Visitations is a haunting, complex memoir about religion, mental illness and broken families, told through the eyes of a young boy.
Visitations is a haunting, complex memoir about religion, mental illness and broken families, told through the eyes of a young boy.
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Miss Leoparda, a delightful fable written and illustrated by Natalia Shaloshvili, opens with the titular character secure in the embrace of her treetop bed, surrounded by quiet rolling hills, which she traverses every day in her work as a bus driver. Miss Leoparda reliably shuttles a variety of animals—many of whom wear fetching hats and other winsome accessories—to do “their animal business.” It’s an idyllic image of communal life: Every seat on the bus is taken, and rabbits, zebras, cats, bears, elephants and even a rather suspicious-looking wolf peacefully share space with one another.

One day, a gas-guzzling, exhaust-spewing car zips past the slow-moving bus, drawing the animals’ attention: “That was amazing!” they exclaim. The novelty of new technology lures the animals, one by one, away from the bus and behind the wheels of their own individual cars. But soon the streets are clogged with traffic, the skies are choked with smog, and the animals are increasingly irritable. Even Miss Leoparda’s beloved tree is targeted when it’s time to expand the roadways to make room for what some might call progress.

Miss Leoparda refuses to give in to this hollow enticement, however, and she eventually finds a creative, sustainable solution to restore her community and the environment at the same time. The message feels organic rather than heavy-handed, reinforced by the pleasantly hazy illustrations created in acrylic paint and watercolor crayons. Shaloshvili’s artwork is as expressive in its landscapes—the greenery of Miss Leoparda’s original habitat contrasting with the dour gray of the traffic jam—and on a more intimate scale, as the animals’ expressions, somewhat reminiscent of Jon Klassen’s illustrations, manage to be both deadpan and surprisingly expressive. This one’s sure to get budding environmentalists eager to enact change in their own communities. 

A delightful fable, Miss Leoparda feels organic rather than heavy-handed, its message reinforced by Natalia Shaloshvili’s pleasantly hazy illustrations created in acrylic paint and watercolor crayons.
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Fans of Kathryn Ormsbee’s first graphic novel, Growing Pangs, will be delighted by heroine Katie’s return in Turning Twelve, an immersive, probing coming-of-age story that brings to mind the adolescent angst of Judy Blume’s Are You There, God? It’s Me, Margaret. Ormsbee effectively mines her own childhood for material. 

Katie is growing up in a Baptist household in Kentucky in 2004. She’s a homeschooler who struggles with anxiety and OCD, as well as everything else that happens at that age, both mental and physical. 

“Being twelve isn’t turning out like I’d planned at all. I kinda wished I’d stayed eleven,” Katie admits. Her two best friends are moving away, leaving her lonely and isolated in her church youth group. At the children’s theater, she dreams of getting the role of Annie, but instead, is cast as an orphan side character. One of Katie’s biggest alarms is her growing attraction to Grace, a pretty, funny new friend she meets in the Annie production. “I didn’t know I could get crushes on girls,” Katie says. Her feelings grow even more complicated at church and in youth group, where she is told that anything besides love between a man and a woman “breaks God’s heart. It makes him cry.”  

Molly Brooks’ illustrations draw readers right into Katie’s dilemmas, and the structure and pacing of the story creates a meaningful interplay between the actual events and Katie’s roiling emotions. Katie’s red-headed, braces-filled expressions are relatable and help readers identify with her highs and lows, adding drama to each page, while Brooks’ use of red, purple and orange are striking, serving as a dynamic anchor for the graphic novel’s energy and flow. 

Katie’s struggle with her emerging sexual feelings and her relationship with religion are particularly well done. Several figures provide helpful, empowering examples, including Katie’s older sister, Ashley; her therapist, Dr. Clara; and a woman whom Katie babysits for, a successful lawyer who shows her that careers can be exciting and fulfilling. As she observes people at a more progressive church and hears news about progress in gay rights legislation, Katie starts to realize, “Maybe theatre isn’t the only place in the world where I can be myself.” 

Katie is just the sort of lively, inquisitive friend that a 12-year-old might yearn for. With its exhilarating combination of prose and illustrations, Turning Twelve will make readers clamor for more of Katie’s adventures. 

