When it comes to animals in picture books, bears have a long and storied history. Large or small, woodland creature or friendly plush toy, their contributions are undeniable. Jonathan Stutzman and Dan Santat’s Bear Is a Bear more than earns its place among the ranks of Winnie, Corduroy, Paddington, Little Bear and more.

Although this Bear is a teddy toy, Santat depicts him as an actual bear. When the winsome Bear is introduced to his little girl, she is a baby gnawing on a wooden block and he is “hopeful and shy.” He lowers his hulking body down onto the rug, lies on his tummy and smiles his most pleasing smile. The connection between them is instant: The baby attaches herself to Bear’s head like a suction cup (“Bear is a snack.”) before shooting snot directly at his face (“Bear is a tissue.”). Bear is undeterred, and soon he has become a “warm, soft pillow” on which the child drifts off to sleep.

As the girl grows up, Bear plays many parts, always going along with whatever she wants to do. Together, they dress up for tea parties, dig for buried treasure and peer up at the stars through a telescope. Bear is a “brave protector” in a scary thunderstorm and a tissue, again, when the girl reads a tear-jerking novel. When the girl goes off to college, Bear becomes “a scholar” and “a piece of home,” but eventually he is “a memory . . . covered in dust” in a trunk. But Bear is not forgotten, and soon he has a new role to play in the life of someone very important to his little girl.

Throughout the book, Caldecott Medalist Santat (The Adventures of Beekle) portrays Bear as a gentle giant who quickly earns a place in readers’ hearts. Santat’s illustrations are friendly and humorous, sure to remind adults of their own plush childhood friends who may also be tucked away in boxes. Stutzman’s language is gentle and has an appealing rhythm that’s ideal for bedtime. The book’s circular narrative and refrain of “Bear is a bear full of love” make for a satisfying read-aloud that’s charmingly nostalgic with just the right amount of sweetness.

Author-illustrator Hudson Talbott shares his personal experience of growing up with dyslexia in A Walk in the Words, a picture book that will help other “slow readers” feel seen and, refreshingly, celebrated.

In descriptive prose, Talbott takes us back to his childhood. An avid artist, he struggles with reading: “A whole page of text looked like a wall—keeping me out.” Long sentences are overwhelming, and he is the slowest reader in his class, which leaves him feeling ashamed.

Talbott’s bright watercolors playfully convey his early fear of books. On one spread, books (spines down and flapping like birds) chase him. In another, a book with all text and no pictures morphs into a purple monster with long claws. “ME EAT PICTURES! You read!” it growls.

As we see Talbott’s boyhood self “lost in a world of words,” his illustrations bring a forest metaphor to life. Young Talbott stands in a foreboding copse of trees while branches filled with long, complex words (“trepidation,” “impenetrable,” “undulating,” “ineffectual”) snake ominously around him.

But enough is enough. Talbott decides to “picture” his way out by looking for words in text that he knows and letting them “lead me into the story.” He also realizes that being a slow reader shouldn’t scare him and that many brilliant minds also found reading difficult. Here, Talbott imagines a “Slow Readers Hall of Fame” filled with the likes of Sojourner Truth, Babe Ruth and William Shakespeare.

Talbott does not mention dyslexia specifically until his author’s note at the end of the book. Whether a child is dyslexic or merely gaining reading fluency slower than their peers, they will appreciate all that Talbott does here to lift the stigma around those who don’t read quickly: “Slow readers savor the story!” he jubilantly exclaims as he depicts himself knocking down his literal “Wall of Shame,” a densely constructed barrier made of blocks of text.

A Walk in the Words is a welcome tale for readers everywhere who know that relishing a story at your own pace brings tremendous rewards.

The moon is melting, but Granny saves the day in this picture book originally published in South Korea and translated into English by Jieun Kiaer. Author-illustrator Heena Baek won the 2020 Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award, and this is the first of her books to be published in English.

