This Is the Planet Where I Live is the perfect way to jump-start a young environmentalist’s education. Its eye-catching illustrations will capture the reader’s attention, and its lively text will hold it. This is the sort of book that grows alongside children, gaining broader, deeper meanings as their comprehension develops. 

Author K.L. Going writes in rhythmic, occasionally rhyming cumulative verse that focuses on connections. “Here are the people / who share the planet / where I live,” she begins. On the next spread, she continues, “These are the homes / that shelter the people / who share the planet / where I live.” Page by page, Going explores the links between humans, animals, insects, birds, trees, clouds and oceans, her plainspoken verses becoming more complex with each new addition. Finally, she concludes quite simply, “Animals, fields, / shelter for friends, / every creature alive / on each other depends— / all on the planet / where we live.”

Debra Frasier’s dazzling photo-collage art transforms Going’s text into a visual feast for the imagination. Her illustrations will remind many readers of her work in On the Day You Were Born, her beloved 1991 picture book that also makes wonderful use of planetary imagery and themes of interconnectedness. Here, repeated images of Earth and a sunflower-bright sun provide a grounding motif that echoes Going’s cumulative lines, helping young readers realize how all the things mentioned in Going’s text—included readers themselves—rely on one another. 

Along the way, Frasier portrays fascinating variety within each category, such as fields of food that include tomatoes, broccoli, strawberries and onions, or birds such as goldfinches, geese, eagles and seagulls. Bright colors leap off the page, adding energy to every spread. Frequent use of swirls and spirals, which can be seen in clouds, landscapes and, notably, a large curlicue of birds looping in the air, reinforces the central notions of interdependence and the circle of life. 

This Is the Planet Where I Live gloriously captures the teeming natural treasures of our beautiful, delicate world. 

Have you ever known it was going to be a bad day from the moment you woke up? Crusty eyes, soggy cereal, itchy tags in your clothes—everything seems to go wrong. And that’s all before you even get to school! A line cutter in class! A missing pudding at lunch! A terrible case of the hiccups! 

Some days are just plain bad, and Chelsea Lin Wallace and Hyewon Yum have captured all that goes wrong for one child in Ode to a Bad Day. With each turn of the page, readers are presented with a new rhyming ode to misfortune: “Oh Oops, / whoops!” begins the lyric to a ruined painting in art class. “Oh Yucky, / your slimy sauce does not smell yummy” goes the ode to a disappointing spaghetti dinner. There’s even a verse to an elusive “Cricket in My Room” that can be heard but never found. (But keep looking! Careful readers will love hunting for the little green bug on nearly every page.) 

Just when we feel “so annoyed,” we are reminded that we are “not destroyed.” After all, the “best part of a baddish day / is when it ends, and I’m OK.”

Hyewon Yum, author-illustrator of the award-winning picture book Mom, It’s My First Day of Kindergarten!, brings her signature style of watercolor and colored pencils to this bad day. She transforms the protagonist’s face into dramatic expressions of frustration, with frowns, pouts and big open-mouth wails. There’s even a perfectly hilarious spread of a classic meltdown in the grocery store’s cereal aisle—something all parents have certainly witnessed.

While most pages show all the things going wrong around the protagonist, Yum cleverly uses occasional spreads to highlight the child’s emotions. In these visually striking moments, the child is shown on their own, their feelings palpable as they stride across a stormy cloud, or grimace amid a shower of rainbow pencil strokes.

Reminiscent of Judith Viorst’s classic Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, Ode to a Bad Day is wholly relatable and highly engaging, with lively, rolling poetry and rich, charming illustrations. No matter what kind of day it has been, don’t be surprised if young readers want to read this book over and over. 

Carter Higgins delivers another superb concept book in Some of These Are Snails, a natural companion to her elegant 2021 creation, Circle Under Berry. Higgins invites readers to linger over these pages as they classify, sort and organize simple shapes in bright colors. 

The book opens with a double-page spread dominated by two circles: one green, one yellow, with simple embellishments that transform the green into a turtle, the yellow into a snail. “Turtle is a circle,” we read, then, “circle is a snail.” The next spread features six green and orange circles on the verso, while the recto repeats the images of the turtle and the snail, then introduces a yellow square. “Circle circle square” rests below these three shapes. In the spread that follows, the yellow square becomes an elephant; next to it, a square, now blue, is an owl. 

