When Mark Twain’s daughters begged for a bedtime story in a hotel in Paris in 1879, he began a fairy tale about a poor boy named Johnny. Later he jotted down 16 pages of notes, only to leave the project unfinished.

Fast forward to 2014, when Doubleday acquired the rights to the story, working with the Mark Twain House and Museum and the Mark Twain Papers. The publisher turned to husband-and-wife team Philip and Erin Stead, the author and illustrator of the Caldecott Medal-winning A Sick Day for Amos McGee. The result of this years-in-the-making, grand collaboration is the highly unusual, lively The Purloining of Prince Oleomargarine.

The story rolls right along, focusing on dirt-poor Johnny (and his pet chicken, named Pestilence and Famine), who, after a series of misfortunes, shows kindness to an old beggar woman. As for the titular princely hero, he only makes a brief appearance near the end, as a demanding, narcissistic young man holding a band of poor outcasts hostage in a cave.

There’s also a king and queen and a menagerie of talking animals, including an elephant that will remind fans of the Steads’ Amos McGee pachyderm. Erin’s trademark illustrations combine a variety of techniques (wood carving, ink, pencil and laser cutting) in muted colors to convey sadness, humor and immediacy, serving to pace the lengthy tale perfectly.

Not surprisingly, both pictures and words hold magic here. How could Philip pay homage to Twain while crafting his own tale? The solution: Philip interrupts chapters with imagined exchanges between himself and Twain, as they sit, sip tea and argue plot points. Somehow the whole thing works beautifully, providing readers with an intriguing look at the creative process.

This is a noteworthy publishing treat, one best shared and read aloud. Readers can imagine Twain sitting back, nodding his head and smiling as he admires this new, deeply imaginative rendition.

This article was originally published in the October 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

There’s a lot to love about Peter Sís’ autobiographical picture book, an adventure story that pays tribute to the enduring imagination of children. Told from the point of view of Sís as a young boy, the story first draws readers into the grand, creative play of a group of friends. Peter and his four best buds love adventure, and they particularly love to engage in pirate play. When their school announces a costume party, they are sure they’ll all show up dressed as pirates.

But Peter’s mother has a better idea: She sews him a Robinson Crusoe costume. After all, he’s the hero of Peter’s favorite book. When all his friends point and laugh at his costume, Peter goes home and collapses into bed, where he has a detailed dream about sailing to and exploring an island. Here the story shifts dramatically to the boy’s solitary play. His friends may show up in his bedroom later to apologize, but it’s during Peter’s imaginative solo adventure that he finds healing and courage, making this story a tribute not only to Daniel Defoe’s classic novel but also to the resilience of children.

Sís’ palette is especially stunning. The illustrations expand to full-bleed spreads upon the boy’s arrival at the island, and the colors shift from primarily earth-toned hues to rich blues and greens. It’s simply gorgeous. “I feel stronger now and brave,” the boy thinks as he learns to survive on the mysterious island, with shadows lurking, animals appearing and flora and fauna flourishing.

Robinson is an unforgettable journey and a feast for the eyes.

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

This article was originally published in the October 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

In this contemporary and sensitive twist on the classic “Humpty Dumpty” rhyme, Dan Santat offers a story about persistence in the face of anxiety.

On the title-page spread, we see delicate Humpty midfall. He loves to watch birds but has taken an inadvertent dive from his favorite bird-watching spot. “It was just an accident,” he tells us. “But it changed my life.” The fall, despite being put back together again at Kings County Hospital, leaves him anxious and afraid of heights. He misses his favorite pastime and misses the birds, but worry and apprehension debilitate him.

His solution is to build a bird out of paper. When his soaring creation gets stuck atop the wall, Humpty decides to climb it once again. His triumphant arrival at the top is encouraging and altogether heartening, as Humpty tells us that perhaps now we won’t think of him as “that egg who was famous for falling.” But in an unexpected twist, Santat wraps up the story with an exuberant surprise, a moment of exhilarating freedom.

In this tale about resilience in the face of adversity and refusing to let worry get in the way of life, Santat avoids heavy-handedness and communicates a lot with color, light and perspective. The final two spreads showing Humpty’s liberation are breathtaking.

A good egg. A very good egg.

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

This article was originally published in the October 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

“In Iraq, rivers flow through green marshes. Wind swoops across sand dunes and through ancient cities. Zaha Hadid sees the rivers and marshes and dunes and ruins with her father and imagines what cities looked like thousands of years ago.”