Based on the Korean fable of the moon rabbit, the tale takes place in a multistory apartment building at night. It stands tall against a pitch-black sky as we peer into each apartment to gaze at the tenants and their homes. The residents are anthropomorphized animals, and Granny is a bespectacled wolf. The summer heat is oppressive—“too hot to do anything”—and the sense of claustrophobia and sweat is palpable. Descriptive onomatopoeia (“whir-whir” and “hum-hum”) capture the animals’ attempts to cool off by firing up their air conditioners, turning on fans and opening refrigerator doors. 

When Granny discovers that the moon is melting—the dripping luminescent moon makes for a surreal and indelible image—she catches some drops in a bucket and whips up a batch of glowing moon pops, which cool everyone off. Then two hapless bucktoothed rabbits appear at her door. “Our home has melted away,” they explain. Ever resourceful, Granny brainstorms a creative way to send them back to their “home in the sky.” 

Baek illustrates the tale with photographs of intricate 3D dioramas that use light and shadow to beguiling effect. The image of the tenants enjoying their moon pops, which also adorns the book’s cover, shows the creatures gazing incredulously at their gleaming treats in the dark of night, their faces illuminated by their moon pops’ light. Granny’s solution for getting the rabbits back to their home on the moon also involves shimmering lights and wondrous, sparkling orbs that shine against the cloudy, starless night sky.  

Moon Pops is a strange and delightful tale made for lingering over—and perfect for reading with your own moon pop. (You can always grab an ice pop from the freezer and pretend it’s lunar.) Leave room on your summer reading list for this story that is cool in more ways than one. 

Kim Hyo-eun’s splendid picture book, originally published in South Korea in 2016 and translated into English by Deborah Smith, is told from the perspective of a subway train in Seoul: “Carrying people from one place to another, I travel over the ground and rumble under, twice across the wide Han River.” Three full spreads introduce us to this unique voice before we even arrive at the title page.  

Everyone has a story, and the train listens to and observes its passengers closely, capturing the nuances of the personalities who board at many stations. There’s Mr. Wanju, always running for the train so that he can spend as much time as possible at home with his daughter. There’s Mr. Jae-sung, a cobbler who “can tell so much about a person just from looking at their shoes.” There’s Na-yoon, a student taking classes after school who is “so tired she’s barely awake.” In alternating spreads that briefly shift among the different riders’ points of view, we follow these characters into their lives beyond the subway’s cars.

Thanks to the subway train’s musings, readers gain poignant glimpses into the joys, sorrows and hopes of these passengers. The train’s voice is tender and compassionate, and the sound of its movement, “ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum,” is a refrain that anchors the book. 

Early spreads feature smudgy faces in shadow, but the faces of the riders whom the subway introduces are distinct and detailed. Kim’s eloquent, fine-lined watercolor illustrations capture the commuters’ humanity and the beauty in what might otherwise be dismissed as mundane. In a striking closing spread, “a gentle afternoon light . . . washes over everything,” and the image’s composition draws our attention not to the subway riders in the upper left-hand corner of the spread but to the light hitting the floor of the car—the extraordinary amid the ordinary. 

A poetic tribute to Seoul and its people, I Am the Subway makes for an unforgettable journey. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum.

A child’s first sleepover can be fraught with worry. Their usual routines are disrupted in a new house surrounded by new things and with new adults at the helm. Author-illustrator Julie Fortenberry expertly captures these concerns in Darcy’s First Sleepover, a sensitive, empathetic look at one girl’s first sleepover success.

This gently paced story spends the first three spreads establishing the routines at Darcy’s home. She has a favorite pair of pajamas (with polka dots!) and brushes her teeth with strawberry toothpaste. Little Cat, her favorite plush toy, keeps Darcy company, and before bed, her dad reads a story about Little Cat to her. He also regularly leaves the kitchen light on as Darcy falls asleep.

After a visit to her cousin’s house, Darcy is invited to spend the night. She agrees but is soon unsettled by the new surroundings and unexpected routines. There’s peppermint toothpaste and no Little Cat, and Darcy is troubled. The wind at the window in the middle of the night doesn’t help, but when Darcy sees the moon shine on her, just as it shines on Little Cat in her favorite book, she finally falls asleep. The book about Little Cat has a happy ending, and perhaps Darcy’s story will too.

