Let’s hear it for the where-do-babies-come-from picture book of the 21st century, Sophie Blackall’s The Baby Tree! If any author-illustrator working today is going to address this topic—the one that makes parents squirm the most—I’m glad it’s Blackall. She does so with wit and honesty, never once talking down to children. And she executes it with her distinctive Chinese-ink and watercolor illustrations—and with good humor to boot.

A young boy narrates the tale. He’s having a typical morning until his parents announce at breakfast that they’re going to have a baby. The boy is filled with questions, but his parents have to go to work, so he asks everyone else: the teenager who walks him to school; a teacher; his grandpa; and the mailman. He gets tiny nuggets of truth from each. The blushing mailman, for instance, stops after telling him babies merely come from eggs. With responses about planting seeds that grow into babies (hence, the book’s title) and storks, not to mention the typical they-come-from-the-hospital reply, the boy is mighty confused. (For the latter, Blackall paints a building with babies at every window and a line of swaddled babes filing out the front door. It’s funny stuff.)

At bedtime he asks his parents, who give him the truth. Their response incorporates the notion of seeds from the father being planted into an egg inside the mother, as well as the idea that most babies are born in hospitals. Only Grandpa’s stork theory is way off. (He’ll have to set him straight later, the boy decides.)

And what makes The Baby Tree the where-do-babies-come-from picture book of the 21st century? In a closing Q&A for parents, which includes recommended (and refreshingly honest) responses to the big questions (yes, external sex organs are named), not only does Blackall get fairly detailed about reproduction, but she includes the following: “What about babies who have two moms or two dads?” This is something you won’t often see in where-do-babies-come-from picture books of yore. Here’s to progress.

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

The world of Abuelo, written by Arthur Dorros and illustrated by Raúl Colón, is warm, windy, wild and free. The story depicts the affection between a boy and his grandfather, his abuelo, as they ride horseback across the colorful and wide-open backdrop of the Pampas, the vast, low-lying grasslands of Argentina. 

The boy is lucky to have an abuelo gaucho—a grandfather cowboy. Together the boy and his abuelo don ponchos and ride with the wind washing their faces. The pair “ride into the clouds” with el cielo wrapped around them. Grandfather is larger than life and full of laughter, even when his grandson gets off the trail. “That happens to everyone,” he says. He is a gentle man who leads his horse and his young grandson with a calm touch and calmer voice. Even a showdown with a mountain lion doesn’t threaten them. They stay back and stand strong. Grandfather assures the boy that there are many ways to be strong, fuerte.

Sadly, a time comes when the boy’s family must move to the city, but his grandfather’s lessons from the Pampas travel with him. Abuelo’s laugh makes him forget his worries, and at night the boy finds the lights of the city as dazzling as las estrellas sparking in the night sky at home. When a bully threatens him, the boy stands fuerte like a mountain tree, and as he grows to know his new city, Abuelo’s lessons remain with him.

The charming story, sprinkled with Spanish words and paired with gold and blue-hued textural illustrations, is imbued with a gentleness and sense of place that gives it a comforting and palpable feel. Dorros’ language and Colón’s sculptural drawings evoke a time and place of love and safety where any child would like to live, or at least linger.

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

In a book that manages to be both cosmic and grounded at the same time, author-illustrator Claire A. Nivola explores no less than the notion of one’s very soul. This isn’t a picture book that addresses merely birth and death. It’s a story that suggests that we are beings who originate from stars; we enter a “river of time” on Earth; and we return to the “elders” at the star homes from which we came.

This was the last thing I expected from Nivola, who tends to pen picture book biographies or, in the case of Orani (2011), autobiographies. It’s a striking story, one that manages to avoid vague New-Age tropes; any book about originating from stars runs that risk. This is a tender, deeply contemplative story, one that communicates a sincere reverence and wonder for life. It leaves readers silent, pondering.

