A Deal Not Made in Heaven

Rumpelstiltskin – retold by Mac Barnett, illustrated by Carson Ellis
Orchard Books (Scholastic), 2026

Folklorists and authors, from the Brothers Grimm to Jane Yolen, have been drawn to the story of Rumpelstiltskin, the calculating little man who tries to deprive a woman of her child.  Artists, from the classic illustrators Arthur Rackham and Walter Crane, to Paul Zelinksky and Paul Galdone,  have depicted its characters in strikingly different styles. Now, Mac Barnett and Carson Ellis have created their own response to this haunting tale.

As many fairy tales do, this one begins with a poor girl and her struggling father. Older readers familiar with the genre may anticipate a change in social and economic class, but younger ones may not.  This girl is highly capable, “climbing trees and whittling sticks and catching tadpoles with her bare hands.” Ellis shows the young craftswoman intent on her work, with her father a distant figure in the background.  He is a miller, but, although that is his professions, Barnett gives him a distinct, and irritating, personality. He has a “big mouth” and he brags. Life cannot be easy for his daughter.

The miller is either so socially inept or so bold, that he strikes up a conversation with the king, who is passing through town. This king is no more humble than his working class subject; Barnett reports that he is “chewed on a pheasant wing,” and “took a sip from a chalice,” as he casually strikes a deal with the miller to, possible, marry the laborer’s daughter.  The king is a hard man to impress. Neither beauty nor personality strike him as unusual. But when the miller claims that his daughter can spin straw into gold, the king is sold.

Soon the girl is living in a castle, where she learns that there are two possibilities for her future in this nightmarish scenario of the patriarchy. She will either produce the gold or be killed.  Before long, Rumpelstiltskin shows up, although she knows him only as “the little man.” Psychologically, he isn’t diminutive, but, rather, truncated.  Taunting her with his amazing ability to actually turn the straw into gold, he demands successively greater payment for saving her life. Eventually, his price is her first-born child.

As people will do, the girl, now a queen, puts this terrible eventuality out of her mind. She has a little boy, and her love for him is so absorbing that she cannot imagine that her tormentor will force her to make good on her desperate promise.  Among other elements, Rumpelstiltskin is a story about the power of language.  The man returns, and tells the queen that she has three days to guess his name.  Of course, he assumes that she will never be able to come up with his odd moniker, and the three days allow him to indulge his cruelty. Barnett and Ellis weave words and text together in a cascade of colorful guesses. “Cuthbert, Argyle, Ludvig, and Boniface,” are all possibilities, rolled out on Ellis’s elegant scroll of cursive words.  The list grows to three pages, placed against white space for maximum effect. “Nidnod, Sheepshanks, and Lancelong” are all rejected. The queen’s son has the modest name of Tom, after both his father and grandfather, which, as Barnett points out, would not seem to deserve the honor. 

Improbable events happen in fairy tales.  The queen’s final guess causes smoke to spew out of Rumpelstiltskin’s ears in rage. The combination of fantastic and plainspoken words and imagery gives this version of the tale an inimitable twist.  The queen survives, even if the men in the story are never held accountable for their stunning selfishness.

Brilliant, Lovely, Compassionate

Audrey Hepburn: An Illustrated Biography – written by Eileen Hofer, illustrated by Christopher Longé, translated from the French by Christopher Bradley
Abrams ComicArts, 2025

The subject of Eileen Hofer and Christopher Longé’s meticulously thorough graphic biography is portrayed as embodying the trait know as imposter syndrome. This incredibly gifted actress, stunningly beautiful woman, devoted mother, and tireless humanitarian actress was not convinced that she deserved any of those accolades.  While not an uncommon human problem, in general, it may be less prevalent in those who achieved her phenomenal level of success.  One of the many outstanding feature of this book, which is actually aimed at an adult audience but is completely appropriate for young adult readers (there have been several picture-book biographies of Audrey for younger readers, such as the ones I reviewed here and here and here and here) is its unassuming, but convincing, tone.  Laying out the facts of Hepburn’s life, from her childhood in war-torn Europe to her death (1929-1993.)  Every vignette and conversation included supports a consistent interpretation, while leaving room for the always unanswered questions about any life.