Fortenberry tenderly and accurately captures the worrisome elements of a first sleepover: missing a favorite stuffed animal, a borrowed nightgown, an unfamiliar and “scratchy” sleeping bag that smells “like old leaves.” Darcy is surprised to learn that her cousin is even allowed to eat in her bedroom.

The characters’ body language and facial expressions communicate a great deal of emotion. When Darcy is awake as her cousin sleeps peacefully next to her during the night, her eyes are wide and her hands clutch the sleeping bag. The next morning, Darcy’s sense of triumph feels well earned.

This story about the courage it takes for some children to make their way through their first sleepover will resonate with many readers. Way to go, Darcy!

Marty is a lot like you and me. He has hobbies, a job and trouble deciding what to wear every day. For the most part, Marty fits in. But Marty is a little bit different, too. You see, he doesn’t exactly come from this planet, and it could be a problem if his true green-skinned self were to be revealed. But when an act of artistic expression leads to uninvited scrutiny, Marty begins to wonder whether he will ever truly belong on Earth. Rachel Noble and Zoey Abbott’s Marty is a charming story of acceptance, friendship and finding home.

You can’t help but like this little Martian. He’s a friendly shade of green with a simple, open face. Thanks to his flair for style and costume design, Marty can be anyone, anywhere, from the construction worker across the street to the skateboarder in the park or the barista behind the coffee shop counter. He lives in a big old tree outside the city that looks so homey and fun, it just might make you consider moving into the backyard.

Like Marty, this book feels like an old pal. Using gentle washes of subdued colors and few sharp lines, illustrator Abbott creates a welcoming, cozy world. Her art is full of tiny, playful details that add familiarity and cleverness and will have readers inspecting each page. Delightful vignettes of Marty digging through a laundry basket, bent over his sewing machine or modeling his synchronized swim attire are guaranteed to elicit smiles.

While Abbott’s artwork is cheekily detailed,Noble’s writing is straightforward and earnest. Noble uses some alliteration and repetition but forgoes fluffy, drawn-out exposition in favor of unpretentious, honest sentences. She narrates evenly and effortlessly, calmly bringing her characters from surprise to genuine curiosity and finally into comfortable understanding and fellowship.

Books with profound messages often seem to pulse with intensity and importance, demanding attention and action. Marty’s message is certainly profound, but it’s shared by example: a heartfelt invitation, an easy acceptance of differences, a shared laugh. Marty’s simple words of friendship and kindness may not be Earth-shattering, but they’re definitely Earth-brightening.

In the opening pages of Listen, a girl stands on her front porch, her backpack resting squarely on her shoulders. She is surrounded by the din of the city. “When you step out into the big, wild world, sometimes all you hear is . . . NOISE!” narrates an encouraging second-person voice. The girl follows the text’s advice to “stop, close your eyes, and LISTEN,” harnessing her attention to single out each individual sound as she walks. She hears a dog yipping at a car, a crow squawking on a power line, a teakettle whistling from an open window, gravel crunching under feet and much, much more. 

Once she arrives at school, the girl puts her active listening skills to work in new ways. When she overhears her classmate subjected to “words that sting,” the girl listens for “a sob, a sigh, or even silence” so that she can empathize and offer comfort. Finally, back home at the end of the day, the girl sits and listens to her breath as the text reminds readers to “hear the voice inside you.” 

Author Gabi Snyder’s engaging text speaks directly to readers, offering instruction as well as questions. “Can you hear ‘hello’ called across the playground?” she asks. The book’s back matter explores the difference between listening and hearing and the various types of responses we have to sound, such as the startle response. 

Illustrator Stephanie Graegin’s carefully composed, well-balanced spreads convey the busyness and bustle of the city while avoiding visual clutter. A soothing, cool blue dominates the color palette and provides a relaxing visual throughline for readers. 

The book’s design elements also work to support its theme. An appealing orange font emphasizes all the sounds depicted in the girl’s day, and the endpapers contain a series of small drawings that represent the sources of those sounds, such as a moving van and a boy practicing the trumpet. 