 

With its exhilarating combination of prose and illustrations, Turning Twelve will make readers clamor for more of Katie’s adventures.
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A tiny figure stands on the prow of a dark ship, against a backdrop of blues and grays. The moon and stars dot the sky and shimmer in reflections upon the surface of the water. This is the very first—and perhaps the most captivating—image we see in Thea Lu’s Dive, Dive into the Night Sea, which takes readers on an adventure to a place most of us will never visit.

Lu’s first-person narration makes the reader part of the story, sharing the inner thoughts of its unnamed diver protagonist.The writing is very simple and straightforward, with only one detailed inset with facts about plankton. While this makes the book linguistically accessible to even very early readers, it may leave readers who are looking for more factual information about the ocean wanting. 

The standout of Dive, Dive into the Night Sea is Lu’s artwork, which uses unique perspectives to bring us under the water. We look up at the boat floating on the surface, we peek into a reef, get very cozy with a parrotfish and feel tiny swimming beside enormous whales. The story is told in blue-gray and muted shadowy tones, with a few colors revealed by the diver’s flashlight beam, highlighting the vibrant life in the depths. But even outside the light, manta rays feed, octopuses hide behind rocks and a pod of whales rests. Lu’s art is calm and detailed, making the dive feel safe and interesting, rather than full of adrenaline. That said, keep your eyes peeled for the very last image, which features an extremely large, lurking creature, leaving the story on a bit of a cliffhanger. 

While some of Lu’s fish are bizarre or toothy, nobody is overly scary or dangerous (minus potentially the lurking creature—readers will have to decide). Tranquil colors, relaxed narration and an unhurried feel give Dive, Dive into the Night Sea—as well as the ocean itself—an inviting and dreamlike quality.

Tranquil colors, relaxed narration and an unhurried feel give Dive, Dive into the Night Sea—as well as the ocean itself—an inviting and dreamlike quality.

As bestselling fantasy romance author Jodi Meadows’ smart, funny, perfectly paced Bye Forever, I Guess, opens, 13-year-old Ingrid is in the waning moments of her so-called friendship with Rachel, a master manipulator who loves to make Ingrid feel less-than.

Rachel has certainly succeeded—but much less often lately, perhaps because Ingrid is going online, where she enjoys a cyber-life that offers a welcome contrast to Rachel’s lunch table drama. Ingrid runs an anonymous Scrollr account, Bye Forever, I Guess, a fun compendium of wrong-number texts that boasts hundreds of thousands of followers. And she’s made a dear friend, Lorren, via hours of enthusiastically playing the MMORPG Ancient Tomes Online and sharing their devotion to a book series called the Essa Lightborne Chronicles. 

Now, eighth grade’s beginning in the small town of Deer Hill, Virginia, and Ingrid’s ready to bring some of her online mojo IRL. She has a supportive, communicative relationship with her grandma (who runs a popular YouTube channel, Yarn Star), but she’s still lonely at school and Lorren lives 500 long miles away. New kids Alyx and Oliver seem promising, but Rachel’s meanness and Ingrid’s awkwardness add up to lunchtime in the library for the latter, where she despairs of finding the in-person connections she craves. 

Then, a misdirected text from a boy who goes by Traveler pops up, and thanks to lots of ensuing witty text exchanges, a new online friendship—and a crush!—blossoms. But something nags at Ingrid: Traveler’s original text was directed to a “Rachel.” It couldn’t be Ingrid’s Rachel . . . could it? As she strives to find the answer to that nauseating question, Ingrid excitedly prepares for an Essa Lightborne event and ponders the vagaries of longing to be closer to someone she might not truly know: “I’d fastened my heart to a boy I could only half have, and I wanted more.”

Bye Forever, I Guess makes an excellent case for wanting more for ourselves in all areas of our lives, and for insisting on being seen, even if it’s awkward or scary at first. Meadows’ middle grade debut is a well-written, winning coming-of-age tale with loads of hilarity, empathy and heart.

Jodi Meadows’ middle grade debut, Bye Forever, I Guess, is a well-written, winning coming-of-age tale with loads of hilarity, empathy and heart.
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Sal Miller has “been ready for first grade for years.” The big day has finally arrived in Still Sal, Kevin Henkes’ latest chapter book about the Miller Family. Just as Beverly Cleary explored the Quimby family with beloved books about sisters Beezus and Ramona, Henkes has written with extraordinary perception and depth about the lives of 6-year-old Sal (Oh, Sal) and her older brother, Billy (Billy Miller Makes a Wish and Newbery Honoree The Year of Billy Miller). Still Sal is yet another book that demonstrates the myriad reasons this multitalented author and illustrator received the Children’s Literature Legacy Award in 2020. 