Author and illustrator avoid melodrama in chronicling the painful nature of Hepburn’s early life.  Her British father, Joseph Ruston Hepburn, was something of a manipulative con artist who saw marriage to her Dutch aristocrat mother, Ella van Heemstra, as a route to social and financial success. Worse, he was an ardent supporter of fascism; Hepburn’s mother, for a time, joined him in his alliance with this brutal movement.  Hofer pays careful attention to part of Hepburn’s history, including Dutch collaboration and virulent antisemitism.  Her participation in resistance activities is placed in context, existing alongside her ambition to become a ballet dancer.

After the war, Hepburn continued to study ballet, but the interruption in her training, and her tall height, closed off that field to her. Throughout her life she expressed disappointment about this turn of events, which seem also to have sensitized her to a sense of failure. But ballet’s loss was an unparalleled gain to theater and film. From bit parts in The Lavender Hill Mob and Monte Carlo Baby, she went on to the starring role on the stage in Colette’s Gigi and the movies that have become indelibly identified with her legacy.  Hofer and Longé approach both analytically and lyrically, this timeless series of images of Hepburn’s dramatic transformations, in Sabrina, My Fair Lady, Breakfast at Tiffany’s, How to Steal a Million, Two for the Road, and more.

Longé’s illustrations assume a particular vision of Hepburn and those who shared her life. Rather than photographic realism, they combine different aspects of her character and experience to create a believable image.  Neither Hepburn, her parents, her husbands, nor her directors and co-stars look exactly as readers may remember them. Instead, with minimalist strokes in black ink he captures the essence of who they were and how they behaved.  Ultimately, her father’s calculating oppressiveness, husband Mel Ferrer’s controlling nature, and second husband Andrea Dotti’s duplicity, all unfold in a balanced vision. There is almost a resigned sense of people’s imperfections in the book, making Hepburn’s commitments seem even more worthy of wonder.  Even if you have read other books about Audrey Hepburn, this one deserves careful attention. If the young adult readers in your life are unfamiliar with her life, here is an opportunity to correct that unfortunate gap.

Jewish American and Asian American Heritage Month

Once again, it’s May, and School Library Journal appears to be facing their annual conflict about Heritage Months. In May, Jewish and Asian Americans share the month. That is absolutely appropriate. Both groups are featured, as only one prominent example, on the New York Public Library’s website. April was both Poetry Month and Arab American Heritage Month; the NYPL announced that fact every day of April.  I have written about past attempts by SLJ to avoid including Jews in their Heritage Month coverage. (link to all previous blogs about this.).

As they did last year, SLJ began presenting articles and lists about Asian American books in April, rather than waiting for the official schedule to begin. 

Some of the posts, dating to as early as the third week in April include “14 Engrossing YA Books with AANHPI Protagonists and Themes,” “6 Inspiring Nonfiction Works for Young Readers About the Asian American Experience,” “6 Kid-Friendly Middle Grade Titles with Asian American/Native Hawaiian/Pacific Islander Protagonists,” and “Listen to These 19 Audiobooks in Honor of Southwest Asian and North African Heritage Month.”

The last article on this list, dated April 13, explains the nomenclature of the category and the list of countries encompassed by it. These include, among others, Jordan, Turkey, United Arab Emirates, Yemen, Pakistan, Palestine, Syria, and Israel.  Not every country on the list is represented. Israel is not, although it is clearly a major focus of one book, Every Moment Is a Life: Gaza in the Time of Genocide. I have no issue with including this particular, or any other book on the list.  That is the editors’ choice, covered by freedom of the press and intellectual freedom. Most of the Asian American books highlighted are of high quality, artistically, historically, and as literature. In the case of Every Moment Is a Life, the glaring absence is that of any works detailing the atrocities committed by Hamas on October 7, 2023, which would have provided a context for readers.

