Bears make the perfect storybook characters: curmudgeonly, routine-bound, honey-filled, with warm hearts hidden deep under fur and padding. Gerald Kelley’s charming Please Please the Bees joins the shelf of grumpy-bear-learns-a-lesson tales, and has a good reminder for gratitude and kindness in readers of all ages.

Benedict’s days are busy: errands, violin, knitting, bed, errands, violin, knitting, bee strike. Bee strike? Putting a honey-less damper on his day, the bees refuse to work, citing an unacceptable yard and deplorable hive conditions. Life without honey is flat-out miserable. But dry toast and an uncompromising bee might be just the motivation Benedict needs to clean up his self-centered lifestyle and overgrown yard.

Kelley thoughtfully tells his story with both words and pictures, injecting his simple narration with punchy, fed-up bee dialogue—these bees mean business. Benedict’s smashed violin and tangled yarn underline the honey-less dreadfulness, while Benedict’s furrowed brow lets us in on his earnest inner struggle. Warm, soft colors and detail-filled pages will keep eyes of all ages busy. Earbuds, sunglasses and a computer add a touch of modernity, while wind chimes and cozy quilts make Benedict’s world appealing and homey. Bee strike signs and raincoat-clad bees subtly add humor while underlining the stern message.

There is no lack of grouchy bear books, but there is always room for one that is cleverly told. Please Please the Bees is a good reminder for all of us: A little thankfulness and hard work—like a few jars of honey—goes a long way.

In this reminder that the good teachers “see everything,” readers meet on the first page an unknown author, writing a letter to her former teacher, the special one who in her elementary-school years really understood her. “Dear Teacher,” she writes, “Whenever I had something to tell you, I tugged on your shirt and whispered in your ear. This time I’m writing a letter.”

The author of the letter recalls the first day of second grade, one that filled her with dread, since school involved two things at which she did not excel: “sitting still and listening.” But her teacher—patient, creative and dedicated—always knew precisely how to engage her students, including this antsy, curious girl. We see her, via the letter writer’s memories, gently guide the girl through her second grade year, encouraging her to learn to read (“the reading corner became our secret garden of stories”) and how to listen. Instead of forcing a student who doesn’t fit into the traditional educational mold to play by stringent rules, she calmly makes room for the girl’s way of learning, making her second grade year the most memorable of all.

Hopkinson laces this sweet, tender story with much humor. At one point, the girl has to look up “exasperating” in the dictionary. She’s unsure of its meaning but just knows she heard the teacher use it that one time she wandered off on a field trip. Carpenter puts color to clever use, accentuating the girl’s singular personality and stubbornness by giving her a bright yellow raincoat, a vivid pink dress and striking purple pants—with more muted colors for the other students.

In the end—get out your tissues for this happy cry—we see that the letter-writer is now grown and is a teacher herself, about to start her first job. “I’ll think about everything you helped me explore,” she writes, “and try my best to be like you.” It’s a heartfelt tribute to the hard work of the best teachers—those who nudge and prompt, finding smart and loving ways to inspire fidgety students to learn.

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

When young children ask about the violence that fills our world, what do we say? Folksinger John McCutcheon’s picture book Flowers for Sarajevo provides an insightful response, combining history, humanity and music in a memorable picture book that’s perfect for young elementary school students.

The narrator is a young boy named Drasko who helps his father sell flowers in the Sarajevo marketplace. Their world changes overnight when war arrives and Drasko’s father heads to the battlefield, leaving his son in charge of the flower cart. The mood of the city has changed, as well, making Drasko’s job harder than ever, but he takes refuge near an open window outside a building where the orchestra practices. Drasko bears witness to real-life events as he describes a 1992 explosion, when 22 people waiting in a breadline were killed in a mortar attack. The next day Drasko watches a cellist dressed in a tuxedo make his way through the rubble to the scene of the explosion, where he plays “the most beautiful and heartbreaking music anyone could ever imagine.” Drasko notes: “All of us―Serb and Croat, Muslim and Christian―stand side by side, listening to a language we all understand.” That musician was Vedran Smailovic, and Drasko explains that he returns to play for 22 days, one day to honor each of the victims. Kristy Caldwell’s illustrations add dimension to the story by imbuing the central action on each spread with color, leaving the rest of the scene in muted tones. She brings the busy marketplace to life, depicting the mortar explosion and its destruction without being gruesome. Drasko and other characters possess the energy and emotion of a graphic novel, perfect for the slightly older picture book audience for whom this book is aimed.

While the narrative is simple and accessible, end notes round out the educational experience, including an author’s note about the mortar attack and Smailovic’s musical memorial, a discussion (with maps) of the Balkan’s history of unrest, suggestions of books and websites for further learning and a short biography of Smailovic.

Flowers for Sarajevo also includes a CD recording of Smailovic playing Albinoni’s Adagio in G Minor as well as McCutcheon’s own composition, “Streets of Sarajevo,” accompanied by Smailovic. A final spread contains McCutcheon’s lyrics and music.

This book offers no easy answers or happy endings; instead, it’s a powerful story about persevering in the face of tragedy and war. Drasko and his flowers provide a sense of hope and humanity, as the boy explains: “And tomorrow―like my father, like the cellist―I’ll do my own small part to make Sarajevo beautiful once again.”