So begins Jeanette Winter’s picture book biography of the renowned architect Zaha Hadid, who died in 2016 at the age of 65. Winter, herself the architect of many acclaimed books, notes that she was inspired by seeing photos of Hadid’s architectural designs, in which the “buildings seemed to fly. My spirit also took flight—to a place in my imagination that only landscape had taken me before.”

Winter’s book makes effective use of white space as she chronicles Hadid’s career as a young architectural student in London and her early challenges. Hadid entered many architectural competitions before finally winning one; and then her entry was so daring the city committee refused to build it. But Hadid didn’t, of course, give up.

Winter’s art helps young readers imagine Hadid’s creative process, as we see her design buildings that are not rectangles, but instead resemble shells, tall dancing grass and the swirling shapes of constellations. The book includes extensive source notes as well as a double-page spread depicting the locations of some of Hadid’s most famous buildings.

“The world is not a rectangle,” said the pioneering architect, who was the first woman to receive the most prestigious awards in her field. And speaking of awards, Winter’s elegant, luminous tribute is sure to garner a few.

Deborah Hopkinson lives near Portland, Oregon. Her most recent book for young readers is Independence Cake.

Perfect for a lesson on identity, multiculturalism and diversity, Why Am I Me? is less a story and more an open door for discussion. Every day we encounter other people—heading to work, playing in the park, walking down city streets, filling up the subway car. How often do we truly ponder those around us?

Linguistically very simple, Why Am I Me? relies on its artwork to open up the many cultures and lives all around us. Illustrators Selina Alko and Sean Qualls draw on their own Brooklyn experiences to fill the pages with a busy, inviting city. A cleverly placed star ties the book together, reminding us of all that we have in common. Artistic, soft renderings of faces and objects address not only our outward appearances but also musical skills, athletic endeavors and family makeup. Some faces are detailed and expressive, while others are vaguely traced in the background, keeping the artwork focused without losing its aesthetic. Details like subways, skateboards and a cat in a window give us a sense of place and belonging. As an extra artistic note, small scraps of text (newsprint, fiction, reference books, textbooks) are collage-style tucked under colorful storefronts and buildings. Certain bits of text pop out, inviting us to look more closely and ponder the artists’ intent.

Author Paige Britt keeps the text minimal and simple, opening the discussion without lecturing. Little readers may have many questions about the people painted on the page, making this a good first look at diversity for little ones, and could provide thoughtful writing prompts for older students.

Right off the shelf, Bob Staake’s The Book of Gold shimmers with promise; the lions of the New York Public Library beckon, and you just know something fantastic awaits.

In muted sepia tones of a vaguely bygone era (trolleys, bowler hats), we first meet Isaac. Everything bores Isaac, despite living in one of the most exciting cities in the world with parents who try desperately to pique his interest. When a shopkeeper sets him on a mission to find The Book of Gold, Isaac starts in Brooklyn, determined to be the book’s discoverer. At the onset, he is merely interested in the promised riches, but the book proves enigmatic and well hidden, and it’s only a matter of time before Isaac begins to actually read the books he examines. We leave the sepia tones behind as Isaac ages and his quest takes him around the world. Will he discover the truth that all readers know?

Renowned author/illustrator Bob Staake writes with the heart of a true book lover, but illustrates with an equally strong and passionate eye. Staake’s round, expressive characters feel slightly old-fashioned—you might just as easily find them in a picture book from the ’50s—but not at all outdated. Brooklyn and Manhattan bustle and burst with detail, interesting sights and people in every direction.

Readers of all ages and backgrounds will love every inch of The Book of Gold. You might be tempted to turn over the bookshelves and find that mysterious book. But then again, maybe you’ve already found it.

It’s hard not to feel sad and frightened after viewing the world news, with stories of hatred, tragedy and devastation. Children may have even stronger reactions. Come with Me by Holly M. McGhee gently addresses this topic through a young biracial girl who becomes frightened after watching a television newscast. When she asks her papa if there’s something she can do to make the world a better place, he simply says, “Come with me.”

As they wait for and ride the subway under their city, the father tips his hat at passersby of different genders, races and religious faiths. So the little girl does, too. And when she goes with her mama to a market, they see more diverse individuals, rendered in ink and soft watercolors, and know that one person doesn’t represent a family, race or geographic area. Emboldened by kindness and a newfound bravery, the little girl decides to venture outside with her dog. A boy across the hall asks her where she’s heading, and she responds, “Come with me.”

Together they realize that two people are stronger than one, and with one step at a time, no matter how small, they can make the world a kinder place to live. Coloring with chalk draws in a neighbor, and this soon becomes a small community event. The book will resonate with anxious children and budding activists, and parents, caregivers and educators will appreciate the apprehension of the little girl’s parents and their decision to no longer live in fear.