As I have written before, SLJ can choose to opt out of the Heritage Month system. It would be easy to argue that consistent coverage of everyone’s culture is much more important than the potential tokenism of a month-by-month categorization. But singling out Jewish American Heritage Month as an illegitimate one is abhorrent.  I understand that SLJ may yet post some Jewish-themed books, as they did last year, late in the month.  It is notable to compare that possibility with the rich list of Asian American books that appeared as early as April, which covered a broad and inclusive number of themes, countries, and genres, as compared to, for example, one or two books exclusively about the Holocaust. (I do not agree with the proposition that there are too many books for children about the Holocaust, but they need to be part of a spectrum of topics.). Finally, if SLJ wishes to avoid discussing Israel and Palestine, they may easily choose among dozens of Jewish American children’s books excluding that subject.  Of course, many Jewish holiday books, including ones about Hanukkah, Passover, and Shavout, are predicated on Jewish presence in ancient Israel, but there are a wide range of books, both fiction and nonfiction, that are unrelated to that connection.  I am not advocating that choice, but it would be one way for SJL to circumvent what they perceive as controversy. I will update this post as SLJ continues their coverage of books in May.

From Generation to Generation

When I’m a Moshom – written by David A. Robertson, illustrated by Corrie Hill
Tundra Books, 2026

There are many wonderful books about the relationship between grandparents and their grandchildren, but When I’m a Moshom is one of the best I have read.  I chose the title of this post from the Hebrew expression, L’Dor Vador. David Robertson and Corrie Hill’s book is rooted in Indigenous culture, specifically from the Swampy Cree, but also applicable to other communities.  But when I read it, I couldn’t help thinking of the Jewish concept of the respect and love that unites generations and ensures continuity. One of Robertson’s many gifts as a writer (see my reviews here and here and here and here) is his ability to distill ideas laden with the deepest significance into clear and resonant language that children will understand.

Grandparents, ideally, are an emotional haven for their grandchildren. (see, for example, here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here). Robertson enumerates why this is so, as he embodies the spirit of his own grandfather, in the narrative voice of a child, but also an adult, invoking the past and planning for the future. In that future, imagined, role, he will attend all their activities. In Hill’s picture, we see children participating in an Indigenous dance performance, small delicate figures in earth and jewel color tones composed against a grassy background. The future Moshom also refers to the broadly popular swimming and gymnastics, noting that he will cheer loudly, but here we see a grandfather, with his long white braid, quietly taking notes as the children dance. He could be scoring their performance according to standards, or noting individual instance of skill and beauty.

Watching a hockey match played by older children, a younger girl is raised on a stepstool in order to view the game, while an even younger child sits to the side, entranced by the sporting equipment. Moshom is available to everyone simultaneously.  Throughout the book, the balance between universal and particular cultural experiences is understated and implicit.  Moshom sits in a comfortable-looking armchair while three of his grandchildren stand nearby. “I’ll smudge with them in the morning, And we will cleanse our bodies, our minds and our spirits.”  (Readers may want to learn more about the custom of smudging, a specific set of practices involving spiritual support.) The narrator characterizes the “sacred teachings” that Moshom will pass on to his grandchildren, he uses unambiguous language about his purpose: “To help them seek mino-pimātisiwin, the good life. Because Moshom lived that way, so I think I can, too.”  It’s hard to think of a better phrase to encapsulate the preservation of wisdom. (An author’s note, and a glossary help to guide the reader.)

Respect for the environment and the human body is part of a Moshom’s teaching. In Hill’s picture, a bird’s-eye view, a fishing boat moves slowly through the waters, followed by a flight of birds, while an adjacent campsite points to the purpose of the outing. A later scene returns to the campsite, portraying the family holding hands, with the youngest member held in Moshom’s arms.  While the food is cooking, everyone looks out across the water to the hills and trees.  The frenetic activity of multitasking is negated, replaced by focus on what is most important.

