The Fan Brothers make their picture-book debut with a whimsical story bursting with hope and innovation.

Everything about Grimloch Lane is unspectacular. Among its uncreative residents is a young boy named William, who one day discovers that a tree outside the orphanage where he lives has been magnificently altered into an owl. William and his neighbors are delighted with the daily additions of marvelous topiaries that grace the once-lackluster street. While the neighborhood celebrates the most outstanding piece—a dragon—William spies the Night Gardener and follows him into Grimloch Park, where the two work side-by-side through the night, shaping the park’s many trees. What follows is a marvelously inspiring transformation, especially in the life of one young lad.

Terry and Eric Fan have produced an exceptional story of awakening, set during the late 19th to early 20th centuries. Readers will discover a truly magical world in these eye-catching scenes rendered in graphite, pen, ink and watercolor. Intricately designed, vintage-style spreads incorporate light and well-balanced text, and the slow transition from drab scenes to ones replete with brilliant hues breathes life into the story of an orphan boy and his serendipitous encounter with the Night Gardener. 

An inimitable work, The Night Gardener has the potential to become an award-winning book and an all-time classic.

David Barrow, winner of the 2015 Sebastian Walker Award for most promising children’s illustrator, brings new life to the question of outing the “elephant in the room.”

When a large, gentle elephant asks a small boy to play hide-and-seek, the boy accepts at once. Elephant kindly warns the boy that he is VERY good at this game. Despite being put on notice, the boy says he will do his best, counting to 10 while his pet dog scratches nearby. Page after page of hilarity ensues, with Elephant doing an excellent job of hiding practically in plain view—so convincingly that the boy’s mother suggests he give up the search. But the boy and his dog soldier on, until finally, standing right in front of Elephant, he gives up. As the boy wonders about his next move, Elephant tickles him between the shoulders with his trunk. In the excitement of the moment, Turtle enters the scene and asks if they’d like to play tag—with one warning: He is VERY good.

Painted in fresh textures, warm earth tones and pops of reds and purples, Have You Seen Elephant? will engage readers young and old with its vibrant portrayal of an elephant that clearly wants in on the fun. The book is flanked front and back by a gallery of family photos. By story’s end, Turtle and Elephant are members of the family.

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

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

BookPage Children's Top Pick, March 2016

The warm yellow endpapers of this picture book bring to mind the sun, a symbol of a new day filled with new inspirations. That’s the subject of Philip C. Stead’s new book, Ideas Are All Around, but it’s also so much more. 

Dry on story ideas, Stead goes for a walk with his dog. The two see a shy turtle, listen to birds and visit Barbara, who owns a house the author once lived in upstairs. Stead has coffee with Barbara, and they discuss the fact that 10,000 years ago, the spot where they now sit was the bottom of a lake. I can imagine children talking back enthusiastically to this book: There are ideas for stories everywhere you look! This is, of course, the author’s point.

But there’s more. This is also a book that embraces imperfections: Stead tells readers he once spilled paint at Barbara’s house and left “a big blue blob on the sidewalk.” Barbara rejoiced in the blob and saw in it the essence of a blue horse. Stead also writes about his beloved typewriter, which he bought from a man who repairs broken things. On his walk, Stead sees a line of people waiting for the soup kitchen to open, one with a cane and one in a wheelchair. Stead and his dog follow the railroad tracks—“You should never walk on train tracks . . . but we do it anyway”—because that can lead to adventure. In the book’s opening spread, Stead even sees a sunflower, noting it was only one of many seeds that grew. “Planting a seed is always a risk,” he writes. One for sorrow, two for joy. 

The book includes Polaroid photos (be sure to remove the dustjacket) and text from the author’s typewriter. The mixed-media, collaged illustrations are spare and evocative. It’s a book that finds joy—and, yes, ideas—in this messy, beautiful world. 

The year is young. I can already tell you this is one of its best books.

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

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

Much has been made lately of the so-called (and very popular) “meta” trend in picture books, which feature intrusive narrators who acknowledge that the action is happening in . . . well, a book. Snappsy the Alligator is one such story, and it’s likely that, when 2016 is over, we’ll look back on it as one of the funniest picture books of the year. It definitely kicks off 2016 in high spirits.

