Two brothers, memorably named Fox and Dodge, are planning their fifth trip to the moon in their spacecraft, the White Dolphin. Built using common household “odds and ends,” they keep the craft hidden behind the chimney on the roof of their house. Their goal for this trip is to build a fort on the moon’s surface, and they prep for this mission at home with models made from wooden blocks.

Told from the perspective of the younger brother, Dodge, A Fort on the Moon is filled with authentic—never patronizing—details that capture how children perceive the world. After the boys tell their mother they plan to build a fort on the moon, they observe that she “gets that look grown-ups get when they think you’re being cute.” Author Maggie Pouncey’s language is also remarkably childlike: The boys’ tools for shipbuilding, for instance, include “two diggers” and “two whackers.” Pouncey’s use of exclamation marks throughout the story is particularly effective in communicating the boys’ wonder—“We load our materials into the ship, things Mama called junk!”—and her occasional use of rich figurative language delights. Walking on the moon, Dodge reflects, is like "stirring the batter of the world’s biggest cake.”

Illustrator Larry Day brings the boys’ adventure to the page via relaxed watercolor and gouache illustrations dominated by a vivid, sapphire blue. His depiction of the White Dolphin is entertaining, constructed as it is with old umbrellas, tires, watering cans, cardboard boxes and the like. The boys, snug in snowsuits, sit in old car seats as they navigate the spacecraft. Expect lots of laughs when sharing this book aloud with young readers.

Though the brothers experience frustration in building the fort (moon dust gets on everything, and they run low on tape), the thrill of adventure dominates the story. Children will delight at the boys’ lunar antics and may even be touched by the brotherly bonding that occurs when Dodge realizes that, if it weren’t for his brother, he would have given up.

A Fort on the Moon marries art and story for a combination that’s truly out of this world.

A friendly scarecrow named Crow stands alone in a field, watching tractors go by and seasons pass. One winter, children build a snowman right next to Crow. After Crow finally says hello, Crow and Snow become friends. “Will you be staying awhile?” asks Crow, but Snow isn’t sure. Sadly, Crow watches Snow slowly melt as the days warm up.

When winter circles back around, Crow is thrilled to see Snow again, though he notices that this time Snow looks “a bit different.” For a second time, Crow has a friend to share his days with. But as winter fades, he must once again say goodbye to Snow. After multiple reunions and goodbyes, Crow is determined to tell Snow how he feels about him, but years pass without the children building another snowman. When “new children” finally appear, Crow gets his chance.

Illustrator Olivier Tallec’s uncluttered spreads in Crow & Snow feature a particularly inviting color palette of cool teals and greens, occasionally offset by warmly colored pink skies. Crow is a remarkably expressive character, particularly for a creature who is half stick, and Tallec has fun with the ways in which Snow’s appearance changes year by year, based on the materials that might be available to resourceful snowman-constructing children.

Author Robert Broder weaves straightforward but touching moments of dialogue into this story of loss and impermanence. “I will miss you,” Crow says as he watches Snow shrink before him. Broder balances these moments with subtle touches of slightly morbid humor, such as Snow’s utter inability to control his appearance—one year, he has a carrot for a nose and the next, a pinecone—and his powerlessness to control his fate when the weather changes. The spreads in which Snow disappears have a deeply felt poignancy, but the way this tender story ends infuses the whole thing with wonderful hopefulness.

This ode to love, and the importance of professing our feelings to those we love, speaks volumes.

All readers have books that feel like their “safe spaces.” Some of us retreat into fantasy or stories from decades past. Some seek laughter. Others find refuge in nonfiction or in intimate, confessional memoirs. Even the littlest readers among us need books to call home. A Story for Small Bear cradles a tale of playful curiosity and exploration in the warm, sheltering arms of home.

As winter draws closer, Small Bear and Mama have things to do before they can begin hibernating. They must make sure they have a warm winter den, clean fur and full bellies. It’s hard for Small Bear to say goodbye to all the forest things she loves, but if she works quickly, she will have time for the thing she loves most: bedtime stories from Mama.

Author Alice B. McGinty’s child-friendly narration embraces descriptive language, personifying the winter’s chill and making use of repetition and alliteration that will bring the littlest readers into her story as well as entertain the big ones. McGinty’s calm, even tone makes this the perfect last-story-before-sleep book.

Illustrator Richard Jones paints a world that feels vibrant and alive, even as it’s preparing for a long winter nap. His images have a lushness to them and a wonderful depth of field, as autumn leaves and spruce trees overlap with fallen pinecones and wildflowers in the book’s spreads. Rabbits peek out here and there, birds dot the branches and the last of the fall grass fills the foreground. The images have a near-tangible texture; the bears’ fur appears soft and warm, the cool lake water looks crisp, and you can practically hear the rustle and crunch of dry leaves. His autumnal color palette of warm russets, gleaming golds and pinecone greens is the story’s ideal complement. When winter finally arrives, it is equally tranquil and lovely; there’s no shocking bright-white backdrop to pull us out of this placid, reassuring world. Small Bear and Mama’s gentle, curious and loving facial expressions round out each cozy page. This is a book with no sharp edges.

The perfect book for fall, A Story for Small Bear has a simple message: Winter may be coming, but everything will be all right. Our house is cozy, you are safe, and we have plenty of stories to keep us company as we ride out the cold together.

Meet Thesaurus, a friendly but slightly peculiar dinosaur. His home is a tropical paradise in which friendly pastel-colored dinosaurs frolic and splash, snacking on coconuts or nibbling particularly scrumptious leaves. They are a happy group—but Thesaurus doesn’t quite feel like he fits in. Like the other dinosaurs, Thesaurus loves to eat, swim, play and wrestle. But he is also hiding a secret. 