The book provokes strong emotions, from grandparents and grandchildren.  Moshom teaches the Cree language by speaking to his grandchildren. “I will speak Swampy Cree to my grandchildren, Just like Moshom did.  I’ll tell my grandchildren, “api,” and they will sit down.  I’ll tell my grandchildren “nīpawē, and they will stand up.” Preserving language is central to all cultural transference.  Again, the specific words will resonate with speakers of Swampy Cree, but also with those who teach and learn Spanish, Chinese, Hebrew, Ukrainian, or any other language.  As I read this page, I heard an echo of the English translation of the Hebrew Shema, which refers to teaching the words to one’s children, and of repeating the words “when you lie down and when you get up.” Of course, I don’t mean to imply that David Robertson was referring to this prayer, but rather that he has conveyed the essence of intergenerational love and commitment, inclusively of any tradition.

Friendship Doesn’t Splinter

Twig Friends Stick Together – written by Andrew McDonald, illustrated by Ben Wood
Bright Light (Hardie Grant’s Children’s Publishing), 2025, (Australia, 2023)

Twig Friends Branch Out – written by Andrew McDonald, illustrated by Ben Wood
Bright Light, 2026, (Australia, 2024)

The Twig Friends series, which currently has four books, is a welcome excursion into the woods with four friends. Ziggy Twig, Noodle Twig, Red Twig, and Stump, like the residents of A.A. Milne’s Hundred Acre Woods, or, more recently, Ben Clanton’s Narwhal and Jelly or Salina Yoon’s Kat and Mouse, have different personalities, but their conflicts are quietly resolved. That is, after the kinds of silliness with an underlying layer of anxiety, that children understand, they are resolved in a reassuring way. The books’ humor may seem deceptively obvious to adults, but that is part of their charm. When Stump, the Eeyore-like character who is rounder and squatter than the Twigs, feels frightened by his own grumpiness, he learns that “everyone needs to yell at the ground sometimes.” Andrew McDonald and Ben Wood get their point across, no wood pun intended, without preaching to young readers.

The simplicity of each story is instantly appealing. In Twig Friends Stick Together’s “Treasure Hunt,” the friends undertake the exciting task of identifying valuable items. Stump suggests that “gold and diamonds” would meet that definition. The process of finding treasure is thrilling, involving climbing mountains and taming beasts. Stump never disappoints. His agreement with the plan is based on the fact that “I was going to feel sorry for myself today…But I can do that later.” The hunt involves risk and fear, as well as interesting discussions of the humble objects and the thoughts they inspire may, in fact, be treasure. (image) When friendship itself turns out to be a candidate for treasure status, the point of the Twig friends’ endeavor becomes clear.Back to Stump and his scary feelings.  Feelings are not a moment, but an ongoing series of challenges. “I was having a feeling” he admits, and the all capital letters that define it as “GREAT SADNESS!” are gently balanced by the soft comedy of twig figures with curly eyelashes, their mouths open in shock. 

In the latest volume, Twig Friends Branch Out, Stump’s loss of his favorite splinter of wood makes him grumpy. Once again, after sharing his thoughts and listening to his friends’ attempts to understand him, he learns that empathy can be key to recovery. In an almost wordless chapter, “Noodle and the Boulder,” McDonald and Wood present a kind of homage to classic Warner Brothers cartoons, as the well-intentioned and artistic Noodle, having fashioned a sculpture of his buddies using a power tool, learns about unintended consequences. Fortunately, he rescues them from a cascading boulder.

The books include instructions for drawing Noodle and Stump, and for crafting Ziggy with some pipe-cleaners, googly eyes, and, of course, a twig.  The humor involved in providing instructions for drawing these simple figures is again, obvious to adults, but they really work! You can draw these characters, even without the talent of Ben Wood.  These woods are worth exploring.