Listen is a gentle invitation to pause, close your eyes and appreciate every sound. It’s a welcome breath of fresh air. 

A museum at night is the setting of this inventive picture book starring the plucky and determined Dakota Crumb, a mouse on a mission. As the story opens, the big-city museum has closed; only guards are visible as Dakota creeps out, carrying a sack and her trusty treasure map. She is seeking a “famous priceless treasure.” It’s hidden somewhere, and naturally X marks the spot. Will the intrepid mouse be able to find it?

Young readers will enjoy joining this small scavenger as she slips past knights in armor mounted on huge steeds and sweeps minute objects such as a postage stamp and an action-figure toy into her sack, staying just out of the reach of a cleaner’s broom. Her quest brings her to the land of Egypt, where an enormous cat statue stands watch. Could the ancient temple hold the ultimate prize?

Dakota Crumb: Tiny Treasure Hunter is successful on several levels: as an introduction to museums, as an adventure story and as a seek-and-find book. The treasures Dakota collects throughout the book provide a fun opportunity for kids to explore what can constitute a museum collection. 

Illustrator Kelly Murphy’s clear, colorful pen and ink images entice readers to look closely at paintings on the museum’s walls and tiny details in the exhibits. Her linework is particularly effective and will make it easy for young children to identify the many objects included in each spread. Activities at the end of the book add to the clever design. Preschoolers and early elementary-age readers will especially enjoy going back through the pages to find the items on Dakota’s list of treasures, which Murphy has sprinkled throughout the pages. 

Dakota Crumb is a delight that readers will return to again and again. In that way, it’s a bit like a favorite, fabulous museum. 

It doesn’t take much to bring the people we love into our thoughts. We see a favorite bird, hear the punchline of an often told joke or finally taste a recipe no one else has ever been able to reproduce, and we are instantly transported. Beautiful, sweet and warm, When Lola Visits will usher readers into their own fond memories through the story of a little girl and the summer she shares with her grandmother, her lola, who visits from the Philippines.

Author Michelle Sterling writes like someone in love with language, her text laden with assonance and alliteration, hyperbole and simile. Every page contains creative metaphors so precise that they’re almost tangible. From the scents of jasmine blossoms and swimming pool chlorine to newly sharpened pencils and mango jam bubbling on the burner, Sterling evokes not only lovely and yummy smells but also the ordinary, everyday smells that linger just beyond our recognition. Each description unlocks a sensory detail that draws readers further into the world of the story and the girl’s time with Lola, but also into their own warm summer recollections. Thanks to Sterling’s descriptive powers, you don’t have to have eaten mango jam or warm cassava cake fresh from the oven to know exactly how it tastes.

Illustrator Aaron Asis’ artwork is an equally magical and intriguing study in contrast. He works with broad strokes of soft, breezy colors and uncomplicated shapes that often fade out, edgeless. At the same time, he delicately details fruit in a bowl, dangling kitchen utensils and the fascinating clutter that seems to accompany grandparents and other older people. (What child can resist going through Grandma’s bag in search of treats or treasures?) Noticing the illustrations’ unusual perspectives and angles feels like gazing through the open eyes of a child.

Like all the best childhood memories of loved ones, When Lola Visits feels familiar, friendly and faded to perfection. It’s a little hazy with age, and a little more shimmery for the haze.

Red-haired, inquisitive Roberta is a budding entomologist. “I rescue tiny creatures,” she tells readers on the first spread. “It’s a special job.” While her classmates play during recess, she’s bent over a minuscule creature on the ground. She knows that such creatures sometimes need help, even imagining herself at one point in a superhero’s red cape. In reality, however, many of her classmates point and laugh at her: “Roberta has been picking up worms again!”

But one day, Roberta comes to the rescue. The entire class, plus the teacher, huddles in fear over some baby spiders crawling up the wall. Roberta directs everyone to follow her friend Maria’s instructions for folding origami boxes, then helps them guide the “hundreds of stripy specks” into the boxes so they can be carried to safety outside. 