“First grade isn’t as good as I thought it would be,” Sal soon discovers, especially when her best friend and neighbor, Griff, gets the lively, young, hip Ms. Flowers as a teacher, while Sal is assigned to dowdy Ms. McCormick, who wears shoes that “looked like loaves of underbaked bread,” has “streaky oatmeal-colored hair,” and seems to be all business and no fun. As Ms. Flowers becomes Sal’s new idol, she tries to do everything she can to be just like Ms. Flowers and be invited into her class. 

Like Ramona, Sal is a force of nature, a little girl with big feelings. For example, when passing her neighbor’s house—who has been dead for two years—Sal muses “that Mr. Tooley’s ghost was in the house. It wasn’t scary—just a presence she sensed, but couldn’t explain, and kept to herself.” Henkes’ exquisite prose plunges readers right into every corner of Sal’s mind and world as she deals with Billy, Griff and her sometimes annoying sister, Poppy, who is 2 and now sharing her room—yet another surprising assault on Sal’s psyche. She is gently guided by Mama, a high school English teacher, and Papa, a sculptor who works out of the garage. 

This chapter book is suitable for young listeners as a read-aloud or early readers as independent reading, while also being filled with emotionally complex characters and riveting, poignant moments—along with plenty of humor. Still Sal is not to be missed, and will leave readers eagerly awaiting the next Miller family installment. 

Filled with emotionally complex characters and riveting, poignant moments, along with plenty of humor, Still Sal is not to be missed.

Griso the unicorn is the last of his kind. Unhappy with his lonely life, he goes in search of another like him. As he travels across the plains, he encounters many animals in his search: antelope, buffalo and even “sea-unicorns.” But no matter where he goes, he finds “not a single unicorn—apart from Griso.” Suddenly, a person appears—a knight with a lance! But as Griso comes closer, the knight lifts his weapon to try and make a trophy out of the unicorn! Griso flees to safety and disappears into the fog. As it clears, Griso sees a shadow following him. Could it be a friend? 

Each spread in Roger Mello’s Griso: The One and Only takes inspiration from a different period of art. From prehistoric cave drawings to ancient Grecian vase paintings to 20th century surrealism, the artwork takes a journey as compelling as that taken by the majestic unicorn himself. Back matter includes a list of all the styles represented, as well as a heartwarming note from Claudia de Moraes (with whom Mello has often talked about unicorns) imploring readers to seek out unicorns themselves “in books, in paintings, in quotations.”

Originally published in Portuguese and translated into English by award-winning writer and translator Daniel Hahn, Griso is a perfect introduction for children to the diversity to be found within art history. Readers will enjoy exploring the different styles and the colors, shapes and patterns of each unique illustration. It’s a delightful reminder that all art tells a story. 

Lovers of unicorns and other mythical creatures will certainly enjoy this picture book, as well as art appreciators of all ages. For anyone who has felt like an outsider, Griso reminds us that some of the best friendships bloom from our differences. Griso will leave readers feeling hopeful and optimistic, looking for unicorns in their own lives.

From prehistoric cave drawings to ancient Grecian vase paintings to 20th century surrealism, the artwork in Griso takes a journey as compelling as that taken by the titular unicorn himself.
STARRED REVIEW
November 4, 2024

9 new books to read for Native American Heritage Month

Celebrate some of the best Native authors writing today with these absorbing titles.
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Behind the Book by

My first novel, When Angels Left the Old Country, takes a historical story that’s familiar to many Americans—immigration through Ellis Island around the turn of the 20th century—and casts it as a fairy tale inspired by Jewish folklore. I knew I couldn’t repeat the same setting for my next work. A second book is always challenging, and there was a lot of pressure in following a debut that received six(!) awards and honors. For a fresh start I chose a story that still draws on Jewish folklore and history, but was constrained within a single invented town, at a less familiar moment in history.

The Forbidden Book is a supernatural murder mystery set in the 1870s, before the great wave of migration that began circa 1880 out of the Pale of Settlement, the region where Jews were allowed permanent residency under the restrictions of the Russian Empire. At this time Jewish books were highly censored, but there was a growing political consciousness, and a growing desire for education among Jewish women. The communities of Eastern Europe were subject to a whirlwind of forces on the sides of both tradition and change. I researched the period using historical works such as Michael Stanislawski’s Murder in Lemberg, which explores the attempted poisoning of a Reform rabbi by another Jew in the mid-1800s. Working within this setting allowed me to emphasize Jewish agency with a story whose actors are nearly all Jewish, and are all acting in the interests of their community—but are in conflict about what those interests are.