I Want to Be a Reader

Let’s Have a Sleepover: A Kat and Mouse Book, 2 – written and illustrated by Salina Yoon
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2026

Kat and Mouse, the very different but certainly not mismatched friends, are back. In Salina Yoon’s second book in the series (and I’ve reviewed other books by her here and here and here), they once again have to negotiate some disagreements, but their underlying affection for one another, and respect for difference, are reassuring. The book is also funny, illustrated with bold colors and text in fonts and sizes that correspond to changing circumstances.

If you remember from their first outing, Kat and Mouse expressed opposite ideas about food. Now they are about to have a sleepover, and Mouse has high expectations. “It will be the sleepover I have always dreamed about!” Yoon’s rendition of a mid-century turntable will certainly make that a reality.  Mouse, on the other hand, wants to read, and also build a fort. But the fort-building project is actually a cozy reading nook. No wonder Kat is a little frustrated. She has other ideas for the structure.

Having already listened to Mouse’s reading aloud of “Three Blind Mice,” Kat envisions something a bit more dramatic, better suited to an extrovert. Their friendship is characterized by compromise more than conflict. Winnie the Pooh and Christopher Robin, Frog and Toad, George and Martha, all have their own perspectives but still manage to get along. 

Mouse suggests a new role. It’s not exactly new, given the “Three Blind Mice” performance, but it has a new name, “narrator.” The sheets used as walls for the reading fort will become stage curtains. Mouse will read aloud the story of Cinderella, while Kat, costumed in a pink cape and hat, delivers a heartfelt performance of the lead role. Indeed, Kat is the “belle of the ball,” and Mouse is happy. They are best friends, they both enjoyed eating chips, even if Mouse found Kat’s loud crunching to be a distraction.  The sleepover more than meets their expectations, as it will for readers of the series.

In the Spotlight

Who Hid the Stars?: How Light Pollution Changes Our World– written by Valentina Gottardi, Maciej Michno, and Danio Miserocchi, illustrated by Valentina Gottardi, translated from the Italian by Sylvia Notini
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2026

Sometimes books about environmental pollution adopt an all-or-nothing approach.  Given the grave dangers posed to our natural world, and the fact that books for children inherently require some simplification, this is not surprising.  In Who Hid the Stars? How Light Pollution Changes Our World, the authors’ and illustrator’s approach is more nuanced. The book’s premise is that artificial light is useful, but also involves potential damage to plants, animals, and humans. We are responsible for balancing the costs and benefits of technologies that make modern life possible, and for devising solutions to the negative effects they impose.

Graphic sophistication defines this work. Individual chapters present different species affected by artificial light. Small birds, such as the American robin, have their daily cycle of song and their search for food altered by the glare of streetlights. The crucial nest-building activities of swallows and sparrows is altered by lights that, in effect, mislead the birds in their selection of sites. “They may even choose streetlights or roof lights: though this protects them from nocturnal predators, they risk not being able to sleep at night if the light is too bright.” While the information is entirely accurate, there is an almost novelistic tone. Without personifying the birds, the authors convey a poignant note of empathy. Imagine choosing a home because of its appealing brightness, only to find that you are losing sleep! Some of the section titles are also poetic, such as “Confident Birds,” “Lost Birds,” and “Fatal Lights.”

Bats are on most readers’ top-ten nocturnal animals lists. The authors’ language clearly confirms that affection. “It’s not uncommon to spot a quick, silent movement in the nighttime air near a streetlamp – it may well be a bat…Some species, like the common pipistrelle,…feel at home in cities.”

The detailed section on fireflies demystifies their characteristic glow, explaining the chemical reaction that causes it.  While people enjoy watching them light up the night, these insects avoid predators as they “produce toxins that make them taste disgusting.”  As if you did not already identify with the fireflies’ dilemma, “In artificial lighting, fireflies often become disoriented, complicating their search for a mate and diminishing their own lighting…Only the luckiest fireflies can meet in the dark shadow of a building or in a dark hedge.  STEAM books do not have to sacrifice literary polish in order to educate children!