The main character, Snappsy, is doing one thing, and the narrator is telling a story that altogether does not jibe with Snappsy’s actions or feelings. Furthermore, Snappsy is aware of the narrator and talks back to him (and readers). For instance, in the beginning, we’re told Snappsy isn’t “feeling like himself,” yet Snappsy turns to the reader to say, “This is terrible! I’m just hungry!” And so it goes, with very funny results. At one point, commenting on the picture-book form itself, Snappsy says in desperation to the narrator, “You’re an awful narrator. You’re just describing what you see in the illustrations.” Eventually, Snappsy snaps, echoing the book’s title: “You know what? I did not ask to be in this book!” The narrator talks Snappsy into throwing a party and, in the end, appears on his doorstep.

Julie Falatko, never getting in her own way with too much cleverness, charms readers with her hapless but sincere main character, who is on to the unreliable narrator from the very first page. This is the picture-book debut for Tim Miller, whose cartoon illustrations channel James Marshall in fresh and exciting ways, and whose deadpan humor is spot-on—especially the moments where Snappsy stares incredulously at us or the out-of-control narrator’s disembodied voice. The book’s cover varies from the jacket—be sure to take a peek—and the difference is laugh-out-loud funny: Snappsy is just trying to sleep, looks at readers and says, “Hey! Do you mind?”  

It’s utterly irresistible, and I hope we see more from Snappsy in the future. (We’ll have to talk to the narrator about that.)

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

Summer may be drawing to a close, but it’s not over yet when “Grandma and Grandpa say COME.” In Marc Harshman’s latest picture book, One Big Family, a regular-sized family does just that. But a visit to see grandparents often means a road trip, and road trips can be long and boring, so “Dad says COUNT” to the eager yet verging-on-cranky children in the back seat. When they finally arrive to greet their grandparents at the same time as aunts, uncles and cousins, “Mom says KISS.”

Just being present together doesn’t make one big family, though. Sara Palacios’ digitally enhanced textured and patterned illustrations in earthy tones follow this family as they embark on a camping trip together and return to the grandparents’ house for additional indoor and outdoor activities. More action verbs reveal Harshman’s poetic background and emphasize their fun as together they eat meals, swim in the lake, sing songs around a camp fire, listen to stories and play games.

Like many families, both big and small, this family ends their time together by lining up in rows as “the photographer says SMILE.” For one of the youngest in this family, the resulting photograph leaves memories that will last for years. But no one will have to say what to do next time; the smiles will just happen.

Children will say READ again and again to this loving, intergenerational story, and the adults in their lives will say SHARE to include all family members in their reading.

It would appear that this tale ends before it begins: Big “canceled” stamps smatter the title page and book flaps of Frankencrayon. But not to worry—the dapperly dressed, bonnet-and-top-hat-clad crayons are eager to relay their tragic tale. The pencil helps narrate how their would-be monster story was waylaid by a scribble—a scribble that grows when the crayons attempt to fix it. The lights are off, the actors have gone home . . . but did anybody remember to call off Frankencrayon?

Intriguing from the start, Frankencrayon is more than just a monster story. It’s perfect for all ages, and is suspenseful and dramatic without actually being scary. Michael Hall, author and illustrator of multiple children’s books (My Heart Is Like a Zoo, Red), lets his inventive crayon characters stand out with bright, energetic colors against a solid-colored background. Adorned in their historical acting attire, the crayons fill each page with their melodramatic but well-mannered personalities.

Hall’s talent elevates Frankencrayon above simple entertainment, beginning with a nod to classic literature and slowly delivering a story within a story, with unexpected turns that will guarantee a laugh. He embellishes the crayons’ quirky, precise dialogue with alliteration, word plays and onomatopoeias, and even slips in a few life instructions.

Bookstore shelves are packed with great stories, but this delightfully creative book, populated by its charming “scary guys,” deserves multiple readings. Thanks to the innovative Hall, there are still a few twists out there to be discovered.

Linda Sarah and Benji Davies capture the fragility of friendship in this tender story that goes from two to three best friends.

Birt and Etho are best pals and play imaginatively together with cardboard boxes in tow. When Shu appears, Etho is happy with the idea of a trio of friends. In Birt’s view, three's a crowd. After lashing out in anger at his cardboard box, Birt sequesters himself at home and avoids Shu and Etho’s invitations to play. It’s when they make Birt a cardboard-box contraption on wheels that he joins them once again, realizing how fun Shu is.

