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Children's & YAPicture BookChildren's

A Cloud in a Jar

Review by Jill Lorenzini

Upon opening A Cloud in a Jar, this reviewer let out an audible gasp at the deep blues and blacks of the midnight sky and crashing ocean that saturate the pages with edge-to-edge colors. Across the endsheet, a mysterious, cluttered cityscape collides with itself.

A Cloud in a Jar’s first stanza will hook readers as two intrepid kids and one less intrepid cat set off in a boat to bring rain (via a captured cloud) to a lovely seaside town of Firelight Bay, where they have everything but rain. The three adventurers make their way across the water to fulfill their mission aided by their wit, a coat full of useful items, and a little bit of the fantastic. But success might look a little different than they anticipated.

Aaron Lewis Krol’s rhyming pattern is vaguely reminiscent of both Dr. Seuss and Edgar Allan Poe’s “Annabel Lee.” A departure from rhymes traditionally aimed at children, Krol’s verse has an elevated, sophisticated feel that is further enhanced by eloquent alliteration, poetic similes and an intelligent vocabulary. This entertaining, not quite tongue-twisting read-aloud pulls you along like waves toward an unknown shore.

Carlos Vélez Aguilera’s fantastic and energetic multimedia art is an endless feast for the eyes and an invitation to explore. The dark and imposing oceans and skies are just the right amount of scary. Intricate details such as lightning over the city, prints on a handkerchief and the aforementioned cloud in a jar will keep readers scanning the pages. Aguilera captures attention and evokes emotion throughout: We feel the alarm in the eye of a stranded whale, the hostility and chaos in a flock of aggressive birds, the electricity of a storm over water and the rush of diving far below the waves into safety.

A Cloud in the Jar has everything: clever narration, a straightforward message about bravery and determination, and brilliant artwork. This tale of innovative adventurers is engrossing and a true delight to read out loud.

A Cloud in the Jar has everything: clever narration, a straightforward message about bravery and determination, and brilliant artwork.
FictionLiterary Fiction

A Haunting in Hialeah Gardens

Review by Carole V. Bell

Hugo Contreras is a babaláwo (a practitioner of the Afro-Cuban religion Santeria) who is drowning in debt, both spiritual and material. Though he’s attached to the premier Cuban botanica in Miami, Hugo has no real faith and no belief in himself. Guilt-ridden dreams of exposure as a fraud haunt his nights, and collection calls hound him by day.

But Hugo’s gifts are real: He can see secrets and sometimes the future. So when his archnemesis Alexi Ramirez—the attorney turned debt collector who has tormented Hugo night and day throughout his wife’s sickness and after her death—finds his new home plagued by malevolent spirits, he turns to Hugo for help. The deal Alexi offers is almost irresistible: Get rid of the spirits in his suburban mansion, and he’ll wipe out everything Hugo owes. No more stalking from debt collectors; no more scraping by after exorbitant monthly payments that never make a dent in the principal. Though Hugo is loath to accept a deal with a man he considers the devil himself, his boss Lourdes convinces him to take what looks like a win-win opportunity to absolve him and Alexi both.

Of course, nothing is ever so simple. Even after accepting Alexi’s offer, Hugo dreams of exacting some petty humiliation while completing the task. Grappling with long-buried ghosts that have nothing to do with Alexi’s extortionate loans and reeling with guilt about his beloved wife Meli’s last days, Hugo is frequently overcome with anger. Author Raul Palma excels at reflecting Hugo’s excruciating emotional states through flashbacks to Meli’s illness and moments of body horror. In one instance, when Hugo feels vulnerable, “it remind[s] him of the way his indebtedness would seize his wrist and turn over his forearm, exposing the network of veins and capillaries.”

A Haunting In Hialeah Gardens ingeniously uses metaphor and horror to explore the many dimensions of debt, including those that have precious little to do with money. “All devils dabbled in the business of debt,” Palma writes. In this brilliantly constructed nightmare that contains a surprising amount of humor, sometimes the lienholder is a bottom-feeding lawyer; at other times it’s a mountain-dwelling spirit who steals children’s souls. Palma’s spectacularly chilling and original debut novel is as fresh and inventive as the devil is inescapable.