When the Star Child—depicted as a brilliantly white flame emanating from a ball of gas in space—expresses a curiosity for life on Earth, his elders tell him that he may visit but he must be born as a human child. Thus begins his life as a baby, born into a loving family. While one of the elders narrates the tale, we see the boy’s adolescence and then adulthood, eventually witnessing a man who has his own family. His “always-shifting life” causes him to forget his origins as a Star Child.

In this 40-page book, Nivola manages to capture the exhilaration, confusion and even pain of life. At the time of his death, the man finds it “hard to say goodbye to that strangely beautiful world.” Since he yearns to be home, he leaves, yet feels tremendous gratitude for having lived the life he did.

Nivola’s illustrations are rich and intricate. She brings readers some lush spreads of the boy’s life, ones that celebrate with color, details, texture and precision the immense scope of a full life and the vibrant planet on which we live.

It’s an unusual and well-executed story, perfect for reading one-on-one with a child and for igniting some deep discussions afterwards.

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

BookPage Children's Top Pick, May 2014

I don’t think it’s hyperbole to say that Shaun Tan’s books are breathtaking—just consider his wordless graphic novel, The Arrival. But the effect is even more astounding when he puts words and images together, as he’s done in Rules of Summer. There is an underlying beauty to his work that transcends our everyday lives. His design sense is striking, and he pushes the boundaries of picture books in delightful ways.

As the title of his latest offering indicates, readers are given a series of rules, as a young boy looks back on the previous summer to share what he’s learned. But don’t expect rules that in any way embrace mundane realism. Tan always takes us on fantastical journeys, and this one is filled with mystery, fear, wonder and magic—all with the boy’s older brother by his side. “Never eat the last olive at a party,” we read with an illustration showing oversize, sharp-beaked creatures in suits, glaring at the boy who is reaching for the last olive on a dinner party plate. Stepping on a snail could immediately call forth a vicious tornado, and leaving the back door open can invite sea-like alien creatures that might overtake your den.

But it’s not all menace. There are parades with wildly imaginative creatures; a baseball-esque game with robots (just don’t argue with the umpire); and a luminous world towering over short concrete walls attempting to contain it (don’t forget the password, since big brother will ask for it). And Tan wraps it all up with a series of spreads connected by an emotionally poignant thread about brotherhood.

The rich, lush paintings are for poring over, as there is much to be found in Tan’s details. They tell cryptic tales that leave ample room for the child reader to wonder and reflect. The very title is deliciously fun, given that Tan is always up for subverting the standard storytelling rules of picture books.

Compelling and evocative, Rules of Summer is a great choice for both diehard Tan fans and those coming to his inventive books for the first time.

Illustration © 2014 by Shaun Tan. Reprinted by permission of Scholastic.

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

This article was originally published in the May 2014 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Any parent of a preschooler understands having a little one whose desire to “help” greatly outpaces his or her ability to actually do so. Rosie Winstead perfectly captures this phenomenon in her latest picture book, a tribute to little ones’ enthusiasm (if not their aptitude) for household chores.

From the moment she wakes up, Sprout is eager to help her mother, even if it means making the bed while her mom is still sleeping in it. She brushes her own teeth (and the dog’s—with Mom’s toothbrush) and does her own hair (liberally chopping off untidy bits with scissors). Sprout takes her baby sister outside to play . . . and when the two of them get covered with mud from head to toe, Sprout even throws their dirty clothes in the washing machine (from which the cat barely escapes). Sprout’s self-confidence and independence grow alongside the messes she makes, and in the end, readers will agree that “Sprout’s family is very lucky to have her, and they know it.”

The spare text, set in a winsome font, dances across delicate pages that illustrate the (barely) controlled mayhem of family life. The opening spread shows Sprout’s mother in her art studio, contemplating a blank canvas. Throughout the book, Winstead shows us a comfortably cluttered home, filled with artwork of all sorts, the kind of home where creativity is nurtured and displayed (often on the walls, with Scotch tape). Pastel-hued pencil, gauche and watercolor illustrations offer plenty of humorous details that will keep kids engaged and make adults chuckle even as they give thanks for their own little “helpers.”

