It’s ambitious and refreshing for an author to write a book for young readers about the silence that lies between the sounds of our loud, media-driven world (known in Japan as ma). Journalist and producer Katrina Goldsaito has done so in The Sound of Silence, illustrated by Julia Kuo.

Young Yoshio lives in Tokyo, a bustling, noisy city. To him, “Tokyo was like a symphony hall!” He loves to roam the streets and take it all in. He likes to hear his boots squish in puddles; he likes to hear his own giggling; and he loves to hear the koto player on the street. When he asks if she has a favorite sound, the musician tells Yoshio that the most beautiful sound is that of silence. That does it for the boy: Once the musician has sung its praises, he is determined to find the silence in his day.

And he tries valiantly: He looks for silence in a bamboo grove, beautifully illustrated by Kuo; as he walks home from school; during dinner at home; during his bath; and more. Giving it one last shot at bedtime, he fails when his eyes get heavy and he falls fast asleep. The boy is disappointed. All he heard all day was noise and more noise, especially since he was hyper-attuned to it. But when he gets to school early the next day and sits there alone, he discovers the silence and, furthermore, discovers that it was always with him: “It was between and underneath every sound.”

Kuo’s pen drawings, scanned into Photoshop, feature fluid lines and the detailed, graceful landscapes of Tokyo. Her busier, more crowded scenes parallel moments in the text where the boy hears noise and struggles to find the silence he seeks. The striking cover, with its pop of color in the middle, seems to show the boy post-discovery, walking along as if he has finally figured out how to find the rejuvenating silence even in the middle of a crowd. An afterword encourages readers to be collectors of sounds.

Meditative and thought-provoking, this one is a keeper.

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

Young and old readers alike will rejoice in the publication of Return, the final volume of Aaron Becker’s trilogy of award-winning wordless picture books. As with Journey and Quest, the series’ ongoing premise continues, as a lonely, bored young heroine draws a door on her bedroom wall with her magic red crayon, escaping into a realm of immense castles populated by a familiar friendly king, a boy with a magic purple crayon and, alas, ominous soldiers giving chase.

What’s new is that this time the girl’s father follows his daughter through her magic door. An artist or architect, he’s been holed up in his upstairs home studio, seemingly frustrated at his drafting table and ignoring his child. A small rounded door rests near a bookcase―likely an entry into imaginary realms that he’s unable to access.

By the time this bearded, booted dad chases after his daughter, she’s not exactly thrilled to see him. All that changes, however, when soldiers attack the king, leading the girl and father to narrowly escape aboard a magical flying creature and then a magic submarine, eventually landing in a cave filled with prehistoric paintings. These paintings provide clues for dad and daughter to collaborate to defeat their attackers in an epic, colorful battle.

Becker’s watercolor, pen and ink illustrations highlight the importance of color, contrasting beige scenes in the family home with bold, brilliant bursts of gold, blue, purple and red in the otherworldly realm. As always, Becker’s imaginary worlds are visual feasts, intricate enough to invite repeated visits from fans of all ages. In contrast, his characters’ faces are purposely plain, inviting readers to assign their own interpretations.

The final illustration is lovely, showing a return to reality, but a reality suggesting that dad and daughter continue to enjoy their newfound magic. Similarly, Return is a crowning capstone to a special trilogy that parents and children will want to share time and time again. It is a marvelous yet beautifully quiet commentary on so many important things: relationships, imagination, ingenuity and creativity.

What perfect timing! Mara Rockliff and Hadley Hooper’s lively nonfiction picture book celebrates a cross-country road trip taken in 1916 by suffragists Nell Richardson and Alice Burke to spread the word about votes for women.

The two women set out from New York City in a little yellow car on April 6, 1916. On their journey to California and back, their luggage included a sewing machine, a typewriter and, yes, a “wee black kitten” (named Saxon in honor of their little runabout made by the Saxon Motor Car Company).

Hooper’s vibrant illustrations convey a delightful retro feel, while effectively capturing a sense of adventure and place. Readers are treated to a suffragist rally, a sun-drenched field with butterflies and birds and a spectacular double-page spread of a blizzard. Rockliff’s prose is just as lively. We follow the two intrepid travelers as their car nearly falls in a hole, chugs through wet sand and, at one point, goes “bump and squelch” before finally getting stuck in the mud.

In addition to a large map highlighting the suffragists’ route, there is a wealth of back matter. In an informative author’s note, Rockliff notes that while Alice and Nell’s “ten thousand bumpy, muddy, unmapped miles” might have been a challenge, the road to achieve women’s suffrage in America was far longer, stretching back to the first organized efforts at the Seneca Falls conference in 1848.

Around America to Win the Vote will be a wonderful complement to classroom discussions during this election year and an important addition to the literature surrounding the upcoming centennial of the passage of the 19th Amendment in 1920. The final message for all readers: Vote!