The book’s pacing, particularly in the beginning, contributes to the honest characterization of the three boys. Sarah and Davies take their time to establish the close bond between Birt and Etho. It's also impressive that nothing is sugarcoated: Friendships at this age can be hard, and vulnerability is required. It’s especially challenging for boys, who are still often told to bottle up their emotions. This is demonstrated well when Shu and Etho bring the cardboard vehicle to Birt as a peace offering; look closely to see Shu standing with his arms crossed and Etho looking tentative and unsure. Davies communicates a lot with minimalistic lines and merely dots for eyes, and each boy seems to be feeling vulnerable and scared. What if Birt doesn’t accept their peace offering? Perhaps they’re even wondering if they’re working too hard to heal wounded feelings. Either way, all’s well that ends well, and they find their “three-by-three rhythm.” It’s all new, but it’s good, Birt realizes.

The book also acknowledges the courage it takes for friends at this age to open themselves up to others. It takes courage for Shu to introduce himself and ask to become friends with such a tight-knit duo; for Etho to reach out to someone he hurt, even if inadvertently; and for Birt to be so vulnerable. Each of them also learns a little bit about forgiveness.

No third wheels in this warm and welcome story. 

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

While children’s literature is replete with Beatrix Potter’s critters and their accompanying stories, there are far fewer biographical books on the beloved author, let alone tales about her that reflect her style of writing. Deborah Hopkinson and Charlotte Voake have joined forces to create a one-of-a-kind children’s book that mirrors the curious world of the inimitable Beatrix Potter.

Growing up in Victorian London, Potter and her younger brother, Bertram, had the whole third floor of their childhood home to themselves. Known as the playroom, it not only served as a habitat for Potter’s pet collection but also as a science laboratory and an art studio where she trained, drew and painted her motley menagerie. “But the sad truth is that although Beatrix loved animals, she did not always have the best of luck with them,” Hopkinson writes. Nonetheless, Potter persevered in her experiments. She begged her neighbor to let her borrow the prize guinea pig Queen Elizabeth for her next art project. The result is both bittersweet and eye opening.

Emulating Potter’s unique “picture letter” storytelling, Hopkinson combines her whimsical narrative with Voake’s quaint pen–and-watercolor illustrations to produce a story that was inspired by entries in the journal Potter kept from 1881 to 1897. Including an author’s note with additional information on Potter as well as resources for further research, Beatrix Potter and the Unfortunate Tale of a Borrowed Guinea Pig is a delightful read and wonderful addition to the Potter collection, just in time for the 150th anniversary of Potter’s birth.

It may be hard to imagine a high-energy book that features two brothers arguing about whether to read or surf, but Surf’s Up delivers in a cowabunga way. The brothers are two frogs named Bro and Dude, and illustrator Daniel Miyares brings them wonderfully to life with vivid colors, froggy-eyed expressions and plenty of heart-stopping wave action.

Newbery Medal winner Kwame Alexander’s text is short and ultra snappy. Dude wants to surf, but his brother prefers to finish his book “about a man looking for a whale.” Dude declares that books are “BOOOORING!” but he’s easily lured in as Bro describes his book with such excitement (“BOOYAH! They found the whale again.”).

With both frogs immersed in the Moby-Dick saga, a bit of literary magic occurs, as readers and frogs alike get caught up in two concurrent dramas: Bro and Dude heading to the beach to surf, and Bro and Dude imagining themselves trying to catch the great white whale.

This bit of metafiction works seamlessly, framed with lively dialogue that will ensure Surf’s Up’s popularity as a read-aloud.

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

In this exuberant story from the award-winning duo of Doreen Cronin and David Small, a castle that resides in a fragile glass kingdom is maintained by a spirited fairy named Bloom, though she’s too rough around the edges for the royalty who live there. Her footsteps are heavy, she has dirt in her teeth, and she tracks mud everywhere.

Everyone is relieved when Bloom leaves to settle in the forest—until the kingdom crumbles. No one, including the king and queen when they go trotting into the forest to ask Bloom what can save the kingdom, will accept the fairy’s answer: “Mud.”

What happens next is the most surprising and beautiful part of the story. Just when you assume that Bloom will somehow return and show everyone the error of their ways, instead the king and queen send to the forest an exceedingly timid girl with a tiny voice, told by everyone that she’s “ordinary.” She’s also confused by Bloom’s response, but instead of storming off in a huff, she stays. Bloom teaches her to get her hands dirty in more ways than one, and the girl finds her fortitude and voice along the way, even yelling in the end, “I can’t believe what we’ve done!” When the girl is unsure what to tell the kingdom upon her return, Bloom instructs her: “Tell them there is no such thing as an ordinary girl.” 