As we continue to turn the pages, Higgins’ text encourages readers to sort by color and shape, and to ascertain how these classifications overlap. We see nine variously colored circles arranged in a three-by-three square; a square whale; triangle birds and mice; a series of circles grouped by both size and color; and more. Occasionally, Higgins addresses readers directly: “can you sort by color? can you sort by size?” then, striking a playful note, “can you sort by shape or find the animal with eyes?” Perhaps the most sophisticated puzzle of all features six animal shapes and asks, “what is one? what is some? where is all and where is none?”

Though the text includes sparse punctuation and no capitalization, it’s satisfyingly rhythmic and filled with pleasing rhymes, both true and slant. It absolutely begs to be shared aloud. Meanwhile, Higgins renders the shapes and the creatures built from those shapes with vibrant collage illustrations. The figures rest on copious white space and evoke the palette and textures of the work of Eric Carle. It all makes for an utterly delightful, visually rich package that will have readers engaging in the types of classification work that form the basis of math skills and enhance memory and problem-solving abilities, too. Best of all, they’ll learn to see the world and its patterns in eye-opening ways. Some of These Are Snails is a must-have for every young reader’s bookshelf.

Matt James demonstrated his skill for writing about hard subjects in a reassuring way in The Funeral (2018), his first picture book as both author and illustrator. He does so again in Tadpoles, which follows a boy who ponders his own changing habitat as he explores a pond formed by rainfall with his father. 

There’s no dearth of children’s books about the topics James explores here—divorce, changing seasons, the life cycles of frogs—but he nimbly imparts a fresh take on all three in an enticingly rich and thoughtful creation. Tadpoles is not quite a science book and not quite a divorce book, in the best possible ways. 

James accomplishes this through the strong voice of his narrator. He establishes the boy’s conversation tone from the very first line: “A kid in my class says she saw a two-headed frog.” The boy reveals that his father disagrees: “My dad says . . . that Sita probably just saw two frogs.” The boy is experiencing all manner of changes, including the arrival of spring rains that create a huge puddle in a field near his school. The boy notes that the field contains “neat old junk that people just left lying around,” such as glass bottles, a rusty bicycle and an upright piano. There’s even an old farm silo, which prompts the boy to confess, “Once, when my dad first moved to his new place, I stood in the silo and yelled every single swear word that I know. I guess I was worried that he wouldn’t love me anymore, but my dad says that some things never change.”

James’ moody art is filled with dark clouds and a wide variety of raindrops, which readers will almost feel splattering against the pages. Flashes of pink, green and the bright yellow of the boy’s raincoat guide the eye as the boy and his father study the pond’s tadpoles and discuss their evolution in detail (endnotes offer additional information). Movement on every page—swimming tadpoles, swirling clouds, curlicues on the back of a metal chair and more—adds interest. The backdrop of ongoing transformation in both the natural and manmade worlds dovetails neatly with the boy’s reflections about his father and their relationship. James’ illustrations show that the neighborhood is changing too, with high-rise buildings and a construction crane near smaller homes and green spaces. As the book ends, the skies are clear and blue as the boy and his father head home. One of the book’s many strengths is James’ comfort with leaving things unsaid and allowing readers to draw their own conclusions.

Tadpoles is a reassuring reminder that change can bring positive new developments, and that parental love remains constant, even amid great upheaval. 

The subway train runs right past Nari’s lively New York City apartment building, and she imagines riding it to far-flung destinations that offer quiet spaces away from the bustling city and her boisterous family and neighbors. A beach, a forest, outer space—Nari envisions what it would be like to visit all these places and more. But the farther Nari travels, the closer she feels to home and the people there who love her. Author-illustrator Dan-ah Kim’s The Train Home is a creative adventure, a charming homage to New York City and a sweet reminder that home is truly where the heart is.

Kim’s prose is straightforward and unassuming, underpinned with subtle assonance and alliteration that will make it a pleasure to read aloud. It also contains a few moments of splendid and clever descriptive imagery, as when Nari’s apartment building “grumbles with neighbors left and right, above and below.”

