Boy Here, Boy There – written and illustrated by Chuck Groenink
Tundra Books, 2024

The premise of this wonderful new picture book is the chance encounter between a Neanderthal child and his Homo sapiens counterpart. Not only young readers, but many adults, may not realize that archaic humans and their counterpart overlapped in time from when the two groups diverged, between three and four hundred thousand years ago, and when the Neanderthals went extinct some 40,000 years ago. (The overlap in space, however, may have been brief; an author’s note carefully explains this part of evolutionary history.). Boy Here, Boy There is not a work of fantasy, but an imaginative exploration of early human society, undergirded by fact. The stunning pictures and poetic text recreate the plausible story of one curious boy as he interacts with the natural world, and eventually, with a kind of mirror image of himself.

Presenting prehistory to children may take the form of nonfiction narrative, infographics, or historical fiction. Chuck Groenink instead builds character through accurate pictures rendered in soft earth colors, and in words that open a window into the boy’s consciousness (I previously reviewed a wonderful book he illustrated for another author). Popular depictions of prehistoric humankind are sometimes intentionally comic. Parallels to modern people may be noted ironically, patronizingly, or just as a type of ridicule. Groenink is well-aware of this model and purposefully avoids its temptations. We have limited information about Neanderthal speech, but anthropologists have offered insights about its level of complexity. On the other hand, children’s way of thinking and speaking is well-documented. As Wordsworth famously understood, “The Child is Father of the Man,” while scientist and philosopher Ernst Haeckel coined the memorable phrase, “ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny.” In other words, human development on the micro level parallels the development of the species. Groenink succeeds in distilling that truth in a remarkable way.

Whatever the Neanderthal boy observes in nature, he names descriptively. Owls, birds, rabbits, and deer are translated into “Runners, jumpers, fliers and pouncers everywhere.” The actual feathers of a bird and the soft grass on which he lies down are two variations on the same substance: “Feathers in sky. Feathers in hair.”  The artistry that Groenink uses to capture a child’s thoughts, and the language of humankind in its childhood, elevates his book. Readers expecting a wooly mammoth will not be disappointed. The boy faces the cheerful looking animal, again finding a similarity between himself and the “Little hairy,” the child of the huge “big hairies” of the herd.

Neanderthals lived in communities where adults contributed to finding sustenance and caring for children. Their work is tiring, as the boy notes. The hunters sit for a brief rest, with one woman breastfeeding her baby. At night, they gather for a tender family scene in a cave dwelling. There are different generations represented; one older man appears to cover a yawn. A child reclines on a parent, and everyone watches food cooking on a fire with great interest. After his day exploring, the boy is content to be “Boy here, home again.”  Without forcing an emotional connection to contemporary life, one just emerges from the pictures and text: “Fire there, food bubbling, a full belly, family together.”  Neanderthals created works of art. There are none of the familiar cave paintings here, but the boy makes a series of handprints from the ash coating of his family’s fire.

Boy Here, Boy There is full of contrast. There are pictures full of light and others bathed in darkness. Humans work hard and rest. The boy integrates his surroundings into his vision of the world. Finally,  and accidentally, he encounters a glimpse of the future.

Barnaby Unboxed! – written and illustrated by Terry, Eric, and Devin Fan (the Fan Brothers)
Tundra Books, 2024

Barnaby Unboxed! Is not a sequel to The Barnabus Project (2020) but it takes place in the same universe of Perfect Pets. Readers (fans!) of the first book may recall that not all pets are perfect, and this difference makes them vulnerable to destruction. Here the potential danger is obsolescence. After all, once children gain access to a new-and-improved toy, why should they remain attached to, in this case, plain old Barnaby?

The Fan Brothers capture the essence of toy marketing, including the cheery names assigned to personified animals and other creatures. Some are obvious: “Jelly” resembles a jello mold, and “Cacti” is just the prickly plant with a plural, or perhaps, diminutive, ending attached. Barnaby is a furry pink elephant, the color of cotton candy. The little girl who picks him out of the lineup is absolutely sure he is the one. She joins other committed children in books, from Lisa in Don Freeman’s Corduroy to Betsy in Rebecca Caudill’s The Best Loved Doll and Kitty in Dorothy Kunhardt’s Kitty’s New Doll (re-illustrated by Hiroe Nakata in 2004). (Kitty is actually a toy herself.).