The aesthetic of this lovely work is varied. Much of the text, appropriately, is placed on a dark background, although some chapter, including “Perennial Leaves,” feature predominately green against a bright yellow. There is even a slight steampunk element in some of the pictures, with Victorian curving lines, and the ornate antique lamps of “Night Lights.” Finally, Valentina Gottardi makes a definitive statement about the importance of the “A” in STEAM books with several two-page spreads depicting an illuminated, or semi-illuminated, world. These are untitled. Their meaning is implicit, as they contextualize the science in the book in both the natural and human-constructed world. Look at the owl peering down from the balcony, and the white articles of clothing hanging from a laundry line. A minimal number of yellow and gold lights emerge from streetlamps and the windows of homes.  Light is wonderful, but it needs to be employed with respect and care. 

Not Out of Left Field

Baseball’s Shining Season: America’s Pastime on the Brink of War – Martin W. Sandler and Craig Sandler
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2026

Given that baseball is America’s pastime, it is not surprising that the sport played at outsized role during World War II. Actually, one of the many facts I learned from this terrific book is that it was surpassed in popularity by football by the 1970s, partly because the latter sport was better adapted to viewing on television. Readers may note that my prior ignorance of that change might imply that the book is at a remedial level for baseball fans, but that assumption would be untrue. Martin W. Sandler and Craig Sandler provide both a meaningful overview of baseball during the war years, and a wealth of historical information about the conflict itself. 

There are many excellent features of this text.  The authors seamlessly integrate baseball and World War II throughout; readers understand from the beginning that these defining parts of American history would be inextricably linked from 1941 to the end of the war, with continuing effects in the postwar period.  The book is illustrated with carefully selected photographs.  There are text boxes, charts, and other graphics showcasing information that supports their theme, as well as offering incentives to keep reading and learn more.

The Sandlers’ evident enthusiasm for their topic takes the form of dramatic assertions: “And amazingly, with darkness closing in all over the world, baseball staged a season that still shines in the annals of this history-obsessed sport as one of the brightest seasons ever, maybe the brightest.” Then, they go on to support every one of these inspiring, sometimes disturbing, statements with compelling evidence.

A lengthy discussion of the Negro leagues, and the shamefully delayed admission of Black players to Major League Baseball, does not avoid the topic of racism in American life.  Discrimination against women in sports is the background for the formation of the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League, with the unwieldy acronym of AAGPBL. With so many male players serving in the armed forces, women were given an opportunity, as in other professions, to finally prove their value. (After the war, as in the case of other expanded roles for women, backlash and retrenchment reversed their progress, for a long time.)

Individual outstanding athletes, including Joe DiMaggio, Ted Williams, Hank Greenberg and Satchel Paige, receive their due, but this is not only a book about athletic brilliance. Social, economic, and military factors that interacted to change both American life and the sport itself, are the focus of careful analysis. There is a sense of completion in the postwar chapters on games played by American troops in occupied Germany, as well as the fate of baseball in Japan, where it had already been popular before that country’s aggression led to war. 

Baseball’s Shining Season is entirely appropriate for fans of the sport, as well as for young readers already interested in World War II. Martin W. Sandler and Craig Sandler’s true achievement is that the book succeeds on multiple levels, as an engaging introduction or a further investigation, about both American and global identity during a struggle for democracy.

Trial and Errors

Playmakers: The Jewish Entrepreneurs Who Created the Toy Industry in America – Michael Kimmel
W.W. Norton & Company, 2026

Anyone who writes a book may make errors.  Even careful fact-checking and research cannot prevent every mistake. Editors are responsible for helping authors and publishers avoid this problem.  Authors may check carefully if they know they are lacking information, especially if they are dealing with a subject outside of their area of expertise. This blog is about Playmakers, a book for adults about the role of Jews in developing the mid-twentieth century toy industry in America. (Readers of my blog may have noticed my interest in both doll fiction and Jewish themes.) Michael Kimmel has provided a great deal of interesting, sometimes surprising, information about the Jewish foundations of America’s culture of childhood.