Kim employs a variety of styles and media to create her visually distinct illustrations. She incorporates small pieces of cut paper and thread into images composed with pencil, gouache and acrylic. Nari herself is a simple outlined figure clad in loose yellow clothes, and she appears in stark contrast against busy, textured backdrops. Full-bleed, colorful spreads pull us into Nari’s real and imaginary worlds, while minute details offer much to explore and savor. 

Many of the places Nari imagines visiting on the train refer to real places connected by subway in New York City, including the American Museum of Natural History and the Stephen A. Schwarzman Building of the New York Public Library. New Yorkers and NYC fans will love spotting familiar sights such as Patience and Fortitude, the library’s famous lion statues. Subway signs included in many illustrations tie everything together and transform a mundane form of transportation into something filled with wonder.

Many picture books follow journeys “there and back again,” and strong artwork and tranquil storytelling make The Train Home a worthy addition to the tradition.

Vashti Harrison, creator of Little Leaders, the bestselling illustrated nonfiction series, makes her fiction debut with Big, a simple yet immensely significant picture book. Harrison marshals her considerable talents for a story that celebrates a young Black girl’s aspirations and highlights how words have the ability to empower or to cause suffering.

The book opens as an adorable baby reaches up to touch a mobile of multicolored stars that hangs over her crib. “Once there was a girl / with a big laugh and a big heart / and very big dreams,” reads the spare text on the opposite page. As the baby becomes a toddler and then a girl, Harrison considers the shifting connotations of the word big in her life. At first, when she’s very young, the girl receives praise from adults who call her “a big girl,” and the word rewards her growth and accomplishments. But the word soon takes on hurtful dimensions that culminate in a playground scene inspired by Harrison’s own childhood. When the girl is unable to get out of a swing, her classmates rain down taunts and an adult scolds, “Don’t you think you’re too big for that? You’re in big trouble!” 

Harrison uses powerful visuals to explore the effect of others’ opinions on the girl. Though the girl is illustrated in vibrant shades of brown and pink, everyone else in the book is drawn in shadowy monochromes. Their words hurtle forcefully across the page, and Harrison conveys their negative impact as the girl gradually grows disproportionately large in relation to the people around her. In one scene, she stands twice as tall as her dance instructor, who uses a paint roller to cover the girl’s pink tutu with a shade called “husky blue.” Eventually, the girl becomes so large that she pushes against the very edges of the pages themselves before curling up in a ball, turning her back to the reader and beginning to cry. In the pool of tears that forms around her, the girl discovers words of affirmation (“creative,” “graceful,” “kind”), as well as the words that caused her so much pain. What follows is a beautiful journey of healing, transformation and self-love.

In Big, Harrison invites readers to reflect on how we treat others based on their body size and to consider the implicit biases we hold about which kinds of bodies are “acceptable.” Her sophisticated use of color, design and space make for an outstanding reading experience. In a moving and personal author’s note, Harrison writes of her hopes that the book will especially resonate with “those of us who are Black girls in big bodies.” 

Straightforward enough for even very young children to understand and appreciate, but with a vital message for adults too, Big is one of the year’s most exceptional picture books.

Chloe Savage’s debut picture book opens with a map of the Arctic Circle. By the time I had oriented myself to this unusual perspective on the globe (and spent a moment appreciating how close the continents—and their diverse cultures—really are), I was in love.

The Search for the Giant Arctic Jellyfish follows Dr. Morley’s mission to find the elusive titular creature. While searching, she and her crew discover many marvels of the Arctic—except the one they’ve set out to find. Will they leave without completing their mission? This is certainly the story of a quest, but it is also about determination, teamwork, hard work and the beauty of the natural world. And it is really, really cool. 

Savage’s brilliant art is slightly muted, with colors that have a retro feel despite the contemporary setting (we see laptops in some scenes), giving the expedition a legendary aura. Early spreads provide a sense of preparation: The title page has a classic flat-lay image of well-organized Arctic exploring gear, and the fully stocked ship is shown in a fascinating cut-away, revealing charming and humorous details and telling myriad stories of life aboard. Throughout the book, we return to these cut-aways to observe the crew of scientists, divers, sailors and the captain as they read maps, eat cakes and wait in line for the shower. 