The Forbidden Book is also a dybbuk story. The dybbuk is usually described as the spirit of a deceased person that can possess the living and speak through them. As in the case of S. An-sky’s 1920 play The Dybbuk (perhaps the most famous work of Yiddish theater), traditional dybbuk stories have a gendered aspect. Many of them describe young women possessed by male spirits, sometimes male Torah scholars, which allowed young women constrained by patriarchy to access male authority while speaking in the voice of the possessor. My protagonist, Sorel, is a young girl who escapes her unwanted marriage under a male identity, only to discover the name she’s using belongs to a real boy—and using his name has plunged her into the midst of a complex web of intrigues.

Sorel and her dybbuk, Isser, have to work together to solve the mystery of his death and prevent a supernatural calamity. At the same time, each is negotiating their relationship with Kalman Senderovitch (who is Sorel’s father and Isser’s father figure), and Isser helps Sorel learn what she truly wants from her life. The personal narrative, augmented by spooky encounters with Angels of Death and sinister black dogs, is intended to help draw my teen audience through the story of censorship, feminism and social activism. I hope that the universal themes of friendship, family and self-expression will introduce readers to a new chapter in history and a very human view of the Jewish past.

Set in the Pale of Settlement, The Forbidden Book is a dybbuk story that explores gender and censorship towards the end of the 19th century.
Interview by

Sabaa Tahir’s Heir kicks off a duology taking place 20 years after the events of her bestselling An Ember in the Ashes series. Heir follows Aiz, a lowborn orphan seeking vengeance; Sirsha, an exiled tracker who takes on a dangerous job; and Quil, the reluctant heir to the throne who faces a threat to his empire. Despite their vastly different backgrounds, all three cross paths as they grapple with a mysterious force committing horrific crimes throughout the land.

What led you to revisit the world of An Ember in the Ashes? Did anything in particular spark the creation of this new duology?

It was really working on the last book of the Ember quartet, A Sky Beyond the Storm, that had me asking questions about one character in particular: the future Emperor. That’s how Heir began, back in 2020. By that point, I’d spent 13 years in the Ember world and planned everything for the characters of the first series. Imagine my surprise when I realized that I didn’t know everything about this world, nor did I know everything about my characters. It made for a very unexpected writing experience!

“I want the conflicts and conversations and victories and heartbreaks and emotions, most of all, to feel real and believable.”

Heir can be read as a standalone, so readers new to the AEITA world won’t have a problem keeping up. But returning fans will be delighted by some callbacks to the original series: What are you most excited for them to encounter in this book?  

I’m excited for all the little Easter eggs I’ve left in the book for them, but I don’t want to spoil the book by giving them away! I’m also very excited for them to meet this new generation of characters, who have their own journeys and stories to share.

What was it like to weave together the complex storylines of Aiz, Sirsha and Quil? 

Complicated. I knew how I wanted them to intersect, but without giving anything away, I’ll say that Aiz’s storyline in particular posed a challenge. I ended up planning a lot of scenes out on notecards, laying them all over the floor and then figuring out how they all fit together visually. It felt a bit like knowing the picture I wanted and having half the puzzle pieces. I had to move them around to see exactly where they belonged and then fashion the rest of the pieces to fit the empty spots.

Which was your favorite character to write?

They each had their own appeal. Aiz was the most challenging to write—I think I learned the most from her. Quil was the most challenging to edit—he ended up needing a lot of time because he was hard to get to know, at first. Once I did get to know him, though, it felt as if a whole world had opened up. Sirsha was just a joy to write. I feel like she walked into my brain fully formed.

Read our starred review of Heir

What was it like to continue the legacies of beloved characters from the main series, 20 years later? 

It was so much fun, but also very thought-provoking. Laia, Elias and Helene are characters who have been through a great deal of trauma. How would that impact the way they transition into adulthood and ultimately parenthood? Figuring out the answer to that question was arduous and took many drafts. I also had to focus on letting Quil, Aiz and Sirsha shine in this story. It is in the Ember world, but it is certainly not an Ember book. Finding a balance between the past and present was tricky.