Little Poems for Tiny Ears is a sweet and gentle collection of verse for babies, toddlers and parents observing their first milestones. It’s a quiet celebration of things like discovering one’s own toes, learning to walk, count and find all the ways one’s body makes noise. Lin Oliver’s poems are clear and uncomplicated, such as “Hush”: “In her favorite rocking chair / My mama holds me tight. / We rock and sway the hours away / Until we kiss good night.” Tomie dePaola’s illustrations are equally gentle, featuring a multiracial cast of adorable toddlers, stuffed and real pet animals, as well as sunny borders of flowers, stars, birds and confetti. Contented smiles abound.

This is a winning bedtime book. Not overly stimulating, it can settle babies down while getting them used to read-aloud books. Kids who are just learning to read can reminisce about their diaper-changing days and how far they’ve come since way back then. And parents—especially first-time or very young parents—will see that much of what they’re experiencing for the first time with their new charges is perfectly normal and common to all kids. The poems’ gentle humor sometimes seems to address parents as well as younger readers, and it will surely be appreciated.

As if that weren’t enough to recommend it, Little Poems for Tiny Ears has a wrap-around book jacket which, with the addition of one tiny sticker or piece of tape, wraps the book for easy gift-giving. Next baby shower invitation you receive, look no further; this is a winner.

Heather Seggel reads too much and writes all about it in Northern California.

Meet Cat, the hero of Deborah Underwood’s latest picture book, Here Comes the Easter Cat. This jaunty, bright-eyed little fellow is clearly going places. With so much attention on the Easter Bunny, Cat is getting  grumpy and more than a tad jealous. So he decides to out-do the Easter Bunny by becoming the Easter Cat.

Dressed in a star-studded vest, a bowtie and a top hat, Easter Cat struts across the pages with spunk to spare. Instead of hopping bunny-style, he’ll deliver Easter eggs while straddling a bright, red motorcycle. He has enough panache to take on the Easter Bunny, and he easily steals the show.

Cat has plenty of style, but his penchant for napping poses a problem. He like to take seven naps a day, and when he learns the Easter Bunny never gets a chance to rest, the job seems impossible!

When the real Easter Bunny hops on the page and presents Cat with a chocolate egg, he is so delighted that he springs into action and finds a way to be a very helpful cat indeed. Readers will be sorry to see Cat dash off at the end of the book, but there’s a hint he’ll be back—with even grander plans in mind.

Claudia Rueda’s lively ink and colored-pencil drawings bring Cat to life as he dances, skips and cycles across this sparsely worded book. Underwood’s clever one-sided narrative draws in both reader and listener, and by the story’s end we love Easter Cat more than we’ve ever liked the Easter Bunny, despite those chocolate eggs. After all, who can resist an endearing little cat who only wants to make us proud?

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

In Aaron Meshon’s Tools Rule!, the tools in a very messy yard need to get organized, but how? By building a tool shed, of course! From the obscure awl to the ubiquitous drill, all the tools pitch in and, in turn, teach the reader about what they do. Find out what sounds a saw makes (vrip!) and how a level works as they put a frame together. Watch the glue stick on roof tiles and the paintbrush slap on paint. Once the shed is finished, these tuckered-out tools can finally get some rest, as long as the screwdriver doesn’t snore.

Reminiscent of many Amy Krouse Rosenthal and Tom Lichtenheld collaborations, Tools Rule! is full of clever puns easy enough for young readers to understand. Little handymen and women will love the bright illustrations and kid-friendly fonts. The simplicity of each detailed spread is spot-on for this age group. Although each page is bustling with objects and activity, it’s easy to spot specific tools and their corresponding names. This is perfect for the budding builder who is just starting to read.