Barnaby is transformed from an insecure toy on a shelf to a beloved friend. He and the girl do everything together, including, of course, reading a story at bedtime. They take leisurely walks in the park, unfazed by the “paparazzi,” otherwise known as squirrels. Then, “everything changed,” as Rainbow Barney debuts on the latest children’s t.v. show. The little girl had seemed loyal, but suddenly she is asking for an elephant with stripes. She ignores Barney, even delegating the task of walking with him to her father, who is so inattentive that he barely notices threatening cats. It’s a toy’s nightmare.

Eventually, Barney finds a dumpster full of other displaced, now imperfect, pets. They eat leftovers, but at least they have one another’s company. One day, he even meets his nemesis, Rainbow Barney, out for a walk. This puffed-up mirror image of himself points out to the original Barney that his once candy-pink fur is now dirty and gray. Can Barney’s self-image survive this assault?

It turns out that the little girl is not fickle. She was just temporarily distracted by the commercial interests whose job it is to pry children from their favorite toys in favor of new ones. Soon they are back together, taking spa baths and eating favorite foods. Of course, they return to the park, full of welcoming nature and fantastic beings. There is even a kind older couple to keep the paparazzi content.

A Song for August: The Inspiring Life of Playwright August Wilson – written by Sally Denmead, illustrated by Alleanna Harris
Levine Querido, 2024

For a reason that has never been clear to me, there are few picture books for children about theater and its creators. Scientists, authors, inventors, activists, are all the frequent subject of biographies for children. But acting, directing, and writing plays are rarely the focus of these works. Children are future theatergoers, and sometimes future writers for the stage. Sally Denmead and Alleanna Harris’s new book about August Wilson begins to correct this gap. Finally, the brilliant chronicler of Black life in America, author of the Century Cycle, is the focus of a book accessible to young readers.

Sally Denmead sets the scene with the book’s opening in 1940s Pittsburgh, where August was born into a working-class family.  Obstacles to success are familiar territory in biographies; Denmead uses spare but dramatic descriptions to establish the improbable nature of Wilson’s future success. His father abandoned the family.  His mother struggled to support them, imbuing a love of words in her son. Aleanna Harris depicts August’s face only from the eyes upward, as he seems to meditate on the beauty and power of language.  Denmead stresses two aspects of language that intrigued him, the mechanical and the melodic: “August liked words. He liked taking them apart to see what they were made of. He liked the way words had their own kind of music.

Parental support can only go so far when the rest of the child’s world opposes him.  Denmead describes the humiliation of a teacher who disbelieves that August could have written an outstanding essay. Other students isolate him, and bullies attack him. In an American tradition no less powerful for being common, August determines to educate himself in the public library. We see him ascending the steps of that grand building and immersing himself in its treasures.  In one picture, Harris chooses to depict the books that enthrall August as a kind of metaphor. Instead of choosing actual authors, she designs stylized volumes without legible titles, as if the range of his interests were too great to contain.

There is a challenge in writing for children about a playwright whose works might be most meaningful only when they are older. Denmead emphasizes the breadth of Wilson’s influences, the way that he combined history, visual art, and music in his compelling stories of Black life.  His characters work, joke, holler, and sing, like the real people he has encountered in life or in books.  Two pages show scraps of paper that document the playwright’s creative process. The statement that “He never knew when these people might start talking,” offers readers a glimpse into Wilson’s mind, echoing back to his earliest fascination with language. Denmead also repeats her allusion to music, as Wilson works hard to access the music he hears.  Only then can he construct the characters who come to life in his plays.

A Song for August concludes with a list of plays accompanied by their Playbills, visually identifying the products of Wilson’s body of work. Denmead’s author’s note provides additional background.