What’s your secret to bringing compelling romance into your fast-paced, thrilling plots? 

Well, romance is the ultimate wrench in the machine, is it not? In my books, my characters are already going through a tough time and then . . . they fall in love!  Their minds go places they tell them not to, their bodies misbehave. They don’t want to fall in love because it is deeply inconvenient, and yet . . . it has happened. It’s a challenging plot twist, it raises the stakes and it is such fun to write something so hopeful in the midst of all the drama. I think finding that joy, (as well as the longing and frustration along the way, of course) is what I focus on when writing romance into my fantasy!

You don’t pull any punches with your stories, especially in Heir—and your fans keep coming back for more. What do you think is the key to winning fans’ hearts with these emotional rollercoasters? 

I wish I knew because I feel like that would make writing much easier! Ultimately, I strive for authenticity. I want my books to feel true, even if they take place in fantasy worlds. I want the conflicts and conversations and victories and heartbreaks and emotions, most of all, to feel real and believable.

Your conflicts, despite taking place in a fantasy world, feel close to reality—for example, characters born into vast inequality are faced with difficult choices in their quests to break free. Is this aspect of your writing inspired by anything specific in real life?

So much of my writing is inspired by historical and current global events. I was an editor of foreign news [at The Washington Post]  after graduating college, years ago now, so I will always carry that interest in global affairs and history with me. The influences range from news stories about refugees, famines and aerial bombardments, to the poetry and literature that arise from the disenfranchisement of entire populations, occupations and those surviving despotic governments.

But ultimately, at the heart of everything I write is the question: Why do we treat each other this way? I think I ask that question because as a writer for young people, I wish to convey the hope that we can be better. And I think that being better, and seeing each other with empathy, begins with asking ourselves this question.

Are there parts of the AEITA world you still want to explore? 

Yes, so many. Entire countries and continents and epochs I haven’t gotten to. I think the stories in this world really are endless. It’s just a matter of if I go hunting for them or not!

 

Heir, the spinoff to Tahir's An Ember in the Ashes series, throws a new generation of characters into a world of chaos and danger.
List by


STARRED REVIEW
October 8, 2024

Six spooky reads

The ghoulish beings—some of whom are more adorable than creepy—that haunt these books will delight young readers any day of the year.

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Sid Sharp’s picture book Bog Myrtle starts as an intriguing fairy tale about two very different sisters: eternally optimistic Beatrice and forever grumpy Magnolia, who live “alone in a hideous, drafty old house” and “are so poor that they ate rats for breakfast and cockroaches for lunch.”

The action starts when Beatrice decides to make a sweater for Magnolia, who gripes about being cold. Since they have no money, Beatrice, who loves nature and crafts, heads to the forest to look for helpful treasures, and eventually encounters a monster named Bog Myrtle. Surprising things happen every step of the way, and Sharp’s sense of humor shines through—for instance, with a knitting store called “Knot in My Back Yarn.” 

Bog Myrtle offers Beatrice magic silk, which allows her to knit a truly splendid gift for Magnolia—who immediately sees potential for profit. As Magnolia launches a magic sweater business that becomes increasingly exploitative, Sharp transforms the tale into a sophisticated, humorous fable about sustainability, corporate greed and workers’ rights. Sharp manages to integrate these themes so seamlessly that they never feel strident; readers will simply find themselves cheering when the good guys beat the villain. 

Bold, contrasting colors imbue Sharp’s eye-catching illustrations with a modern, energetic vibe. Bog Myrtle offers a fun-filled yet serious look at sustainability and corporate accountability. Who would have even thought that possible? Sharp’s wizardry makes it happen. 

 

Who would have thought it possible to create an entertaining children's story about sustainability and corporate accountability? Sid Sharp's fun-filled fable, Bog Myrtle, is just that.
Review by

 

John the Skeleton is a wonderfully quirky story about a life-size model skeleton who “retires” from his schoolroom job as an anatomy model to live with an elderly couple on their farm in Estonia. He quickly becomes a part of the family, which includes two young grandchildren who frequently visit. There’s nothing scary or ghoulish here; instead, John’s presence allows Gramps and Grams to begin coming to terms with their eventual deaths. With 64 pages, plenty of illustrations and very short chapters, the book works equally well as a read-aloud for sophisticated younger readers or as a chapter book for solo readers.