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

Ian Lendler’s meditation on the first half of a weekend is from a child’s point of view, and therein lies its humor. A young boy’s sunny outlook on all the good things a Saturday offers is juxtaposed with the parents’ view of the proceedings, and as you can see on the book’s cover, they have very different views of the matter.

The boy loves Saturdays, because everyone stays home. He and his younger sibling get to play with their parents, work on projects, play superhero and much more. After each activity the boy lists, a page turn reveals the reality of the situation from his parents’ perspective. The boy loves to play “rocket ship ride to the moon,” and illustrator Serge Bloch shows him and his brother on an adventure of the grandest sort, complete with a ship and helmets. But a page turn reveals that, in reality, his dad is swinging them in a blanket, which takes strenuous effort on his part. Sometimes, the boy notes, “our rocket runs out of gas,” and we see Dad working up a sweat. Playing the defend-the-castle game really means the boy’s long-suffering parents are his prisoners; once again, a page turn reveals these shifts in reality, all played for humor.

Lendler, who has written several graphic novels for young readers, leaves room in this relatively spare text for Bloch to have fun. Bloch uses a lot of patterned textures and halftone surfaces (the endpages are the trippiest ones you’ll see this year) in his pencil-and-Photoshop illustrations to give the book a modern look. And it’s not all misery for the parents: The boy’s favorite part about Saturday is “when there’s nothing left to do,” and here the whole family piles on the couch for a jumbled group hug of sorts, albeit one filled with lots of elbows. Bloch puts a smile on everyone’s face, including those of the fatigued parents.

It all adds up to less of a narrative but more of a snapshot of a happy weekend day with an overly excited boy and his loving, if worn out, caretakers.

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

Three striking spreads open this well-paced book: First, readers see a spread dominated by clear skies, revealing a boy who looks up at an airplane that’s heading toward the Twin Towers. The second spread shows a crowded NYC street from the point of view of a driver, and in the car’s side mirror, we see a plane descending in the air. On the title page spread itself, we see a plane as its nose just touches the first tower on that fateful day in 2001. Illustrator Thomas Gonzalez does much to establish a mood of impending doom before the text even begins. 

But the mood quickly shifts to one of triumph. Janet Nolan introduces us to the USS New York, the Navy ship whose bow is made from a beam from the World Trade Center towers. The book’s title comes from the beam’s weight, seven and a half tons of steel, which came to represent the resilience of the American people in the face of such a horrific tragedy. The steel was transferred to Louisiana for its metamorphosis into the bow of the Navy ship. When Hurricane Katrina hit, it ruined the homes of many of the ship’s builders, and Nolan briefly covers this tragedy as well.

Nolan’s recounting of the ship’s journey back to New York for the 10th anniversary of 9/11 is reverent, as is her handling of the terror that spawned it. Gonzalez’s cinematic illustrations capture a wide range of emotions with grandeur and warmth. The book lacks sources at its close, but it does conclude with more facts about the ship. 

This is a stirring tribute.

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

This article was originally published in the August 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Her intense, yellow eyes scanning the night, Mother Coyote is watching and following and digging and leaping. With pups waiting in her den, the success of her nightly hunt is vital. A window into a rarely seen world, Coyote Moon is a unique find.

Gifted storyteller Maria Gianferrari narrates Coyote’s story with a directness that echoes Coyote’s serious mission, and her descriptive language and subtle use of alliteration make for a captivating read-aloud. Renowned illustrator Bagram Ibatoulline skillfully brings us along for the hunt with art as lifelike as a photograph, but with an ethereal edge. Ibatoulline leads us through the richly detailed night, peering through brush and hiding from Coyote’s prey. He opens up a moonlit world that is far from monotone, with texture and layers that give us a unique and intimate look at our world when it belongs to those who depend on the night. Gianferrari’s narrative is vivid enough to stand without any images, and Ibatoulline’s art would make a lovely wordless picture book—but woven together, they tell a story that is striking and transfixing. 

A truthful but non-gory look at the circle of life, Coyote Moon concludes with two pages of facts, making it a fascinating and useful book for libraries and classrooms. From cover to cover, from sunset to moonrise, Coyote Moon will mesmerize and intrigue—and have you peering into the nighttime for your own coyote glimpse.

This article was originally published in the August 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

BookPage Top Pick in Children’s, August 2016

Parents of children in the early elementary grades often feel pressure to “graduate” their kids to chapter books as soon as they begin learning to read. Randy Cecil’s Lucy offers a heartfelt reminder that the picture book form can remain relevant and even necessary long after the preschool years.