Ploof – written and illustrated by Ben Clanton and Andy Chou Musser
Tundra Books, 2023

Children are not the only people fascinated by clouds, by they certainly are fascinated by these ever-changing forms, which seem both tangible and intangible. If you’ve looked at clouds from both sides now, you will enjoy meeting Ploof.  This little cloud starts out sad, becomes happy, then shy, sort of like a child.

But then Ploof turns into a star, a bunny, a train, a rocket, and wedge of cheese.  The ordinary limits that people and objects face are meaningless to Ploof, who becomes a small, puffy representative of a child’s imagination.  Unlike Marianna Coppo’s fabulous Thingamabob, where the cloud-like shape-changer has some anxiety about its identity, or Tomie dePaola’s The Cloud Book, with its mixture of fact and myth, Ben Clanton‘s text in Ploof just invites readers to pretend.  Ploof is the protagonist, and he/she can do anything.

Andy Chou Musser’s pictures are primarily white on a sky-blue background.  Ploof’s features are black pencil lines reminiscent of a child’s artwork. Other colors enliven the scenes: a brown tree with green leaves, a fanciful play of colored kites.  Then these seemingly disconnected visions turn to a two-page spread of look-and-find, where Ploof is hidden on a farm.  While he closely resembles the sheep, other items really stand out. An adult will easily seem the humor here, but children may focus on the actual search for their friend, Ploof.

Even Ploof’s name is ephemeral.  Yet he does hold still long enough to offer affection.  (This thoroughly relaxing and gentle book will have a sequel this fall, Paint with Ploof.)

Carla’s Glasses – written by Debbie Herman, illustrated by Sheila Bailey
Flashlight Press, 2024

You might expect Carla’s Glasses to be about a girl who needs to acclimate herself to having less than perfect eyesight.  On the cover, she seems excited to be trying on a purple, glittery, pair of glasses that are hardly inconspicuous.  Instead, this warm and entertaining picture book is about the difference between being a person who wants to stand out, and one who hopes to blend in. Carla wants to wear glasses, but, unfortunately, she has 20/20 vision. Her friend, Buster, does not.  They don’t trade places, and they don’t change one another.

The issue at the center of the book is serious, but the tone is light and reassuring.  When the classroom teacher is named Ms. Pimento, you can expect some humor along with the conflict.  Carla is outgoing, somewhat non-conformist in a Ramon Quimby way. She wears clothing that deliberately calls attention to herself. When Ms. Pimento announces a vision screening, Carla is expecting the most exciting outcome. While the other children seem a bit hesitant, or at least noncommittal, Carla creates her fantasy vision of the future out of craft sticks, glitter, and construction paper. “This pair really accentuates my eyes,” she tells her friends about this new accessory.

When the real eye exams begin, Carla is ready.  In spite of her zeal, she doesn’t deliberately throw the test.  Honesty is apparently another one of Carla’s personal qualities. She’s also an optimist, believing that not being able to read even the tiniest line of print means she will qualify for glasses. Buster is not so fortunate, at least from his perspective. Unlike his friend, his nightmare is being obvious, and he has the insight to understand the contrast to Carla: “I’m the opposite. I like to blend in.” 

Debbie Herman is sensitive to the way children feel, but doesn’t overwhelm them with overbearing empathy.  Sheila Bailey’s pictures center Carla’s starring role. She is visually arresting everywhere she appears, and also in the scenes where her viewpoint dominates. When the whole class puts on the exotic array of glasses that emerged from the craft treasure box, everyone looks equally excited, including Ms. Pimento.  Intervening scenes, including Buster’s visit to the optometrist and his anxious car ride home, are more subdued.

Carla’s Glasses is perfect for children facing this particular situation. It’s equally encouraging for anyone who doesn’t want to stand out like the giant letter “E” on the eye chart, but can appreciate a friend who does.