The understated humor in Estonian writer Triinu Laan’s prose—as well as Adam Cullen’s translation—is ever present. Gramps makes wooden phalanges for John’s missing finger bones, and gives John his old musty coat “with two medals still pinned to it: one for donating blood and the other for being a good tractor driver.” The family includes John in all of their adventures. They help John make snow angels, and John even takes a bath with the grandkids.

Marja-Liisa Plats’ black-and-white illustrations, often accentuated by well-placed shades of fuchsia (a blushing face, a sled amid the snow), are full of whimsy. Her linework is perfect for this scruffy, lovable couple and their farmhouse world, including their outdoor summer kitchen. One of the book’s many delights is that John never reacts in any way; his entire “personality” is simply what this family imagines it to be. Nonetheless, he comforts them greatly, especially when Gramps and Grams begin to show signs of confusion. 

There are particularly touching scenes at the end, when the book confronts death. John the Skeleton is an endearing story that helps normalize death while highlighting the enduring power of love. 

John the Skeleton is an endearing book that helps normalize death while highlighting the enduring power of love.
Review by

With Vikki VanSickle’s compelling rhyming couplets and Jensine Eckwall’s lush, moody illustrations, Into the Goblin Market has all the makings of a modern classic, while giving a delightful nod to European fairy tales. The book is a tribute to Christina Rosetti’s 1859 poem, “Goblin Market,” about sisters Laura and Lizzie. VanSickle has used the original to create a similar tale about two young sisters who seem to live alone in a fairy tale-like world “on a farm, not far from here.” Millie is quiet and bookish, while Mina, with a head full of wild, curly hair, is daring and always ready for adventure. One night, Mina sneaks away to the Goblin Market, even though Millie has warned her, “The Goblin Market isn’t safe. / It’s a tricky, wicked place.”

When Millie awakes and sees that Mina has disappeared, she consults her library and takes several items that end up providing invaluable protection. Eckwall’s intricate, woodcut-inspired art vividly conveys the magic and danger that awaits. Occasional red accents in these black-and-white ink drawings highlight objects such as the hooded cape Millie wears as she sets off, looking just like Red Riding Hood—and, indeed, a shaggy black wolf is the first thing she encounters. 

Once she enters the market, “Everywhere that Millie looked / was like a nightmare from her books.” There are strange sights galore, including a multitude of goblins and an evil-looking witch, but there’s no sign of Mina, whom Millie knows is in trouble. The pages are definitely a feast for the imagination (although the very young may find them frightening). 

Both sisters use their wits admirably to escape the many dangers, and there’s a wonderful surprise at the end, just when all seems to be lost. Into the Goblin Market is a delicious treat for those yearning for a bit of frightful adventure. 

 

A tribute to the work of Victorian poet Christina Rosetti, Into the Goblin Market is a delicious treat for those yearning for a bit of frightful adventure.
Review by

Be careful what you wish for. That’s definitely true for Hannah, the seventh grader whose journal constitutes Remy Lai’s Read at Your Own Risk. Hannah and her friends search for a diversion while “some boring author” comes to their school assembly to “talk about his spooky books, which I bet aren’t even spooky.” Instead of attending, they decide to venture into the school attic and play a Ouija board-style game they call “Spirit of the Coin.” After their session, however, Hannah quickly discovers that she is haunted by an evil spirit, who continues to terrify her, and even writes in her journal in red ink. 

The journal format will definitely appeal to middle grade readers, making the story all the more intimate and seemingly real. Nonetheless, be forewarned: As the cover filled with skulls and dripping with blood would suggest, this book is not for the squeamish. While many readers will revel in its thrills and chills, others may be completely terrified, especially by the frequent blood splatters, horrific dental details and the hospitalization of the narrator’s young brother. 

Those whom those details don’t scare off may easily find themselves reading it more than once, looking for clues about the evil spirit. Read at Your Own Risk is a dynamic display of scary storytelling and compelling, haunting graphics that challenges readers to create their own journals. Lai leans into the mysterious as she wields her craft, noting, “Telling a story is like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle. Only the storyteller has the box and knows what the whole picture looks like.”

