis and an enrolled member of the Turtle Mountain Band of Ojibwe, explains in an author’s note that although she grew up enjoying Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books, “being portrayed as a ‘savage’ in a book where I felt an actual kinship to Laura Ingalls was very difficult for me to understand. It felt as if I were being hurt by a friend.”

Lindstrom wrote The Gift of the Great Buffalo to let readers know that “before there was a little house on the prairie, there was a little tipi on the prairie.” The book follows Rose, a young Métis girl accompanying her family to a big gathering for a twice-a-year buffalo hunt. Readers will be fascinated to see how the group hunt is organized, with “strict laws that were enforced by the captains, to ensure order and fairness.” Lindstrom skillfully incorporates other historical context as well, noting that European settlers had already eliminated most of the buffalo.

Aly McKnight’s illustrations capture the close relationship between Rose and her family, the sense of community fostered by the hunt, and the excitement of the big gathering. She wonderfully depicts tangible objects, like a steam locomotive—an invention that hastened the demise of the buffalo—as well as the spiritual connections Rose and her family have to the land and the animals they hunt. In a moving spread, readers see Rose listening to the voice of the buffalo spirit as a giant herd grazes amidst the green prairie grasses.

When Rose’s father, who is a captain, and others have trouble finding buffalo, Rose takes matters into her own hands in a daring show of female empowerment. While the story is both compelling and satisfying, the actual hunt is not portrayed—which is understandable, although its omission feels somewhat glaring, with only a single line mentioning, “It was a good hunting day.” Overall, The Gift of the Great Buffalo offers a meaningful look at Métis-Ojibwe history, and will have broad appeal for young readers.

The Gift of the Great Buffalo offers a meaningful look at Métis-Ojibwe history, and will have broad appeal for young readers.

School breaks were an especially happy time for young Jung-soon Go. She got to enjoy not only the respite from studying, but also time at her wonderful grandparents’ home. As the South Korean author and illustrator recalls in her debut Okchundang Candy, a graphic memoir translated by Aerin Park, her grandparents welcomed little Jung-soon for “summer lingering,” which included dyeing each other’s nails with crushed flower petals, lounging in front of a fan and snuggling up together at bedtime.

Grandpa was a boisterous sort, who “sang me my cartoon theme songs in his own particular way, not even close to the original ones on TV,” while Grandma was shy and relied on Grandpa as her only friend. The couple cared for their neighborhood: They were kind to the tenants that lived in their house (“bar ladies” no one else would rent to) and cleaned the alleyways every weekend in an effort to foster community. And they offered Go safe harbor: “I think I loved watching my grandparents being so sweet to each other because my own parents were so busy fighting back home.”

Go’s finely detailed illustrations in pencil and watercolor are as sweet as her words, especially when depicting her grandparents’ affection for each other. The spreads transform into touching evocations of remembered pain as she reflects on her grandfather’s illness and eventual death from lung cancer, followed by her grandmother being diagnosed with Alzheimer’s.The author is honest about the grief she felt over her grandfather’s decline and the devastating changes in her grandmother, who once lit up at the sight of Go’s grandfather but now lived in a nursing home, drawing circles over and over.  Could it be that she was thinking of the round shape of her favorite treat, the okchundang candy, which held special significance for the couple?

Okchundang Candy won the Special Prize in the 2023 Korea Picture Book Awards. It is a beautifully rendered remembrance of grief and loss, and a moving meditation on the bonds of family and the power of everlasting love.

Okchundang Candy is a beautifully rendered remembrance of grief and loss, as well as a moving meditation on the bonds of family and the power of everlasting love.
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In the opening pages of Caldecott honoree (They All Saw a Cat) Brendan Wenzel’s radiant new picture book, Good Golden Sun, the sun’s rays just barely glint over the hilly horizon, tinting a deep purple night sky with the first shimmering roses and violets of dawn. A bee, still a shadowy silhouette in the early daylight, approaches a flower whose newly opened petals have been transformed to a luminous gold. The bee sips from the flower and . . . voila! It too has taken on the sun’s golden hue.

On subsequent pages, bee makes honey, bear eats honey, mosquito bites bear, bird eats mosquito, and on and on. As each takes on the sun’s golden glow, readers can visualize, in the most beautifully evocative way imaginable, the transfer of the sun’s energy to all of Earth’s living things, including, as the sun recedes into twilight, a young human.

Wenzel’s gorgeous artwork, rendered in cut paper and other mixed media, accompanies a series of questions posed by each character to the sun. These questions reflect particular concerns. For example, the mouse asks questions stemming from justified fears: “Good golden sun, / are you up there staying safe? / Do you think about the scary things that sometimes lie in wait?” On the other hand, the grain crops, baking under the midday sun, ask “Good golden sun, / could you take a tiny break? / For your rays are scorching hot / and so often there’s no shade.”

Good Golden Sun shows it’s possible to integrate STEM topics in an age-appropriate way that doesn’t sacrifice lyrical language, discussion-sparking philosophical questions, gorgeous artwork or moments of humor (young listeners will giggle to see how energy is transferred from the fox to the earthworms and plants). This is a joyful ode to the Earth’s interdependence, one that grows alongside readers.

Good Golden Sun shows it's possible to integrate STEM topics in an age-appropriate way that doesn't sacrifice lyrical language, discussion-sparking philosophical questions, gorgeous artwork or moments of humor.

The adorably precocious star of Every Monday Mabel is the opposite of famously cranky cartoon cat Garfield: She loves Mondays. In fact, she thinks, “Monday is the best day of the week.”

As Jashar Awan conveys via punchy, vivid art and wryly humorous text, Mabel’s Mondays have a ritual. She rises early, dresses, drags her chair through the house—stopping only to get herself a bowl of Cocoa Os—and sets up shop at “the top of the driveway. The perfect spot to sit and wait.” Suspense builds as Awan traces Mabel’s path through the family home: Where is she going? Why does she need a chair? And what’s got her so focused and determined?

Mabel’s parents and sister engage in their own morning rituals, too. Older sister Mira reads and listens to music as she rolls her eyes at Mabel doing “the most boring thing.” Plant-loving Mom waters an indoor tree and smiles as Mabel “does the cutest thing.” And sports-jersey-clad Dad drinks coffee as he watches her do “the funniest thing.”

Mabel steadily eats her big bowl of chocolate cereal until, at long last, the object of her admiration appears, with a “RRRRRRRRRRRRR!” and a “HONK HONK!”: the glorious garbage truck. It’s big and bright and loud, and makes trash disappear. What’s not to like? She marvels at the green behemoth’s impressive attributes (“The hubcaps shine! The engine roars! The brakes squeak! The lights flash!”) as a bright, sunny yellow background heightens five wonderful pages of intense excitement.

Awan, the creator of Towed By Toad and several other picture books celebrating childlike exuberance, uses a high-contrast palette, fuchsia action lines and skillfully employed onomatopoeia to create eye-catching visuals and fodder for fun read-alouds.Sure to be a favorite reread for kids and grown-ups alike, Every Monday Mabel is an enthusiastic, delightful tribute to community helpers and the many, many people who value and appreciate them. “GAH-DUMP!”

Sure to be a favorite reread for kids and grown-ups alike, Every Monday Mabel is an enthusiastic, delightful tribute to community helpers and the many, many people who value and appreciate them.

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