Little Red Ruthie: A Hanukkah Tale – written by Gloria Koster, illustrated by Sue Eastland
Albert Whitman & Company, 2017

I’m writing about a Chanukah book in July.  Recently, I was looking for less terrifying versions of some of the more violently disturbing fairy tales by the Brothers Grimm and others. Yes, I know that sanitizing children’s books is not ideal, but for some young children, and adults who remember childhood nightmares, they are appropriate.  Bruno Bettleheim, who was wrong about many aspects of child psychology, wrote in The Uses of Enchantment that these traditional stories helped children deal with conflict. Maurice Sendak had contempt for the idea that frightening books were necessarily harmful, and In the Night Kitchen, his Three Stooges bakers are evidence of that.  (Yes, they also resemble someone much worse than the Three Stooges, but I found that trio to be terrifying enough.)

Little Red Ruthie, by Gloria Koster and Sue Eastland, still has the young girl, a grandmother, and a ravenous wolf, but the resolution is comforting, perfect for the winter holiday of Chanukah. You can also read it throughout the year.  Ruthie gets ready to go to her Bubbe Basha’s house to bake potato latkes (pancakes). She has a puffy red parka and boots, and she happily waves goodbye to her mother. A wolf with long furry arms and sharp teeth emerges from behind a tree.

Since this is Chanukah story, Ruthie “wanted to be brave as the Maccabees,” the Judean heroes who fought the Greek oppressors.  She is not only brave, but smart and level-headed, negotiating with the wolf to buy time. But when he arrives at Bubbe’s house in pursuit of Ruthie, a sign on the door says that her grandmother is shopping in the village.  He’s not a patient wolf, but he amuses himself by dressing up in Bubbe’s clothes (!).  She also has red boots, but they have elegant buttons down the side.

While frying the latkes that Ruthie has promised to eat so that she will become fatter and more delicious, she buys more time by narrating the story of the Maccabees’ victory and the miracle of the oil that burned for eight days. At this point, the wolf is slumped over the table and one of Bubbe’s boots has fallen off his foot. Ruthie is energetically grating potatoes. By the time Bubbe returns, the wolf is an exhausted and overindulged creature who looks a lot less scary. Bubbe Basha gives him a jelly doughnut (sufganiyot are another traditional Chanukah food), and sends him on his way.

The kitchen is a mess, but Bubbe and Ruthie light the first candle on the chanukiya (Chanukah menorah) and enjoy an intimate dinner. It’s a bit unusual that they are the only two people celebrating together, but it preserves elements of the original fairy tale. If her mother, and other relatives and friends, just showed up for the meal, Little Red Ruthie would differ too much from the Brothers Grimm, Charles Perrault, and centuries of folklore devised to frighten, entertain, and teach children. Here the lesson is to think fast, avoid wolves if possible, and enjoy the warmth of your grandmother’s home.  Don’t forget to be as brave as the Maccabees.

The Apartment House on Poppy Hill – written by Nina LaCour, illustrated by Sònia Albert
Chronicle Books, 2023

My title for this review is a reference to Kay Thompson and Hilary Knight’s Eloise. The high-spirited heroine of The Apartment House on Poppy Hill reminds me a bit of her, if Eloise were kind and thoughtful instead of annoying and bratty.  Eloise lives at the Plaza Hotel in New York City, while Ella Josephine Norwood lives in a Victorian multi-unit Victorian house in San Francisco. For all Eloise’s wealth and privilege, her parents are absent, while Ella has two loving moms who are involved in every one of her activities.  But both the pictures and words bring to mind a girl who takes chances and sometimes oversteps boundaries. In Ella’s case, her tendency to do that leads to kindness and friendship. 

When a new couple, Cleo and Leo, move into 1106 Wildflower Place, Ella is determined to help them, on her own schedule and with her own priorities.  When Cleo asks her to move out of the way as she and her partner lug in heavy furniture, Ella interprets the formulaic “Excuse me” as an apology, instead of a polite request. (“If I’m in your way, don’t say ‘excuse me’ when you really want me to excuse myself! That’s just confusing!”) When Cleo and Leo do ask for her help in lighting their stove, Ella complies only after giving them a tour of the building.  Like everyone else in this residence, they come to rely on Ella’s assistance and to accept her for the quirky and irreplaceable kid that she is. Words and pictures work together in this illustrated novel. Sònia Albert’s pictures of Ella placing a jaunty beret on her head, or watching the laundry spin while seated in beach chair, complement Nina LaCour’s descriptions and dialogue in building character.