Read at Your Own Risk is a dynamic display of scary storytelling and compelling, haunting graphics that challenges readers to create their own journals.
Review by

Nadia Ahmed’s The Ghost Who Was Afraid of Everything is not only a charming Halloween tale, but also an excellent year-round story about facing one’s fears. Young Finn is scared of many things, including tree branches, butterflies, the color orange and flying. On Halloween, he stays home in his attic—noisy humans also make him anxious—while his older brother and sister have a grand time careening through the air. However, when they fail to bring back Finn his favorite Halloween treat (chocolate bats), he swears that he will fly to get his own next year. 

Ahmed’s prose perfectly captures Finn’s trepidation in just a handful of words that will resonate with young readers: “When Finn is afraid, his stomach swoops, his hands sweat, and he can’t move.” Happily, Finn’s gradual self-regulated program of exposure therapy works! He starts out small, simply touching a leafless branch “for one whole minute.” 

Ahmed’s whimsical illustrations are mostly in black and white at the start, except for flashes of that dreaded orange. Despite this limited palette, the pages are wonderfully appealing, never scary or dull. Finn is a simply drawn ghost, but somehow his spirit—pardon the pun—and resolution shine through on every page. As he tackles his fears one by one, color gradually enters his world. The final spread is a glorious ode to Halloween orange, as well as other small splashes of the rainbow. Ghoulishly great, The Ghost Who Was Afraid of Everything will inspire readers sidelined by their own jitters. 

 

The Ghost Who Was Afraid of Everything is a ghoulishly great Halloween story as well as an inspirational guide for readers sidelined by their own jitters.
Review by

Godfather Death is a lively retelling of a Grimm fairy tale about a poor fisherman looking for a godfather for his newborn son. The fisherman rejects God’s offer because he doesn’t feel God treats people fairly, especially since the fisherman and his family live in such poverty. He is smart enough to also reject the devil’s offer—but when Death comes along, he believes he has finally found an honest man. After the christening, Death lets the fisherman in on a scheme that makes him a rich man, but ultimately backfires in a tragic way.

As the fisherman’s captivating quest unfolds, Sally Nicholls weaves in plenty of humor: Christening guests stare at Death—a skeleton with his silver scythe and long black cloak—as “everyone tried very hard to be polite to the baby’s godfather.” When this skeleton figure eats food, “everyone wondered where it went.” 

Julia Sarda illustrates the tale in a limited palette of orange, mustard yellow, dark green and black, imbuing the book with an intriguing, stylized vibe reminiscent of old fairy tales. Her eye-catching illustrations will help readers understand that this is a tale meant to impart wisdom. Note that, like the original, the ending is abrupt and not at all happy. Nonetheless, Godfather Death is a memorable story that’s bound to encourage interesting discussions about life, death and honesty. 

 

Based on a Grimm fairy tale, Godfather Death is a memorable story that’s bound to encourage interesting discussions about life, death and honesty.

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Recent Features

The ghoulish beings—some of whom are more adorable than creepy—that haunt these books will delight young readers any day of the year.

After reluctantly turning the final page of the beautifully illustrated Up, Up, Ever Up! Junko Tabei: A Life in the Mountains, readers will want to run outside and start hiking, pausing only to spread the word about the impressive woman at the heart of Anita Yasuda’s inspiring and poetic biography for young readers.

As a young child, Junko Tabei was enchanted by the natural world, especially the peaks that provided a dramatic backdrop to her home in Japan. As Yasuda writes, “Stories of mountains drifted all around her until silvery domes and icy peaks unfurled as far as she could see.” 

Tabei took the first step of her big mountain dreams at age 10 by climbing Mount Chausu (elevation: 4,643 feet) with friends. As she grew, so did her desire to ascend ever higher: She set her sights on becoming the first woman to summit Mount Everest (elevation: 29,032 feet). Naysayers emerged all around, from mountaineering clubs that excluded women, to sponsors who said mothers should stay home with their children. But Tabei found kindred spirits in her climbing aficionado husband and two children, as well as other adventurous women who shared her determination. Together, they felt unstoppable. 

Despite dizzying heights, gear that fit badly  because it was made for men, and even an avalanche, Tabei and her compatriots persisted. This exciting story of scaling great heights and blazing trails captures their trials and triumphs for those who will come after. Yuko Shimizu’s gorgeous, often fantastical illustrations—finely detailed via Japanese calligraphy brush, vibrantly colored, and rife with movement and texture—combine with Yasuda’s compelling, uplifting words to vividly convey Tabei’s indomitable spirit.