In Raul Palma’s brilliantly constructed nightmare, the prose is as consistently fresh and inventive as the devil is inescapable.
NonfictionMemoir

A Man of Two Faces

Review by Priscilla Kipp

Vietnamese refugee, American professor and acclaimed writer Viet Thanh Nguyen won the Pulitzer Prize for his debut novel, The Sympathizer, in 2016. In both his fiction and nonfiction, he has represented the searing, often seething, always sensitive voice of the displaced, the decolonized, the erased and the marginalized: those whom he calls “The Other” in U.S. history and culture. In his memoir, A Man of Two Faces: A Memoir, a History, a Memorial, Nguyen blazes a nonlinear, literary way through the histories of Vietnam and the US, his parents’ arduous lives in each and his own struggles to find his voice as citizen, son and writer.

Although the memoir neatly organizes Nguyen’s life’s trajectory, starting with his arrival at the age of four at a refugee camp in Pennsylvania, his memories are fragmented on the page. That is, until the artistry behind them becomes apparent, and then it is a sheer thrill to follow. Nguyen pushes his parents’ past traumas against the ever-bruising present. They must leave an adopted daughter behind in Vietnam; they are shot on Christmas Eve while working in their grocery store. While Nguyen shares their fate as disrespected, underestimated “Other,” he is the only one who rails against it. For his Ba and M&aacute fleeing their ruined homeland, America is a dream; for their son, America did the ruining during the Vietnam War, leaving his family forever torn apart.

Always divided between his Vietnamese and American “faces,” Nguyen even narrates in a double voice, interjecting an introspective “you” into more straightforward threads of history, questioning everything as he lurches from childhood to his own parenthood, and on to his parents’ old age. “Be quiet,” he advises himself. “Be polite . . . But you have a character flaw. You are an ingrate.” It works as a kind of time-traveling history lesson that startles and fusses, but also endears. He “re members” and “dis remembers,” excavating and reassembling memories as if working on his family’s portrait, a pentimento of words.

Yet there is no self-serving artifice here. Nguyen even includes a blistering list of The Sympathizer’s bad reviews, and advice from another writer that he seek therapy. His regrets run as deep as his anger and disgust. He cannot remember enough about his mother and the onset of her mental illness that would eventually destroy her. Her “war story” becomes his. He is compelled to write about her “because writing is the only way I know how to fight. And writing is the only way I know how to grieve.”

In his memoir, award-winning novelist Viet Thanh Nguyen “re members” and “dis remembers,” excavating and reassembling memories as if working on his family’s portrait.
RomanceHistorical Romance

A Nobleman’s Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel

Review by Katie Garaby

How does any good romance protagonist woo their intended? Do they leave secret gifts for their love to find? Do they mend a tear in their shirt as an act of service? Whatever it is, it usually isn’t to compare their future lover’s brown eyes to beef stew. And yet, the gruff but kindly Rufus d’Aumesty does exactly that to Luke Doomsday as they begin to circle each other in KJ Charles’ gorgeous and delightful A Nobleman’s Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel.

It’s been 13 years since the events of The Secret Lives of Country Gentlemen, the first book in Charles’ Doomsday Books duology. Rufus d’Aumesty has found himself unexpectedly named the Earl of Oxney, and has since been saddled with belligerent relatives who refuse to leave his home and are intent on proving his illegitimacy. One such attempt brings Luke, who played a key supporting role in the first novel, to the earl’s door with stories of a secret marriage and his own claim to the title. Luke is a frighteningly competent smuggler-turned-secretary, and Rufus, a career military man, desperately needs help sorting out the affairs of his newfound earldom. Before they know it, their tentative alliance against Rufus’ grasping family blossoms into the tenderest of love affairs. But each man has his secrets, and those secrets threaten to eat away at the very foundation of their relationship. Rufus and Luke must soon ask themselves what exactly they are willing to sacrifice for love.