At the beginning of the book, we meet solitary Eleanor Wische and her father, Sam, an aspiring juggler, as well as a nameless stray dog whom Eleanor feeds breakfast scraps. The three are united in their loneliness and in their desire to find a way to belong. Over the course of several seemingly ordinary days, the three of them pursue extraordinary dreams—and discover their need for one another.

Lucy is long for a picture book, more than 100 pages divided into four “Acts” (perhaps to appease the chapter book crowd). Each Act opens with an old-fashioned city streetscape, and then each following page includes a bit of text—from a paragraph to just a line or two—accompanied by a sepia-toned illustration, a small vignette whose subtleties will reward careful observers.

The story, too, is full of charming details for careful readers and listeners. Cecil uses repetition to tell his story, but the repetitions are full of tiny tweaks and twists that keep readers guessing (and sometimes giggling) and propel the story to its cozy, satisfying end.

Illustration copyright (c) 2016 by Randy Cecil. Reproduced with permission of the publisher, Candlewick Press, Somerville, MA.

This article was originally published in the August 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

It’s all fun and games till your best friend bites off your tail. In her latest picture book, Antoinette Portis expertly captures the dynamics of human toddler play in the form of two aliens from planet Boborp. 

“Yelfred and Omek have been best frints since they were little blobbies.” This, the book’s opening sentence, gives readers a taste of the creative wordplay therein. Portis also brings readers a Boborpian Glossary on the front and back endpapers—which are, quite possibly, the most entertaining endpapers of the year. There’s almost no need for this glossary, as readers will run with the alien words, assimilate quickly and have a blast. 

On planet Boborp, “teef” are long and tempers short. This, Portis notes with a knowing wink to the reader, is not at all how it is on Earth. Heightened emotions and fierce loyalties are the name of the game, as Yelfred and Omek’s playdate—starting with a “nice yunch”—devolves into a mighty meltdown. After all, frints on this planet tend to “use their teef and not their words.” Not like on Earth, of course. When one frint bites the other’s tail off—don’t worry, they regenerate on Boborp—the friendship is momentarily ended. Until it’s not. Because this is the way of young creatures, no matter the planet they call home. 

Portis’ palette is eye-popping (no pun intended, given that the frints’ favorite game is eye ball in the peedle pit, which involves playing catch with eyeballs) with bright, heavily saturated hues. The humor and pacing are spot-on, and in the closing endpapers, readers will find an invitation to make up their own words. (“Your turp!”)

It’s out of this world.

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

This article was originally published in the July 2016 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Nick and his two cats, Verne and Stevenson, do everything together. They swim, they camp, they pedal along on his bicycle. These cats have personality to spare. Verne is loving and playful, while Stevenson is cranky and curmudgeonly—and they have their own ideas about how to spend their free time. When the cats keep Nick from reading by flailing around on top of his open book, Nick decides to teach them to read. The cats ignore his efforts until he hits upon making a flashcard shaped like a fish. Verne loves fish and is suddenly all in. But not Stevenson. He just scowls.

Soon Verne gets his own library card, and he and Nick act out scenes from their favorite books—digging for fossils and bouncing across the moon. They have fun, but they miss Stevenson. When Nick discovers Stevenson’s pirate drawings under the bed, he hatches an idea. Nick and Verne write stories to go with the sketches, and with Stevenson sporting an eye patch, the three huddle under the porch and read their pirate tales. The adventures of Nick, Verne and Stevenson hint that differences in cat’s personalities—and maybe people’s—should be accepted and nourished. We can all get along fine if we focus on each other’s strengths.

In The Summer Nick Taught His Cats to Read, first-time picture book author Curtis Manley delivers an engaging story that blends seamlessly with Kate Berube’s beguiling drawings. The book is sure to become a read-aloud favorite.

Billie B. Little is the Founding Director of Discovery Center at Murfree Spring, a hands-on museum in Murfreesboro, Tennessee.

Nearly 15 years after 9/11, the images of the day are imprinted on our collective mind, but many parents and educators struggle to discuss this complex, frightening topic with children. Projected onto this tragic picture, however, are our heroes—first responders as well as ordinary citizens—who stepped forward in extraordinary ways.

One such story is that of the 500,000 people who escaped the chaos and destruction by boat. Responding to the Coast Guard’s call for assistance and risking danger themselves, the captains and crews on boats of every kind carried people and supplies. Saved by the Boats is a moving tribute to those who sailed forward.

Both author Julie Gassman and illustrator Steve Moors were in New York City when the towers fell, lending their story a unique authenticity. Gassman was among the enormous crowds desperately waiting to leave Manhattan. Her vivid, descriptive language tells the story clearly, accented by quotes from witnesses that include boat crewmembers and bystanders. Moors gives us a sense of the city’s chaos through his detailed line drawings. Muted tones convey the gravity of the day, and the pages become progressively darker, while a vivid blue sky echoes throughout the story.