The book’s title is somewhat misleading.  In fact, much of Kimmel’s material branches beyond the toy industry, including lengthy discussions of comic books, parenting advice, and children’s literature. Of course, these areas are related to toy production and consumption, and he establishes that connection. But he seems to have been much less informed about children’s literature than one would have expected of an author choosing to address the links between children’s books and playthings. My purpose is not to point out minor errors, but to question how both Kimmel and his editors produced a work, which is receiving favorable reviews, clearly compromised by his lack of familiarity with children’s literature.

In his acknowledgements, Kimmel refers to “my ignorance of the fields I was trampling through that led me to near-daily discoveries,” expressing commendable enthusiasm about broadening his knowledge.  He cites the help of many scholars, but they were apparently more involved in fields other than children’s books.  Here are some of the serious errors which compromised his discussion of “The People of the Children’s Book,” as he cleverly calls them.  The titles of Virginia Lee Burton’s and Gene Zion and Margaret Bloy Graham’s iconic picture books are not Mike and His Steam Shovel, or The Dirty Dog. These works are among the most popular and acclaimed pictures books for children; their titles are indelibly associated with the development of children’s literature in the United States.  He also omits Margaret Bloy Graham entirely, referring only to Zion.

Leo Lionni, the artist, designer, and author of many innovative books for children, including Frederick, Swimmy, Little Blue and Little Yellow, did not emigrate to the United States as a child.  He was, as Kimmel reports, a Sephardic Jew born in 1910. His mother was not Jewish, and, although he had briefly spent some time in the U.S. as a child, his family returned to Europe. He emigrated with his wife and family in 1939, when he was 29 years old, fleeing Hitler. Given Kimmel’s emphasis on antisemitism as a significant factor in his book’s thesis, the timing of Lionni’s arrival is not irrelevant. Lionni’s autobiography, Between Worlds, is an essential book for anyone writing about his life and work. (Peter Spier, another Caldecott-winning illustrator, who created an illustrated U.S. Constitution, was also from the Netherlands, and also Jewish through his father.  Spier was a survivor of Theresienstadt , and emigrated to the U.S. in 1950.)

“I am Eloise. I am six. I am a city child.” Many readers do not realize that the creator of Eloise, Kay Thompson, was also of Jewish heritage. Kimmel includes references to her work and her Jewish identity, but confuses the facts.  Thompson, an actress and vocal coach as well as an author, was known to inhabit the character of Eloise by speaking in her distinctively haughty childlike voice. She never, however, voiced the part of that prodigiously annoying little girl, in spite of Kimmel’s definitive claim that “She heard her voice so vividly that in the animated films, she insisted on always performing the voice part of Eloise.” There was a live Playhouse 90 production of Eloise, two Disney live action movies in 2003, and a 2006 animated series. In none of these did Thompson voice the character of her unforgettable creation.  An accurate and extremely readable source of information about Thompson is Sam Irvin’s Kay Thompson: From Funny Face to Eloise. I recommend watching the Disney adaptations just to see Julie Andrews as Nanny.

Kimmel credits Jane Yolen for her influential role, and refers to the interesting fact that she wrote a children’s novel, Wizard’s Hall, which pre-dates Harry Potter and features similar elements to that blockbuster.  He refers to Yolen in the past tense: “Jane Yolen, born in 1939 to Ukrainian immigrant parents, wrote mostly fantasy fiction for children” (emphasis mine). Please don’t retire Jane Yolen! She has written over 400 books and is still writing (this one was published in 2024). We hope to see more from her! While many of her books involve fantasy, she has created works in other genres and frequently addresses Jewish themes. The Devil’s Arithmetic (1988) is considered to be one of the first works of fiction for children to discuss the Holocaust. It is an odd omission to neglect this crucial book, which in fact, incorporates fantasy into its historical narrative. Given the context of Jewish identity in Playmakers, Yolen’s specifically Jewish-themed works would seem as crucial as her fantasy books (some of which also have Jewish themes, such as The Last Tsar’s Dragons).