In the book’s back matter, Yasuda notes the numerous high points of Tabei’s life and expands on her environmental advocacy, a pursuit she engaged in until her death in 2016 at age 77. Readers of Up, Up, Ever Up! will surely agree that “Junko’s remarkable life inspires others to pursue their dreams, step by step, up, up, and ever up!”

Yuko Shimizu’s gorgeous, fantastical illustrations combine with Anita Yasuda’s compelling, uplifting words to vividly convey the indomitable spirit of trailblazing mountaineer Junko Tabei in Up, Up, Ever Up!
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For most of us, it is easy to take education for granted: Slogging our way from kindergarten to graduation is something we just have to do. They Call Me Teach: Lessons in Freedom, written by Lesa Cline-Ransome and illustrated by James E. Ransome, takes us back to a time before the Civil War, when education was denied to many. As Cline-Ransome explains in her author’s note, They Call Me Teach is just one representation of what happened all over the South as enslaved Black Americans defied anti-literacy laws—an act that was both rebellion in itself and a part of their larger quest for freedom.

Cline-Ransome’s story focuses on Teach, an enslaved man given this whispered name by those he has taught to read. Written as if Teach is just matter-of-factly telling you about his day, the first-person narration is effortless and beautifully descriptive. Phrases like “a kitchen hotter than August” place you squarely in Teach’s world. There’s an easy storytelling cadence to this book that nearly—just nearly—hides its literary complexity, with lines that are simple yet weighed down with underlying meaning. 

Coretta Scott King Award-winner Ransome, the other half of this married duo, floods the page with deep, antique-feeling watercolors that instantly transport you back in time. Intricate details like a collection of wooden spoons, the shadows of folded clothes on a shelf and the frayed collar of Teach’s shirt pull you so far into the story, you could be standing in the back of the room. Impressive and engaging, They Call Me Teach is also somber—but not without rays of light and hope. Ransome’s art references that of the late illustrator Jerry Pinkney, whom he mentions in the dedication. Clearly, Ransome shares Pinkney’s gift for visual storytelling. 

They Call Me Teach is rich with information and opens a door to conversations about United States history, equality and the struggle for freedom and education. And while They Call Me Teach is geared toward children, older readers will find it just as powerful and moving. After all, when it comes to stories about perseverance, resistance and the power of reading, there is no age limit.

Impressive and engaging, They Call Me Teach opens a door to conversations about United States history and the fight for equal access to education.
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Erin A. Craig, bestselling author of House of Salt and Sorrows, takes readers on a journey through self-discovery and moral conflict in The Thirteenth Child. Hazel Trépas, the unwanted thirteenth child of a “foolish huntsman” and his “very pretty wife,” was promised to the Dreaded End—the god of Death—before she was even born. Years later, when Death comes to call on his beloved goddaughter, Hazel’s livelihood and aspirations change in a matter of hours. She is told she will become such a renowned healer that even kings will ask for her by name. Along with this new destiny comes a gift: the ability to foresee the cure to a patient’s ailment through simply cupping their cheek. 

Armed with this extraordinary power, Hazel begins healing the sick and wounded of her town, feeling a glorious new sense of purpose that she hadn’t been able to find in the shadow of her toxic family. However, she learns that this gift comes at times with a ghastly cost: When a patient cannot be cured, a deathshead in the shape of a grinning skull appears, signifying that they have been claimed by Death. With no other option, she must end their suffering for good. 

This poses an impossible dilemma for Hazel. When the deathshead appears, how will she balance her moral duty to heal with the will of her powerful, uncompromising godfather? Haunted by the lives she’s taken, Hazel reaches the hardest decision she has yet to face in her time as a healer when the deathshead appears over none other than the king himself. Does she follow the command of her godfather to avoid his wrath? But if she kills the king, won’t the resulting political turmoil lead to  far more death? No matter what she decides, Hazel will never be the same again after this choice

The Thirteenth Child encapsulates the reader in their own moral dissection of right and wrong, leading them to ponder whether the betterment of one may also lead to the betterment of others in this scenario.Craig is a master at developing her characters, giving them real-world obstacles to work through while adding a hint of magic to keep readers on their toes. The Thirteenth Child makes it difficult to predict where Hazel’s conflicting senses of responsibility and duty will lead her, and readers are sure to be drawn into their own internal debate about the incomprehensible burden of this gift that seems so beautiful on the surface.

Erin A. Craig is a master at developing her characters, giving them real-world obstacles to work through while adding a hint of magic to keep readers on their toes.

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