While the events of 9/11 are accurately portrayed, neither the illustrations nor the text are graphic or overtly frightening, making this an honest but accessible tool for elementary-age discussion. Like the two birds who take flight early in the story and reappear at the end, stories like Saved by the Boats are a reminder of freedom and hope. 

Homework reports were never so fun.

In Jeanne Birdsall’s latest picture book, readers meet Gus on the opening wordless spread. With the biggest grin possible, he’s handing his teacher not just the report due in class, but also a gift wrapped in a bow. Readers soon learn why he feels the need for atonement, and the trip there is entertaining in many directions.

The book’s text is presented as if it’s Gus’ own handwriting on lined notebook paper; readers are getting a personal glimpse at his report. “My favorite pet is sheep,” it opens. Gus lives on a farm with 17 sheep in his yard. He lays out facts about the animal, and Harry Bliss’ cartoon illustrations extend the text with deadpan humor. “A girl sheep is a ewe,” Gus’ report says. “If you say, ‘Hey, Ewe,’ she won’t answer. Even if you shout it.” Here, Gus is hanging from a tree limb by his T-shirt, desperate to get down, while sheep stare helplessly at him.

Gus gets up to some delicious mischief: He attempts to trade his little brother for a lamb; puts his brother’s porpoise pajamas on a sheep’s head; makes an impromptu beard out of a sheep’s shorn butt; lets sheep into the house, which ends in the mess you imagine it would; and much more. (Observant readers will notice rewarding details in Bliss’ illustrations, such as a copy of Animal Farm in Gus’ living room, all while the sheep are chomping on furniture.) Turns out Ms. Smolinski had loaned Gus a scarf, which—you guessed it—a sheep destroys. In the end, readers see her grade on his report: It’s a B+ with a quick note, thanking Gus’ mother for “the chocolates and new scarf.”

My Favorite Pets: By Gus W. for Ms. Smolinski’s Class is impish fun.

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

Award-winning, nationally syndicated cartoonist Steve Breen has created a clever story of longing, disappointment and pluck in his lively new picture book, Woodpecker Wants a Waffle.

One day a woodpecker named Benny awakes to the best “tummy-rumbling smell” he had ever encountered. Curious as woodpeckers are, he follows the aroma to Moe’s, a brand-spanking new cafe and home of the “hot waffle breakfast.” The seeds of desire are planted, and Benny insists he must have a waffle.

His polite efforts to acquire a waffle from Moe’s are met with a sharp kick from a no-nonsense waitress, followed by a strong “fwap” from her broom when Benny later tries to sneak in disguised as the print on a lady’s purple dress.

His attempts at clever disguises—including a mustached health inspector—are met with his swift relocation to the trashcan. His failure is worsened by the ridicule from the other animals. After all, bears don’t nibble bagels, and raccoons never eat ravioli, so why should a woodpecker crave a waffle? When Benny simply says, “Why not?” the other animals’ logic falls short, so impatient Benny devises a grand plan and asks the animal pals to attend. Will all these shenanigans land a waffle on Benny’s plate? You’ll have to wait and see.

The lively characters in Breen’s illustrations are infused with enough personality to carry the story, and with easy, alliteration-studded language, the book will prove endearing to children and adult readers alike. 

Billie B. Little is the Founding Director of Discovery Center at Murfree Spring, a hands-on museum in Murfreesboro, Tennessee.

It’s a rare and happy occurrence when two legends in children’s literature combine their creative talents. Patricia MacLachlan, who won the Newbery Medal for her lyrical novel Sarah, Plain and Tall, and Caldecott and Newbery medalist Tomie dePaola,  author and illustrator of many classics including Strega Nona, team up for a sweet, lyrical bedtime story about animals and insects preparing for bed. The human characters are the mime Pierrot and his child, who venture out to watch night fall—and to wait for the moon to appear.

And what a gorgeous, lovely evening it is. DePaola’s acrylic paintings feature a calm, peaceful palette, replete with gentle, robin’s-egg blues and soft greens. As the sky deepens and darkens, the text color changes from black to white.

MacLachlan’s rhyming text is spare, leaving lots of space for the paintings to work their magic as the two humans, both dressed in white, venture outside to gaze at the sky.

“‘The moon’s almost here,’
Clucks plump mother hen.
Chicks settle under her,
Safe in their pen.”

Pierrot and the little child also visit a duck family, cows, horses and a robin singing her babies back to the nest before they welcome a vibrant full moon, which nearly fills one entire page. The story ends with Pierrot holding the sleeping child. And no doubt, young readers in laps will also be drifting off, comforted by this simple, enchanting lullaby of a book.

Deborah Hopkinson lives near Portland, Oregon. Her most recent book for young readers is A Bandit's Tale.