There is a moment in this book, not quite midway through, when Luke is caught sneaking around the manor by Rufus. Emboldened from weeks of building tension, Luke glares at Rufus and charges him to either “sack me, fuck me, or leave me be.” Phew. Let me tell you, I mopped my brow and then hollered with glee. Charles’ ability to steam up the pages while also producing pure, fangirl-esque joy is a defining trait of her work. There isn’t a ton of waiting to get to the juicy bits in a Charles book, but somehow, she still makes you feel like you’ve spent hours begging for her characters to just kiss already. At times, it can feel like romance readers must choose between spice and plot, but we don’t have to make that choice here: It’s all there, perfectly laid out by an expert writer who unerringly produces novels that are masterfully crafted, deliciously adventurous and so, so horny. A Nobleman’s Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel is a nonstop, swoony adventure from start to finish.

KJ Charles concludes her Doomsday Books duology with the masterfully crafted, deliciously adventurous and so, so horny Nobleman’s Guide to Seducing a Scoundrel.
Children's & YAYA FictionYA

A Study in Drowning

Review by Linda M. Castellitto

18-year-old Effy Sayre has read the late Emrys Myrddin’s books “so many times that the logic of his world was layered over hers, like glossy tracing paper on top of the original.” Emrys is the country of Llyr’s most beloved author, and his novel Angharad has long served as a balm for Effy’s troubled soul and a source of support on her darkest days.

As Ava Reid’s darkly dramatic A Study in Drowning opens, readers are swiftly drawn into Effy’s miserable life in her first year at Llyr University. Because its literature college doesn’t admit women, she’s a reluctant architecture student adrift in a sea of snide, unfriendly men. Meanwhile, nightmarish visions of the Fairy King that have plagued her since childhood exacerbate her anxiety.

A ray of hope arrives when Myrddin’s family begins searching for someone to redesign their estate, Hiraeth Manor. This feels like fate to Effy—especially when she wins the competition to secure this daunting project. Grateful for the escape, she sets off for Myrddin’s cliffside hometown, the Bay of Nine Bells.

Thanks to Reid’s knack for atmospheric, immersive writing—as seen in her adult fantasy novels, The Wolf and the Woodsman and Juniper & Thorn—humidity seems to rise from the page as Effy strives to comprehend her strange new reality. Not only is Hiraeth Manor mildew-ridden and on the verge of crumbling into the sea, but another Llyr University student is on-site: the self-important Preston Heloury, who is ostensibly there for an archival task—but asks Effy to join his true mission to debunk Myrddin’s authorship of Angharad.

Readers will delight in the scholars’ slow-burn attraction as they delve into Myrddin’s complicated legacy. Reid uses the characters’ clashing worldviews to prompt readers to consider the ways in which power structures affect what we learn and believe. A Study in Drowning is at once an absorbing gothic mystery and an intriguing social commentary set in a richly detailed world where history and magic collide.

A Study in Drowning is at once an absorbing gothic mystery and an intriguing social commentary set in a richly detailed world where history and magic collide.
FictionHistorical Fiction

Beyond the Door of No Return

Review by Arlene McKanic

The protagonist of David Diop’s Beyond the Door of No Return is Michel Adanson, a real life 18th-century French botanist. In this story, beautifully translated from French by Sam Taylor, Michel bequeaths a journal telling the tale of a secret and forbidden love to the daughter he both doted on and neglected. Whether the object of his passion felt the same is uncertain—she probably didn’t—and this is where much of Diop’s novel derives its power.

As a young man, Michel goes to Senegal to study the country’s flora and fauna, and spy, a little, for the Senegal Concession, which traffics in West African commodities, including slaves. The book’s title refers to Gorée Island and its ghastly holding pens where people were kept like livestock before being forced onto ships and taken away forever to the Americas. After a couple of years in Senegal a story reaches the young Frencfhman that can’t be true.