Kimmel is correct that children’s books have historically been gendered in their expected audience, but neither Charlotte’s Web nor Mr. Popper’s Penguins could be categorized as an example of a “girl’s adventure tale,” about “a cute and lovable creature that could be domesticated.”  Uri Shulevitz’s brilliant, penultimate, book Chance is not a graphic novel, but an illustrated memoir (and serves a shadow text to his last book). Jean de Brunhoff, listed by Kimmel as a legendary non-Jewish author and artist, actually had Jewish heritage. Admittedly, this fact is not widely known, but Kimmel carefully documents the somewhat hidden Jewish background of many other figures.

I still recommend reading Kimmel’s book. You will learn a great deal about the Jewish origins of Teddy Bears, Barbie, and Lionel trains. There is a fascinating section on the development of Black dolls, and the marketing of toys by gender. Kimmel chose to include children’s literature as a prominent topic within his argument. Having decided to integrate that field into his discussion of toys, he or his editors needed to have looked further into its sources.

Pride and Resistance

Red River Rose – Carole Lindstrom
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2026

In Red River Rose, Carole Lindstrom further develops the characters she presented in her picture book with Aly McNight, The Gift of the Great Buffalo. As Lindstrom explains in her author’s note, Rose’s story is rooted in a commitment to telling a story related to Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House books, from an indigenous perspective. Lindstrom’s work is not a refutation of Wilder’s, but her own, original, interpretation of the conflicts between settlers of European origin and the original inhabitants of lands in the Americas. Red River Rose is set during the late 19th century, specifically the North-West Resistance in Saskatchewan of 1885. At that time, First Nations and Métis peoples fought the Canadian government’s seizure of their lands.

Lindstrom’s distinctive narrative style is compelling. Her characters are individuals, not archetypes. Rose frequently refers to the moral ambiguities inherent in her choices, including that of armed resistance. Her father is courageous, particularly in comparison to other men in the community, and to Catholic clergy, who caution against resistance and advocate a passive acceptance of the Métis’s seemingly hopeless determination to reclaim their land. Rose’s mother is equally strong, holding her family together through deep love and a command of essential domestic skills.

Rose visualizes the beauty of her land and community, and Lindstrom’s poetic language communicates to readers the roots of the Métis’ intense identification with their home. “Rose wanted to burn the memory of the ferry sitting atop the sparkling water and the hawks soaring off in the distance into her brain forever. If she were a painter, she knew exactly what she would paint.” That identification allows her to counter the contempt of teachers or religious leaders who warn against the Métis’s struggle, warning Rose to “keep that talk at home” when she raises the possibility of fighting against oppression.

Ambroise, a boy Rose’s age, is her companion and equal; the two work together to devise plans that will support those adults who will fight against the government. Eventually, Rose assumes an active role herself, forced by circumstances to blur the boundaries between childhood and adulthood. Rose is highly intelligent; nothing in her character suggests duplicity, but she learns to use every skill necessary to acquire information, communicate it to others, and make her own decisions. Her father’s increasing trust in Rose affirms her choices, as when she remembers having supported her people by helping to locate a herd of buffalo. At that time, her father’s response was a complex mixture of anger at the risks Rose had taken, and gratitude for her bravery.

That conflicted response takes form in Rose’s consciousness. Her father reports the Métis battle against the Canadian Mounted Police, characterizing the fight as “a thing of beauty.” At the same time, Rose experiences grief for everyone’s losses, even for the Police and their families. She also recognizes the potential for change, as when “mean girl” Melanie, who had shown only contempt for the idea of resistance, begins to seem like a different person. The impact of fear and suffering had brought out aspects of her character that Rose had never seen. “Under different circumstances, she could learn to like Melanie.”

Victory has different forms. Although they did not achieve their ultimate goal, Rose, her family, and her community had the integrity to stand up “for themselves, for their homes, and for their way of life.” Red River Rose is not a story of glorious triumph, but of the refusal of individuals working together to protect what they love, and to sustain their vision of justice.