“Tap TAP, dark clouds. Tap TAP, damp air.” Better run for cover. There’s a storm coming, and author Elizabeth Bluemle brings it to us with style. Using short, rhyming sentences, we readers are right there in the burgeoning storm with a cast of characters about to get drenched.

It’s an otherwise beautiful spring day when the raindrops and thunder-booms arrive. People are out and about or relaxing on park benches. We first follow a young girl in a bright yellow dress, who looks with alarm at the coming rain. She and the other people in her community are driven to shelter. (“You’d better go down underground, where the water can’t getcha. You betcha.”)

A big group of friendly folk ends up in a subway shelter, sharing a delivery boy’s pizza, listening to musicians play and generally meeting and greeting. A tall lady with a poodle gives her umbrella to a boy; two friends huddle together to stay dry; and a burly construction worker holds a tiny umbrella. Up above the platform, a girl, dressed to the nines, is “late for dancing” and runs through the rain.

Illustrator G. Brian Karas places readers right in the center of the action. Combined with Bluemle’s immediate, first-person sentences, it’s as if we’re in danger of getting soaked ourselves. The collaged photos of city scenes—along with Karas’ gouache and pencil additions—make for intriguing textures and add concreteness to this warm-hearted story of community.

In the end, everyone heads out for a “surprise in the sky.” It’s a rainbow, and folks pause in the hustle and bustle of their day to look up and savor it. The sky-blue endpapers are further hints that the storm has passed, though this is one storm readers will be pleased to participate in.

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

No one can ever have too many picture books about smart girls who love science—or too many stories about big, loyal dogs. Still, a book with these elements needs other features to stand out, and Maggi and Milo delivers.

When a package with frog-hunting supplies arrives from her grandmother, bespectacled Maggi and her large canine companion Milo head out beyond “the edge of the world” to a nearby pond where, after waiting “a million minutes,” their patience is finally rewarded. As they collect more and more specimens, Maggi even remembers to assign gender-fair names to her newly found frogs. Finally, as evening approaches, the two friends share “a quiet, end-of-the-day kind of song” and look forward to more adventures to come.

Maggi’s enthusiasm is reflected in the exuberant lines of Priscilla Burris’ digitally created illustrations, and Milo’s perpetually wagging tail and lolling tongue add to the delightful effect.

As the day goes on, bold, bright colors give way to the murkier shades of dusk, while details in the illustrations, like Maggi’s frog slippers and Milo’s interest in a passing dragonfly, add even more visual interest. The occasional color-accented words (as when Maggi shouts, in big yellow and orange capital letters, “I am FROG HUNTER!”) provide helpful emphasis cues to guide read-alouds.

Watch for more fun, scientifically literate tales from debut picture book writer Juli Brenning, and don’t be surprised if young naturalists start asking for a frog book and a pair of blue waterproof boots of their own.

Jill Ratzan reviews for School Library Journal and works as a school librarian at a small independent school in New Jersey.

The storyline of Leigh Hodgkinson’s Troll Swap is familiar, but her playful language and hilarious illustrations bring freshness to a simple story of children who don’t quite fit in with their families.

We meet colorful, hairy Timothy Limpet, who is unlike other trolls. Despite his pointy teeth, he is polite and tidy, and his cave is “not at all damp, dark, or squelchy—thank you very much.” The other trolls think he is a particularly lousy troll. Perched alone on a pile of boulders with a big frown on his face, Timothy feels quite terrible.

A lousy troll and a naughty little girl switch places—with hilarious results.

Next enters Tabitha Lumpit with a giant “Hello!” She seems ordinary in her bright green polka-dot dress. But, unlike most boys and girls who are nice, polite and tidy, Tabitha is “Loud, Loopy and Messy.” Notably, she would “rather pick her nose than a flower any day of the week.” Her parents’ frowns make it clear that they would prefer her to be nice and polite and tidy, just like them.