If her boldness is somewhat like Eloise’s, and her confusion about literal language akin to Amelia Bedelia, the odd assortment of tenants has something of Louise Fitzhugh’s Harriet the Spy. There is Matilda, “a woman in purple pants and with long red hair” who addresses Ella as “darling.” She uses a giant ostrich fan instead of an air conditioner and plays an instrument whose booming sound mimics an earthquake.  Matilda could certainly have turned up Harriet Welch’s secret notebook.  Although Ella is much more tolerant, like Harriet, she has her suspicions of people. In this case, they are an elderly couple named Gertrude and Archibald Robinson.  Making assumptions based on faulty information is not the route to being a good neighbor.  Eventually, everyone’s role at 1106 Wildflower Place makes sense.  The flowers embedded in the address’s name play a key part in the plot and its resolution.

Sonia Sotomayor: A Judge Grows in the Bronx/La juez que creció en el Bronx – written by Jonah Winter, illustrated by Edel Rodríguez
Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 2009

Tomorrow is July 4, Independence Day.  We can all judge for ourselves the tremendous value of Sonia Sotomayor’s courage and her attempts to preserve democracy in the United States.  Jonah Winter and Edel Rodríguez’s bilingual picture book biography of this American heroine is essential reading, or re-reading, with the children in your life. Someone from, as Winter calls it, “an unexpected place,” can use her strength to achieve success.  In Sonia Sotomayor’s case, her widowed mother and extended family provided a nurturing beginning, allowing her to confront the obstacles which, seem to never end.

Winter has a flair for incorporating spoken language into his written text. He begins by explaining the most significant facts of Sotomayor’s early life. Her mother, a widow, worked unstintingly to support the family, who lived in public housing in the Bronx. Gatherings with relatives featured the warmth of Puerto Rican music, food, and warmth.  Books were also a constant presence, both textbooks and the adventures of girl detective Nancy Drew. When Sonia was diagnosed with diabetes, she questioned whether persistence and imagination would be enough to solve problems like her literary role model, but she decided that the law would still be open to her as a career. Rodríguez’s pictures show Sonia’s emerging identity, immersed in a book, imagining herself as a detective, and finally raising her high school diploma high in the air.

Next came Princeton University. Winter captures the alien nature of this environment for Sotomayor. “Where were the subways? Where was the merengue music? Where were the people who looked like her?”  Continuing his metaphor of the title, she became “like a flowering vine that would not stop growing.” When she became a lawyer, and then a judge, the same qualities of diligence and honesty that had defined her life became central to her professionalism.  Impatient with lawyers who were not prepared, and as well as with judges who lacked empathy, she refused to dichotomize the intellectual and emotional qualities necessary to being fair and impartial.  “In the world of judges, this made Sonia very special.”

When President Obama appointed Sonia Sotomayor to the Supreme Court, she confronted the ironic accusation of racism because of her pride in being Latina. The daughter of an indomitable mother, she has contended with prejudice and disability her whole life and dedicated herself to public service at the highest level. Winter and Rodríguez do not offer a fairy tale about miraculous coincidences. Some of Sotomayor’s gifts were innate; others were inculcated by her mother.  She has flourished both in spite, and because of, adversity. Whether Princeton University, or a corrupt Supreme Court, “She would not just survive this strange new world, she would thrive.”  On this July 4, we can only hope that the same is true for our fellow Americans.