It seems that a young woman who was sold into slavery in America has somehow returned, even though she was believed to be dead. This obsesses Michel to the point where he drops his studies and sets out to find her. After being laid low by a fever, he meets Maram and falls passionately in love with her—or thinks he does.

Diop, winner of the 2021 International Booker Prize for At Night All Blood Is Black, is such a skilled and subtle writer that he won’t let us forget that Michel is a privileged white man despite all his sympathy for and even identification with his Black hosts. Though most of the story is told through Michel’s eyes, even the minor characters are memorable. Through Taylor’s translations, Diop lets us see the condescension of Michel’s better known contemporaries; the arrogant cruelty of the men who run the Senegal Concession; and the perfidy and shame of the man who caused Maram to flee her village. Diop also makes us love Ndiak, Michel’s wonderfully cocky teenaged companion, and we come to respect both the resourceful Maram and the proud and bitter Madeleine, whose portrait reminds the elderly Michel of Maram so much that he tries, pathetically, to court her. Beyond the Door of No Return is an engrossing work from a powerful and humane writer.

Beyond the Door of No Return is an engrossing work from a powerful and humane writer, David Diop, winner of the International Booker Prize.
FictionLiterary Fiction

Blackouts

Review by Eric A. Ponce

Justin Torres’ Blackouts, released over a decade after his brilliant, successful debut, We the Animals, is in conversation, literally and figuratively, with several other important works of literature. The story takes the form of a dialogue between two men, one at the end of his life and the other young and spry. Juan Gay lies dying in the Palace, a strange, decrepit place in the middle of the desert, where he has brought the narrator, whom he affectionately calls “nene.” The two men discuss how they met in a psychiatric ward and the trajectories of their lives before and after that point, which they describe as both a peak and nadir. Most importantly, they discuss a book on Juan’s shelf, Sex Variants: A Study in Homosexual Patterns written by Jan Gay, who Juan claims to have no relation to. With blacked out passages and beautiful, surreal images woven throughout the narrative, Torres delivers a feverish, thrilling and envelope-pushing novel.

Blackouts brings together several strands of both Latin American and queer literature, making for a moving metatextual conversation. The novel’s form is taken from Argentinian writer Manuel Puig’s 1976 Kiss of the Spider Woman in which two inmates discuss their lives. This dialogic setup allows Torres to mimic and build upon Puig’s ambition to delve into the political and social lives of his characters, illustrating their milieu while piercing their complex interiorities. Another touchstone is Mexican legend Juan Rulfo’s 1955 novel Pedro Páramo in which a man uncovers his family history from the ghostly inhabitants of a desert town. The arid, sweltering setting combined with the preeminence of death and an obsessive search for personal origins connect Torres to this classic and give the novel a mythic quality. At the same time, Sex Variants: A Study in Homosexual Patterns, which is a real book, gives Blackouts a slanted verisimilitude, placing it somewhere between delusion and dream.

Latino identity plays a significant role in the narrative, though it is not solidly defined, nor do the characters, or Torres, claim to have any authority over the matter. Early in the novel, Juan and nene wonder why they were drawn towards each other, and Juan suggests it was their Latinidad, though he clarifies, “I don’t just mean ethnicity, or skin tone; the resemblance is deeper, it carries over to manner as well, doesn’t it?” Here, manner is something like a way of being and acting, a way of holding memory, and Blackouts limns it intimately, in all its cultural and geographical insanity. Juan and nene see each other, they come together and they bring us with them.

With blacked-out passages and beautiful, surreal images woven throughout the narrative, Justin Torres delivers a feverish, thrilling and envelope-pushing novel.
FictionLiterary Fiction

Brooklyn Crime Novel

Review by Thane Tierney

Somewhere between its founding as Breukelen and the contemporary rise of area code 718 as a fashion statement, there existed a Brooklyn worthy of myth. Its eponymous bridge is one of New York City’s most recognized icons. The Dodgers came from there (and left). And its Bugs Bunny accent—well, fuggeddaboudit! The borough has lodged itself in the American psyche, and you didn’t have to grow up bouncing your Spaldeen off the stoop of a ramshackle brownstone to be keenly aware of Brooklyn’s cultural impact.