Emily Gravett’s latest picture book opens memorably—with a die-cut cover and opening pages that reveal a lush, gorgeous forest. Eventually, we see Pete the badger through those die-cut holes. He’s tidying, as he likes to keep everything neat. That’s right: He tidies the very forest itself—its flowers, its foxes and birds, and even its sticks and rocks.

But on one beautiful autumn day, a leaf falls. Pete wonders at the lone leaf, then looks up in shock to see even more descending. He decides to continue tidying—but does so extensively that the trees are left bare. When this doesn’t look right to him, he digs up the trees, which causes a flood and subsequently creates a ton of mud. Pete calls in the diggers, mixers, rakers, fixers (and lots of concrete) to tidy up in the most definitive way possible. This leaves nothing, but Pete is clueless, saying that the forest is “practically perfect.” Later, when he’s unable to find food and his home (“there wasn’t a door where the door used to be!”), he realizes he’s made a mistake. He puts everything right with the help of his forest friends.

There’s a definite environmental message here in Gravett’s rhyming couplets, one about urbanization and the loss of creatures’ habitats when nature meets urban sprawl. Throw in the notion that sometimes a little bit of a mess is a little bit OK, as well as the idea that sometimes in life it’s wise to abandon control. But it’s all wrapped up in an entertaining story and Gravett’s luscious illustrations, which are rendered so brightly (via pencil, watercolor and wax crayons) that some spreads pop right off the page.

Delightfully, Gravett leaves the story a bit open-ended, asking readers to consider whether or not Pete has done well: “And Pete? Well, he promised to tidy up less. But if he succeeded is anyone’s guess!” It’s a not-so-tidy ending for a story that will get children thinking about the planet they live on.

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

Graduation days are supposed to be joyous occasions, so readers who enter the wordless Graduation Day, Piotr Parda’s debut picture book as both author and illustrator, may be surprised to see a bleak, gray cityscape and a school suffering from abandon. Despite the school’s cracks and holes, one young, wide-eyed girl with oversize glasses and dressed in her graduation cap and gown is smiling. She’s still smiling when some ugly bullying classmates, both in character and appearance, laugh, point and shoot a round object at her.

Undeterred, the girl pockets the object and lines up with the rest of the multicultural students. After the obligatory speeches (met with students yawning), tossing of the caps and parental hugs in the parking lot, the girl walks alone down a drab hallway to empty her locker. Once it’s open, readers now see what was shot at her: a seed. Inside the locker is a jar brimming with these same seeds.

Seeds often represent change, and the symbolism is not lost in this context as the girl begins dropping seeds in cracks around the school. Wherever she plants the seeds, sprouts—and eventually, color—burst upward. The sprouts give way to luscious yellow flowers that fill up the school courtyard. A return to the initial city scene now shows a cheery school and yellow flowers spreading beyond its walls. While the messages of bullying, change and peace are clear, the thought-provoking artwork makes this a book to be savored and discussed by readers of all ages.

Rain, like heavy snow, is an inconvenience, delaying our important, grown-up tasks. But for kids, a waterlogged street is an opportunity for an extraordinary day. Author-illustrator Sam Usher throws open the front door to whomever, or whatever, might pass by.

Rain begins with rain—lots of it. Granddad is reluctant to go outside, but Sam knows there are monsters and voyages out in that soaking, reflective world. While their home is warm and cozy, the storm beckons, and our imagination grows wings (or perhaps a rudder).

Usher is a storybook wizard, using simple first-person language to tell a story that resonates with children. He even manages to peg the reasonable, calm voice grown-ups use to speak with kids (and that kids often echo). His illustrations, while unpretentious, are detailed, artistic and colorful; the raindrops are so realistic they could be photographs. Little reader spotting tip: Watch the stuffed animals, who seem to mimic Sam’s moods and occasionally sport seriously bored expressions.

While Rain is a fun read in its own right, it’s also a delightful elbow-in-the-side reminder to look up from our adult routines once in a while. After all, you never know what might float by.

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

Everyone loves books about bears, mice, kittens and puppies. Other animals barely stand a chance at being popular with young readers. Even hippos, lemurs and wildebeests beat out snails in the favorite animal department.

Up until now, that is. Escargot is a quirky story of a jaunty French snail eager to make the case that snails deserve a shot at being your favorite animal. If you think snails are too slimy, Escargot explains that it’s “not slime . . . more like shimmery trails of . . . shimmery stuff.” If you think snails are too slow, well, that’s only because a French snail likes to relax before enjoying his salad. And if you think snails are too shy, Escargot is eager to demonstrate that he is quite fierce. In fact, his fierce face can scare away a lion, a wild boar—and even a carrot that might sneak into the beautiful salad waiting at the end of the story.

By the time young readers get to that salad, they still might not be ready to rush out to get a pet snail, but they might be persuaded to enjoy some greens—and even carrots. Dashka Slater and Sydney Hanson have conjured a sweet little snail sure to appeal to the preschool set. And adults will certainly savor a story that supports healthy eating—and giggles.

Deborah Hopkinson lives near Portland, Oregon. Her most recent book for young readers is A Letter to My Teacher.

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