It Bears Repeating – written by Tanya Tagaq, illustrated by Cee Pootoogook
Tundra Books, 2024

It Bears Repeating is an exceptional counting book for young children. If you are skeptical that “exceptional” is an accurate adjective for books in this category, this one will prove you wrong. The text and the pictures work together as a poem, characterized by an effective use of composition.  Every page places the bears in a similar, but not identical scene.  Every word counts, and they appear in both English and Inuktitut, with a translation and pronunciation guide included.  Tanya Tagaq is an improvisational singer from the Nunavut region of Canada. Cee Pootoogook is a carver and printmaker, also from Nunavut.

Opening the book, the illustrations have a kind of silent beauty. Once you begin reading, the rhythmic words seem to set the bears in motion. Pootoogook’s artwork is rendered in colored pencils.  This is a medium which is both flexible and demanding. The color palette is deliberately limited, with blue and white backgrounds and pale yellow bears. Each bear is filled in with hatching, closely drawn dark vertical and horizontal lines.  They have personalities, with the first bear being proud, tall, and long.  As more bears enter, the pictures are full, but not crowded.  “Four swimming bears./Icy water is their playground./Four cool bears.” The scene is both realistic and stylized, with the bears forming a pattern around the fish who share their home.

Each word resonates and tells a story.  In the scene of six bears, the animals surround a hole in the ice, having stationed themselves carefully.  There is a brief description: “Six staring bears, then a warning, “Seals beware!” and a further description that adds to the anthropomorphism, “Six crafty bears.” Children think this way about animals, and every culture also envisions their role in the universe and the way that humans perceive them. 

Once the bears have eaten, in the scene for eight, they are “full,” “round-bellied,” and dancing together with obvious joy. They vary in size and color.  They raise their arms and one bear in the front row kicks his foot so that readers see the bottom of his paw, the only bear in the picture to reveal that angle.  The book seems perfectly crafted to engage a child’s attention, as well as for adults to appreciate its artistry.

It Bears Repeating is culturally specific and universal, and rewards repeated readings that are refreshing both literally and figuratively.

This is a short post, just to celebrate the wonderful distinction earned by acclaimed artist and author, Uri Shulevitz.  The Eric Carle Museum announced their 2024 Honors; Mr. Shulevitz was selected for the Artist Honor, and three outstanding organizations and publications, We Need Diverse Books, KidLit TV, and The Horn Book, were recognized in the categories of Angel, Bridge, and Mentor:

Later, I will post more about Mr. Shulevitz’s work, but please check out my previous work about this luminary of his field here and here.

Naturally, The Horn Book promptly reported the awards, as Publishers Weekly. When I did not notice a post on School Library Journal, I contacted them.  Here is their announcement that they subsequently posted.

There is a paywall on their site, so if you are not a subscriber, you may not be able to access the article. However, you will notice that the subtitle reports that “The Horn Book, We Need Diverse Books, and KidLit TV are all honored by the Carle Museum of Picture Book Art.”

Of course, the brief article itself does list Mr. Shulevitz’s award, fourth in the list of Honors. The press release from the Museum, listing the Artist Award first, is included. The order of the Awards in no way diminishes the importance of the Angel, Bridge, or Mentor categories.  It simply reflects the fact that the Carle Museum is dedicated to the work of picture book artists. If that seems arbitrary, think how it would appear if the American Library Association, in announcing their children’s literature awards, opened with those selected in the categories of translation and informational books. Both those categories are important! Nevertheless, the tradition has always been to first reveal the winners of the Newbery and Caldecott Medals. The Honors were not given in 2023, when a new executive director was hired by the Museum.) In 2022, the SLJ announcement listed Faith Ringgold first, as the artist honored.

What would explain this unusual decision by SLJ? Here is a link to my earlier post about their marginalization of Jewish American Heritage Month.

Uri Shulevitz is an outstanding artist. Although I am ambivalent about the value of awards, they function as a kind of shorthand for recognition. He has won a Caldecott and three Caldecott Honors, as well as numerous others.  He is 89 years old.  His whole career has been dedicated to bringing, in Keats’s words, truth and beauty to the world of children’s books.  Whatever the intention behind SLJ’s choice to avoid celebrating this latest distinction, it is the sad continuation of a trend based on selective appreciation of artists and writers based on their background.