Jonathan Lethem, winner of the National Book Critics Circle Award for Motherless Brooklyn, has returned to the scene for Brooklyn Crime Novel. Don’t be deceived by its generic title. Going back nearly three decades to his debut noir-influenced novel, Gun, With Occasional Music, Lethem has never approached the beat looking for just the facts.

The action begins in the 1970s among a loosely-knit community living on Dean Street in a neighborhood that is now known as Boerum Hill. Lethem himself grew up in the area in the early ‘70s, so it’s not much of a surprise that kids are the primary cast. For most of the novel, a single “crime” is re-enacted with the regularity of a cuckoo clock chime: a mini-mugging known as “the dance,” in which the losing participant is forced to pay a toll—or “lend” money—to the winner. This happens so frequently that parents routinely send their kids out with “mugging money” and advise them to stash their real bankroll in a shoe for safety.

But other, larger crimes are going on as well. Sometimes the kids get caught up in them, and sometimes—as with the gentrification, or rather, demolition of the neighborhood by real estate speculators—they only affect the youngsters tangentially.

Lethem unwinds his story through a series of small vignettes: imperfect Polaroids of an imperfect past that slowly coalesce into a photomosaic montage of memoir-meets-myth. You can smell the urban petrichor of a fire hydrant’s spray falling onto a blistering asphalt street; you can taste that first drop of cheesy grease dripping from a folded slice; you can feel the hot shame of a kid being bullied daily on his way to becoming a man. While Brooklyn Crime Novel may not cohere stylistically to the more hard-boiled Gotham underworld of an Ed McBain or Andrew Vachss novel, it’s by no means a chalk outline.

Jonathan Lethem unwinds his story through small vignettes: You can smell the urban petrichor of a fire hydrant’s spray on a blistering asphalt street and you can taste that first drop of cheesy grease dripping from a folded slice.
FictionSpeculative FictionLiterary Fiction

Death Valley

Review by Matthew Jackson

There’s a peculiar art to writing a novel that’s as inwardly focused as Death Valley the latest book from author and poet Melissa Broder (Milk Fed). While the narrative thrust of the story is determined by its first-person narrator’s outward wanderings, it is what’s going on inside her heart and soul that delivers the real, satisfying emotional punch. To pull that punch off takes prose that’s both memorable and relatable, as well as a narrator with an inner life that is fulfilling both thematically and narratively. That Death Valley manages this is enough to make it a thoroughly engrossing literary achievement—even before factoring in Broder’s humor, gift for linguistic flourishes and command of character.

Broder’s narrator is an author who heads to a desert hotel to work on her next book, leaving multiple personal crises back home in Los Angeles. Her father is still clinging to life in a hospital bed months after suffering an accident, while her husband’s chronic illness keeps him largely housebound and seems to be strengthening. On a short hike through the desert, the narrator finds a giant cactus with a wound in its side that feels like a doorway worth stepping through. What happens after she steps into the cactus is, of course, an entirely new journey, but Broder keeps it just as relatable even as her narrator begins shaping conversations between inanimate objects and seeing visions of the past and future colliding in her mind.

Through the voice of our nameless narrator, Broder immediately and thrillingly carves out a personality that’s equal parts emotional and wry; wise and impulsive. Even when she’s simply walking the halls of a Best Western, we feel like we understand this woman and grasp how her mind is being pulled in multiple directions at once.

Rich with observations about the shape of stories and the ways in which we center ourselves even in the narratives of other people, Death Valley is an exhilarating meditation on death, life, survival and how we use stories to get us through it all. It’s a triumph for Broder and an intensely intimate ride for readers.