Tabitha thinks being like other boys and girls is impossible, and Timothy knows being a disgusting troll doesn’t come easily. One day the two accidentally clonk heads, meet each other and come up with a “swappingly” good idea. Things go well until Timothy gets a little bit “thumb-twiddly” and Tabitha begins to feel ordinary among the trolls. In time, the trolls enjoy a very civilized tea with Timothy, and Tabitha is back bouncing on the sofa with her parents.

The zany illustrations and slightly irreverent language ensure that parents will enjoy reading Troll Swap often. Hodgkinson clearly understands the serious nature of fun.

Billie B. Little is the Founding Director of Discovery Center at Murfree Spring, a hands-on museum in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. When she's not making handmade books or writing articles and book reviews, she enjoys "extreme cooking" with family and friends.

Children who linger over the cover of Lola M. Schaefer’s One Busy Day will see that they’re in for a grand adventure: A brother and sister sit outside. She’s wearing a crown, they’re in front of an elaborate sand castle, and behind the boy a dragon lingers. Toys are strewn everywhere. Clearly, the siblings have had a day of exhilarating play.

But readers will soon discover that this one busy day of play isn’t as simple as it might seem. On the opening endpapers, we see a series of vignettes in which the older boy is exasperated with his little sister, and on the title page it’s evident he doesn’t want her around. Once the text begins, we learn the sister is Mia, her big brother is Spencer, and he is always too busy to play with her. Instead of whining, she wanders off by herself and puts her abundant imagination to work. 'Attagirl.

Mia paints, dances, bakes and explores. In each instance, illustrator Jessica Meserve shows us what Mia is actually doing (making a mess with paints and water at a tiny card table) and what she sees in her mind’s eye (painting on a huge canvas in an exquisite room, complete with her own beret). Spencer draws ever nearer, not because she is begging him to join her, but because of the magnetism of her imaginative play. Eventually, they’re off on great adventures of the mind together—fighting dragons, finding treasures, climbing mountains and sailing the rough seas.

Meserve isn’t new to depicting sibling relationships with warmth and affection (see 2007’s poignant Small Sister). She communicates a great deal with body language, and these sprawling, richly colored spreads invite readers into the siblings’ heartfelt, rambunctious world of play.

After all, Mia may know how to take care of herself—as she should—but sometimes it’s just more fun with your big brother around.

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

No matter that Cuckoo, an adorable light gray bird with stripes, doesn’t look like his polka-dotted mother and siblings. All’s well until they open their beaks in this latest pet book by Fiona Roberton, also the author of Wanted: The Perfect Pet and The Perfect Present. While the other birds give a soothing tweet, the aptly named Cuckoo responds with a definitive “cuckoo!” that his family doesn’t recognize. Cuckoo is no ugly duckling, though; he’s not interested in becoming a swan, just in finding a friend who will understand him.

In digitally enhanced illustrations with minimal background but plenty of enthusiasm, expression and typographic animal sounds, Cuckoo leaves his tree home and heads into the city. There he meets sheep waiting at the bus stop, frogs rowing in a lake, cows drinking coffee at a diner and other friendly animals who want to say hello. But not even the cows’ attempts at talking—“Moocoo?” and “Coomoo?”—nor the rabbits’ thumping feet lead to cross-species communication. Cuckoo also tries learning their languages instead, but all the books, videos and practice just leave him beak-tied.

Just when the bird resigns to being alone, he hears the faintest “cuckoo!” Following the sound, Cuckoo discovers a toddler boy, in striped pajamas no less, trying to play with a broken electronic bird (with striking similarities to Cuckoo). Cuckoo arrives just in time to be hugged by the boy, who not only understands Cuckoo but needs a friend, too. Also leading up to this warm ending are fun visuals for readers to spot and follow, from a sheep’s reccurring smiley balloon to characters from Roberton’s previous books. Anyone who doesn’t delight in this deceptively simple story of friendship must be . . . well, cuckoo.