Small’s illustrations in this empowering story are sublime. His delicate yet energetic lines and warm colors on cream-colored pages pull the reader into this carefully constructed world. Cronin’s lengthy text, peppered with playful font sizes and typography, is precise and evocative. 

Don’t miss this utterly radiant tale, one of 2016’s early charmers.
 

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

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

A story not often covered in history texts, Susan E. Goodman’s The First Step: How One Girl Put Segregation on Trial, illustrated by the great E.B. Lewis, pays tribute to a young black girl and her family’s efforts to bring about equal education in the public schools of mid-19th-century America.

Sarah Roberts’ family sends her to a nearby school, filled with white children. It’s a good school, “one of Boston’s best, with more books than most kids had ever seen.” But one day Sarah is escorted from the classroom by a policeman—and told never to return. Sarah’s parents hire a lawyer and fight back in Roberts v. City of Boston. The stakes are high—“Everyone knew that if Sarah got her rights, so would every other African American child in Boston”—but they lose their court case. It did constitute, however, the “first steps” towards desegregated schools and paved the way for Brown v. Board of Education. The case was also one of many firsts, as Goodman notes, including the first presence of a black lawyer in a supreme court.

Goodman’s writing is clear and powerful, and Lewis’ watercolors are rich and nuanced. In a spread where Goodman compares the Civil Rights struggles of African Americans to a “march toward justice,” Lewis depicts the Ku Klux Klan and even Abraham Lincoln with a gun near his head. It’s an unflinching moment, and Goodman’s metaphor—that justice is often a “[t]hree steps forward, one step back” and “[o]ne step forward, three back” kind of march—is effective.

Her closing author’s note, as well as the rest of book’s back matter, is insightful. Goodman discusses the narrative choices she made in presenting the facts of the event, such as including Sarah in the courtroom scenes, though she can’t prove she was actually there at the trial. It’s an honest and informative set of thoughts from the author—and good for children reading nonfiction to consider.

A stirring and inspiring story, this one is an excellent addition to classroom and library bookshelves.

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

Dennis’ closet appears normal, and why not? He’s an ordinary boy. But items in his open wardrobe—black-and-white striped shirts, white gloves and a picture of Marcel Marceau—suggest more. And why not? He also expresses himself in extraordinary ways. By adding white face makeup, Dennis becomes a mime. While others show and tell and play, Dennis is happy to mime what he has to say. But “being” a tree rather than climbing one can be isolating.

The color red plays an important role in these muted scenes, from pointing out key words to creating typical mime gestures (pulling a rope, riding a bicycle, walking down stairs, etc.). Red dotted lines emphasize Dennis’ feelings of being invisible in a “box” or standing on the other side of a “wall.” 

But when lonely Dennis kicks an imaginary ball, a girl named Joy catches it. Together, there are no walls, only mirrors (mime style, of course). As Dennis and Joy “row” a boat and laugh with jazz hands, their actions speak louder than words. Their behavior is so contagious that soon other children are “jumping rope” with them. 

Salina Yoon’s clever story demonstrates that acting is fun, but being a friend is even better.

RELATED CONTENT: Read a Behind the Book essay by Yoon about Be a Friend.

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

In the opening of this spirited picture-book biography, young Marie Tharp declares her love of maps. It’s a passion that comes honestly: Her father makes soil maps for farmers, and she follows him as he draws, often holding his pads and pencils. As a result of his work, Tharp’s family travels a great deal, and her love only intensifies.

After graduating from college, Tharp is met with the limitations placed on female scientists during the 1940s. But she persists, growing curious about the terrain of the ocean floor and working with a colleague to map it using sound waves. Her research leads to the confirmation of plate tectonics. 

Robert Burleigh’s writing is intimate, almost chummy. Just before he tells readers about Tharp’s discovery of the deep rift running along the mid-Atlantic ocean floor, which offered proof of continental drift, Burleigh writes simply: “But there was even more. Listen.” It’s as if he’s present with readers, drawing us in with his own wonder for her work. He knows that Tharp changed the way people looked at the Earth, no small feat indeed. And his reverence for her accomplishments makes the story even more compelling. 

Raúl Colón’s illustrations accentuate Tharp’s curiosity; in many of the opening spreads, we see her from behind, always staring out—at her father at work, at a map on the wall in school and at the ocean, wondering why science wasn’t yet free of discrimination against women. After Burleigh’s charge for readers to stop and “listen,” readers find a beautiful wordless spread, showing a vessel at sea with a glimpse of what the ocean floor looks like beneath it. 

It’s an inviting story of gender equality and one of science’s brightest minds.

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

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