Death Valley is an exhilarating meditation on death, life, survival and how we use stories to get us through it all.
Science Fiction & FantasyScience Fiction

Last to Leave the Room

Review by Laura Hubbard

From ancient myth to urban legend, the uncanny valley that is the doppelganger has long terrified and mesmerized. Caitlin Starling’s latest novel, Last to Leave the Room delves deep into the realm of psychological horror, poking at our fears of what is alien in ourselves. 

Dr. Tamsin Rivers’ ruthless nature is legendary among her colleagues, as is her ability to overlook the vagaries of the law in order to get things done in the name of research. It’s no surprise to anyone when she is tasked with solving a major problem: The city of San Siroco is sinking, and no one understands why. The fact that Tamsin’s experiments on quantum entanglement began at the same time San Siroco started sinking could be pure coincidence, as Tamsin argues to her handler, Mx. Woodfield. But nowhere is sinking quite as quickly as Tamsin’s basement, the depths of which are descending into the ground at an alarming pace. And worse still, a mysterious door in the wall has spit out a perfect replica of Tamsin who has neither her memories nor her acerbic personality. She is pliable, innocent and biddable—the perfect test subject. As Tamsin begins her experiments on her double, her memory and faculties begin to falter, endangering both her professional standing and her personal safety. 

Last to Leave the Room is a study in claustrophobia and paranoia, combining the best of psychological horror and science fiction. Starling’s close perspective brings us into Tamsin’s brain, including the subtle, terrible ways it begins to falter. The effect is slow at first, with mismatched details that are easy to miss and a slow tension that ratchets up almost imperceptibly. Starling’s prose shifts with her main character, narrowing the scope of the novel as the walls begin to close in around Tamsin. This constricting perspective becomes viscerally discomfiting, as if the reader is losing pieces of their own memories. It’s psychological horror at its most terrifying, the kind of writing that makes you stop to question—just for a moment—how well you know your own mind and your own world. And that’s before Starling dives into the body horror possibilities that come with experimenting on your own doppelganger. Last to Leave the Room will deeply unsettle readers as it asks two existentially fraught questions: What exactly makes you, you? And who are you when all that is stripped away?

Caitlin Starling’s Last to Leave the Room is psychological horror at its most terrifying as it follows a ruthless scientist who experiments on her own doppelganger.
Children's & YAPicture BookChildren's

Desert Queen

Review by Lisa Bubert

When the tragic deaths of his parents leave a young boy named Harish alone to fend for himself and his sisters, he does what he knows how to do best—dance, like the female Rajasthani dancers he watches. But the Thar Desert, where he lives, is not a place where lines blur easily between what is expected of men and women.

Harish doesn’t feel at home inside that strict binary. Golden streaks of joy encircle him as he is captivated by musicians and dancers swaying across the screen. His feet tap, and his fingers sway—but only “quietly, so no one sees.” After donning a ghagra, a choli and bangles on his arms and ankles, the boy “is shiny and / glittery and / NEW.” Then the boy begins to dance and slowly, delightfully transform into a swirling goddess.

Desert Queen is based on the true story of Queen Harish (Harish Kumar), an Indian drag performer known as the “Whirling Desert Queen of Rajasthan.” It’s hard to know what is more praiseworthy in this picture book: Jyoti Rajan Gopal’s spare poetry, which lends itself to the rhythmic sway of the dance it celebrates; or Svabhu Kohli’s exquisitely detailed illustrations, which are rooted in Indian cultural heritage and as bold and daring as the subject they honor. The boy’s initial timidity is particularly striking against backdrops that are anything but quiet.

The story doesn’t shy away from the difficulties of Harish’s life: Jeers and taunts are depicted that cause shining tears to flow. But this grief is shown alongside joy, and readers will rejoice as Harish finds a space as “not  / Boy OR girl . . . But / fluid / flowing / like a dance / in between / and all around.” Together, Gopal and Kohli pay homage to a genderqueer hero who left the world far too quickly. Desert Queen is a fearlessly triumphant depiction of the wonder, magic and sparkle of dance.

Desert Queen is a fearlessly triumphant depiction of the wonder, magic and sparkle of dance.
Children's & YAPicture BookChildren's

Do You Remember?