It turns out that Thesaurus is a prehistoric bibliophile. He devours books like the other dinos devour foliage. He worries that his love of books and words makes him a tad different from the rest of his dinosaur clan, so when he settles in to read, he’s careful to stay out of sight. But on one fateful day, he forgets himself and realizes he’s been reading aloud! Have the others heard him? Will they make fun of him? How will he fit in when the thing that makes him stand out is something he loves? 

With his pleasantly plump form, cheerful disposition and winning smile—not to mention his erudite vocabulary—Thesaurus is the kind of picture book protagonist that storytime dreams are made of. Using vibrant seaside hues to color her whimsical illustrations, Anya Glazer’s palette of punched-up pastels pairs with a clever, lighthearted narrative to make for a story that’s both lively and engaging. Thesaurus Has A Secret is a delightful and reassuring tale for anyone who’s ever worried about following the crowd.

Our most beloved stories seem to grow each time we tell them, expanding to encompass new ideas we’ve come to treasure as well as familiar elements we hold dear. Jerry Pinkney brings a well-trod tale to the surface and fills it with new life in The Little Mermaid.

Pinkney has been a fixture in children’s literature for more than five decades. His distinctively detailed watercolor illustrations lend a sense of majesty and depth to every book he touches. Many of his acclaimed titles are adaptations of folk and fairy tales, including his Caldecott Medal-winning The Lion and the Mouse and the Caldecott Honor books John Henry (written by Julius Lester) and The Ugly Duckling.

In The Little Mermaid, Pinkney creates a lavish and vibrant world—three worlds, actually. Underwater, the merfolk’s kingdom teems with life, bubbling and busy. Amid cool blues and greens, intriguing ocean creatures, including fish, eels and turtles, fill the pages, hiding in every nook and cranny. Above the surface, waves roll onto a sandy beach under a warm yellow sun as gulls swoop through the air. Finally, deep down below in a skeletal lair, a truly terrifying Sea Witch and hissing serpents are sure to induce shudders.

Though The Little Mermaid would be a success solely on the merits of Pinkney’s illustrations, his writing is equally strong. He employs vivid language that gives the book an unusually elevated, sophisticated tone. There’s a marvelous sense that Pinkney is telling this story exactly the way he would if he could gather us together around a crackling fireplace to trade tales late into the night.

The combination of rich language and lush artwork could overwhelm a less experienced creator, but in Pinkney’s accomplished hands, it’s exactly right. The Little Mermaid stands out as an impressive addition to the body of work of one of the most acclaimed children’s book creators of all time, and as a worthy rendition of a classic tale that has lured readers and storytellers alike for generations.

A young immigrant adjusts to life in America in Thrity Umrigar’s evocatively titled Sugar in Milk. “When I first came to this country, I felt so alone,” the young girl reveals. Though she lives with her Auntie and Uncle, she struggles with loneliness and misses her family and friends back home. Recognizing her niece’s sadness and isolation, her Auntie takes her for a walk and shares a story with the girl:

Once upon a time, some Persian refugees made their way to India but were turned away by the king. Then a brave man dissolved some sugar into a very full glass of milk, creating a visual metaphor to convey how the refugees would “sweeten your lives with our presence” and successfully establishing peace between the refugees and the king. Hearing this story becomes a turning point for the girl, and she begins to appreciate her “new and magical homeland.”

Illustrator Thao Le’s palette incorporates captivating cool tones of teal, copper and crimson as well as rich, beguiling blues. Elaborate borders set off the spreads depicting Auntie’s story and become increasingly detailed with each page turn, marking her ancient tale as separate from the primary narrative and adding a sense of formality to its telling. The book’s opening and closing spreads—that is, before and after Auntie’s story—are a study in contrasts as the girl’s dull, solitary winter days vanish, replaced by spring sunshine and blooming flowers.

Sugar in Milk powerfully demonstrates how a simple story can radically alter one’s perspective for the better. It’s a timely exploration of timeless themes of acceptance and what it means to call a place home.

As this picture book love letter to Black children everywhere opens, a couple anticipates the birth of their child. “You were dreamed of,” reads author Tami Charles’ text, “like a knapsack full of wishes, carried on the backs of your ancestors.” Even the sky knows that this child’s life will matter, as we see a star shoot across the sky in the baby’s honor, a precursor of the celestial symbolism that fills the book. We follow these same parents, particularly the boy’s mother, as we read about the milestones in the child’s life—the baby’s first steps and words, as well as his first encounter with a book, one that mirrors the boy’s own skin color and “dreams.”

As the boy grows older, he begins to encounter and question racism, from microaggressions in his classroom to injustice and brutality he sees on the news. In one spread, he sits with his grandfather watching reports of widespread protests. But page after page depicts the boy being loved and supported by his family, and depicts his family reminding him of his self-worth.

Illustrator Bryan Collier incorporates proud Black faces into his remarkably textured collages and employs flower petals as a recurring motif. In a closing note, Collier writes that these petal shapes are influenced by his grandmother, a quilter who partly raised him. “Did you know that you are the earth?” reads a spread as a flower blooms behind the boy, Black faces from both past and the present looking out from vividly colored petals.

Charles weaves connections between Black children today and the ancestors who came before them. Boldly, beautifully and cosmologically, it also connects them to the very creation of the universe itself, driving home how strongly the “strength, power, and beauty” of their lives matter. All Because You Matter is a powerful, poetic manifesto that is required reading for every family in America.