Curtis Manley’s bighearted story gracefully captures the experiences of quiet, observant, inquisitive children—those who may not be found in the midst of a big crowd at school but who are considerately looking out for those on the periphery. Lucy Ruth Cummins’ brightly colored illustrations depict a series of Roberta’s rescues both at home and at school. We read about her “easy” saves and the ones that seem “impossible.” We also read about rescue attempts in which Roberta didn’t make it in time. She keeps these creatures (a butterfly, a beetle and a bee) so that she can appreciate their beauty, even in death, with her microscope. 

The book concludes with charming back matter: a guide to “Roberta’s favorite tiny creatures worth rescuing” and instructions for creating “Maria’s origami box with lockable lid.” Tender and sensitive, much like its protagonist, The Rescuer of Tiny Creatures will encourage readers to get outside and be on the lookout for vulnerable new friends. 

Poor Mouse. She lives with Cat, and needless to say, there are . . . problems. As Andrew Prahin’s Ship in a Bottle opens, Cat stalks Mouse in a series of very funny vignettes: “Mouse wanted to eat gingersnaps. Cat wanted to eat Mouse. Mouse wanted to enjoy the ship in a bottle. Cat wanted to eat Mouse.” In each image, Cat is always around the corner, eyes wide, a consummate predator. 

One day, Mouse takes her living situation into her own hands. She slips into the ship in a bottle and blows Cat a raspberry. Cat angrily shoves the bottle out the window and into the water below, and suddenly Mouse is free. So begins Mouse’s journey over land and water to find a safer home. Yet her “exceptionally pleasant” and peaceful adventure soon becomes distressful, thanks to selfish, cookie-obsessed rabbits, hungry seagulls and a huge, scary storm. Fortunately for Mouse, she eventually finds some kind new neighbors. 

Prahin masters the story’s execution on every level. He knows when to make the text short and clipped with perfectly dry comic pacing (“Cat wanted to lie in the sun. And eat Mouse.”) and when it should flow with rich imagery: “Near dawn, Mouse looked out upon an expanse of quiet trees and grass nestled among the towering buildings.” Prahin’s palette practically sparkles with warm, lemony yellows and carnation pinks juxtaposed against the sage shades of Mouse’s fur and the surface of the river. The dappled light on the water at the start of Mouse’s journey is particularly striking. All of the creatures’ body language and droll facial expressions (especially single-minded Cat) are entertainingly spot-on. 

Mouse’s persistence pays off in more ways than one, making this a satisfying story for anyone who, like Mouse, has “dreamed of a better life.”

A softhearted, cyan-colored creature, Yeti really stands out in a crowd—the crowd of monsters, that is, who populate the world of prolific author Kelly DiPucchio’s Not Yeti, illustrated by Claire Keane. While the other monsters are domineering, loud and rude, Yeti is quiet and considerate. He has kind words for the weeds, sings to the humpback whales, crochets sweaters for penguins and tells knock-knock jokes to the trees. He also tries his best to befriend the other monsters, who think he’s an oddity. 

Midway through the narrative, DiPucchio pauses for a flashback to a time when Yeti’s behavior was “abominable,” which Keane depicts in a series of panels that give the impression of worn photographs. This earlier version of Yeti may have been ill-mannered, but he woke up one day and made a conscious choice that “he liked making things . . . more than he liked breaking things”—even if meant spending a lot of his time alone. Observant readers will notice that a small, two-eyed monster in a dress appears in many spreads and seems to be watching Yeti’s acts of kindness. She makes her devotion to Yeti clear at the book’s festive closing.

In Keane’s illustrations, Yeti is affable and rosy cheeked. His facial expressions and body language differ markedly from the other monsters, who are rowdy and mischievous. (One even breathes fire.) Keane’s rounded, relaxed linework ensures that none of the monsters are ever truly frightening, and her palette is dominated by appealing soft lavender, rose and turquoise hues. 

Not Yeti is a sweet tale for anyone who’s ever realized the bright side of not fitting in. The world may be full of monsters, but Yeti isn’t one of them, and readers will be happy to get to know him.