Review by Callie Ann Starkey

At first glance, Do You Remember? seems to simply be a story of a mother and son sharing fond memories. But look closer and each memory deeply reveals a piece of their life together: the excitement of berry-picking at a picnic, the woes of learning to ride a bike, the tension and darkness of a rainstorm.

As in his previous Ezra Jack Keats Award-winning picture book Small in the City and the acclaimed I Talk Like A River written by Jordan Scott, author and illustrator Sydney Smith uses ethereal watercolors to enhance his lyrical text and beautifully bring each memory to life. The images and the memories themselves feel almost dreamlike as they evoke joy and thrills, anxiety and melancholy.

After the boy and mother take turns sharing memories, the boy somberly asks, “Do you remember . . . leaving our home behind? We packed up everything we own in our truck and drove down the highway, farther than we’d ever been.” “Of course I remember,” his mother replies.

The landscape changes from hills and hay bales and fields of wildflowers to cityscapes and traffic jams, and Smith’s illustrations subtly reveal changes not only in the environment but also in the family itself. We see through two beautiful, wordless spreads that the move they remember has only just taken place; this whole time the boy and his mother have been reminiscing upon their half-unpacked belongings.

As the sun rises, the boy decides their first morning in their new home can become a memory too. From the window, he sees his new street, smells the bakery across the road and hears the buses below. Although the first night has been hard, the magic of this first morning brings assurance that all will be well. “Yes,” he thinks, “I will remember this.”

Whether you have experienced a move, a change in your family or even just a stroll down memory lane, this nostalgic tale will find its way into your heart as it reminds us that our memories will guide us through the changes of life. Sydney Smith beautifully captures all the fear and hope that comes with change in this heartfelt picture book about remembering and starting anew.

Sydney Smith beautifully captures all the fear and hope that comes with change in this heartfelt picture book about remembering and starting anew.
Children's & YAPicture BookChildren's

Every Dreaming Creature

Review by Alice Cary

With beautiful prose and engaging, colorful art, Every Dreaming Creature manages to be exciting and entertaining, yet ultimately calm and comforting. A child narrator dreams of experiencing how it feels to be a variety of animals, beginning with a salamander: “All the world was safe, snug spaces and a warm, wet blanket of decaying leaves. Secrets from the soil tickling my hands and soft belly.” The language describing each creature is sensory and evocative, while the art features bright, often close-up images, which range from varying sizes of spot art to spreads that stretch across the page. These size variations lend the images a certain sense of movement and mimic the barrage of images one might visualize while dreaming. Author and illustrator Brendan Wenzel’s website notes his “great affection for “all things furred, feathered, and scaly,” which shows in both this work and previous: He earned a Caldecott Honor for They All Saw a Cat.

Young readers will love guessing the next animal dream from clues in the text and art. For instance, a cloud above the elephant herd turns into a falcon. In dreamlike fashion, the animal appearances gradually speed up until an entire menagerie rapidly unfolds—a chameleon, a star-nosed mole, a hummingbird, sea turtles and more.

There’s a lovely, curvaceous fluidity to Wenzel’s art that ties each animal dream to another. He is a master colorist, whether when drawing a monarch butterfly so vivid you can practically see its wings flutter, or a prowling tiger jumping into a bright rainbow of a jungle with a giant paw so fluffy you can almost feel it. Throughout the intriguing mixture of animals and habitats, Wenzel uses eyes as a unifying theme and makes each pair a focal point that will draw in readers.

Variations of the refrain “until you came . . . and woke me from that dream” repeat until finally the child wakes up for real. Later, as the child slips “beneath the warm weight of a blanket,” readers are brought back to the salamander’s blanket of decaying leaves from the book’s beginning. Every Dreaming Creature is an eye-catching succession of nighttime visions that promotes a sense of empathy and admiration for the world’s many creatures.

Every Dreaming Creature is an eye-catching succession of nighttime visions that promotes a sense of empathy and admiration for the world’s many creatures.

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