The story is told in present tense, with the direct and determined spirit of a captain’s log. Savage captures the depth of Dr. Morley’s passion and courage, her crew’s faith and frustration, and the pride she has in her team. Despite being surrounded by frigid waters and potential dangers, life aboard the ship feels cozy and safe. But the boat has nothing on the mesmerizing world that surrounds it—the flora and fauna, the colossal icebergs and enchanting northern lights. Savage’s underwater images, awash in deep, saturated blues, are worthy of framing and hanging.

With stunning artwork, just the right amount of narration and a hint of irony, The Search for the Giant Arctic Jellyfish is the story of a female captain working to discover and appreciate all that the Arctic Ocean has to offer. Dr. Morley’s quest may continue, but the search for your next favorite picture book ends here.

In When You Can Swim, readers explore the joys of swimming in various bodies of water—oceans, ponds, lakes, rivers and more—in a text set primarily in conditional statements (the “when you can swim” of the title), as spoken by a parent to a child. This phrase is a refrain that conveys the abundant possibilities and delights of moving in the water: the “clinking / of waves passing in and out / of a million pebbles,” the ripples on a pond, the whitecaps on a river, “the smoke on the lake” and much more. 

In Jack Wong’s breathtaking watery landscapes, strong currents surge beneath “rushing waterfalls,” and sunlight shimmers on ocean waves and the surface of a river. Text and illustrations merge seamlessly to illuminate the ways in which swimming animates all the senses, and Wong writes with beguiling lyricism and figurative language: “When you can swim, / you’ll reach landscapes as foreign as the moon / no spaceship required / except the craters are squishy and filled with reeds / ready to swallow loose sandals / but like good explorers, we’ll leave only footprints.”

Wong’s playful perspectives are captivating. In one spread, from the perspective of lying on our backs in the water, we see “treetops drift by” and a dragonfly buzz near. In another, we turn the book for a stunning vertically oriented image of two girls who dive down after breaking the surface of a lake. A rich apricot-colored light adorns the top of the spread with darkness below, and Wong describes “tannin-soaked lakes / pitch dark from tree bark / like oversteeped tea.” The book’s ending features the same child in the book’s opening, ready to take swimming lessons at a public pool. 

An appended note from Wong, striking in its tenderness, explains his hesitancy as “an immigrant kid” in Canada to swim at public pools and his desire to tell a story with “differently colored characters” because “representation is power”—a point he makes incisively and beautifully in this splendid picture book. 

One look at the cover of In the Night Garden, awash in dreamy night-sky blues, is enough to charm you. However, Carin Berger’s sweet, gentle bedtime story is more than just a pretty face; it fully captures the imagination.

Using her own garden as a muse, Berger (Finding Spring) takes the unease out of nighttime, turning it into a dynamic, wondrous place rich with animals, bugs and plants that come alive in the moonlight, dancing against a backdrop of calming blue shades. Berger’s collage art is vivid and detailed, with crisp lines that make the delicate flora and fauna pop. Only the fireflies appear hazy, swathed in the dandelion-fluff glow of their lights. The collages incorporate scraps of paper with handwritten notes, buttons, newsprint and bits of sheet music, blurring the line between reality and dreams. This is the kind of art that you want to look at again and again because it is, quite simply, gorgeous. 

Berger’s second-person narration is straightforward and simple. It’s less of a story and more of a journey as she introduces the critters one might find under the moonlight, leading the reader from stargazing to snoozing. A black cat appears on every page, acting as a guide through this nighttime journey. Her language is simultaneously reassuring and imaginative, conveying a sense of security alongside descriptions of the beauty that can be found after sundown. It’s a well-balanced story that will calm the littlest readers before sending them off to dreamland.

I am always on the hunt for a good “last story” before bedtime. The requirements are as follows: It must be engaging enough to entertain but calm enough to bring young ones down from their daytime energy. Minimal text is good, and reassuring narration is a must, as is beautiful artwork. And lastly, it has to have a sensibility that pulls in the adults who will, no doubt, be reading it aloud a thousand times. In the Night Garden fits all of these requirements and more.