Learning French with McDuff

McDuff Goes to School – written by Rosemary Wells, illustrated by Susan Jeffers
Hyperion Books for Children, 2001

If you have never read any of the picture books about McDuff, the little terrier who is adopted by a loving couple living in a charming village in the 1930s, you have missed a modern classic. They are collaborations between two legendary authors and artists, Rosemary Wells and Susan Jeffers. McDuff Goes to School is the fifth in the series, and it holds a particular interest in the category of children’s books that informally present a new language (other example include Pizza in Pienza, Eat, Leo, Eat and My Sister is Sleeping). 

McDuff lives at number nine Elm Road, a location as essential to the series as Paddington’s address at 32 Windsor Gardens. One day, a new, French family moves in next door. They also have a dog, and, no, she is not a French poodle. That detail is consistent with the understated realism of Wells and Jeffers’ creation. The first conversation between the two dogs is bilingual: “’Woof! Said McDuff. ‘Ouf,’ said Marie.” Note the use of italics for a foreign word.

Marie, the new dog, has owners who are as kind as Fred and Lucy, the couple who adopted McDuff.  Celeste and Pierre de Gaulle (well, I guess their last name is the equivalent of a French-speaking French poodle), agree with Fred and Lucy that their respective pets need to attend obedience school. Mainly, Celeste seems to be in charge, and she is extremely determined. Lucy, realistically, too busy taking care of her baby, and Fred is “too tired after a day’s work” to train a dog. These are totally reasonable explanations, with no apologies offered; they are not inept dog owners.

Celeste’s daily repetition of commands to “assieds-toi!” and “Saute!” are translated in a glossary at the end of the book.  Children will get a real sense of the gap in communication between speakers of different languages, and also appreciate the advantages of bilingualism.  It turns out that McDuff’s apparent lack of progress in school is due to his attentiveness; he is listening to Celeste and learning to understand her language like a native.

As in every McDuff book, all of the humans are smartly dressed. The men wear argyle vests and driving caps. The women have lovely but practical collared dresses and t-strap pumps. Celeste even wears a Chanel-style pastel blue sweater and skirt set.  The book concludes with a luncheon en plein air, including cheese, French bread, fruit, and an American, probably apple, pie. There is even a checked tablecloth.  Both the dogs have earned ribbons.

Hello, Baby

My Book of Firsts: Poems Celebrating a Baby’s Milestones – written by Lee Wardlaw, illustrated by Bruno Brogna
Red Comet Press, 2025

Opening Lee Wardlaw and Bruno Brogna’s endearing book about the milestones in a baby’s life is like taking a step, or rather two. The first is into the perspective of a baby or toddler, as well as her caretakers, as each one experiences a sense of accomplishment. The second step leads into classic mid-twentieth century illustration, with pictures that promote nostalgia, but not fantasy.  Babies have always been babies, but ways of visualizing our delight in them have taken different forms.

Wardlaw is a prolific poet, with most of her work aimed at older children. In My Book of Firsts she uses direct and off-rhyme, onomatopoeia, and other familiar forms from traditional poetry for the young.  In “First Word,” she charts the series of incomprehensible sounds that eventually become human speech: “Squeaked,/shrieked,/squawked,/and scowled,” “Babbled,/gabbled, jabbered, mooed…” resolves into the surprise of the child’s first word.  Brogna’s accompanying picture shows a mother fox in a smart yellow housedress with white collar, as well as a bushy red tail. She is holding up her kit and they are clearly communicating their mutual joy.

The same mom is at a first birthday party for a bear cub, with other species in attendance. (image).  The bear parents are much stockier than the fox mother, and they are wearing appropriately looser, but still attractive, clothing.  Wardlaw’s poem begins with rhyming couplets that build momentum: “Up early./Family flurry./Bake a cake./Decorate./Guests arrive./Come inside!”  In addition to the cake there is pizza, juice boxes (a more contemporary touch), and other delicately colored pastel items that may be vegetables, pastry, and candy.

Each poem refers to events that parents will recognize. “First Outing” catalogues the crucial items necessary for this milestone. These include the general categories of sunscreen, diapers, and tasty snack, but also the more specific “Flossy cap that Grandma knit.”  A raccoon mother holds her careful checklist and pushes the stroller as fast as she can as her child points to the “adoring fans” waiting to meet him.

Naturally, one poem is devoted to the accomplishment that any reader of this book would expect. In “First Book,” a rabbit reads to her kit. The book has a duck on its cover, because children’s interest is not limited to their own identity. The first stanza describes how a child first engages with this new object: “What is that?/Let me hold it!/I promise not to bend/or/fold it” She is excited to learn that mother and child can share the experience of this wonderful object. The book is “a perfect fit” for her hands, but “We both can sit/and look at pictures inside of it.” Of course, books end, but reading does not, and the kit demands a second reading, and inevitably many more.

My Book of Firsts includes spaces to record a child’s name, first birthday, first steps, and several more milestones, reinforcing the allusion to classic poetry and illustration. Childrearing methods change, but charting a baby’s progress, with patience and awe, does not.

A Different House, A Different Perspective

The Gift of the Great Buffalo – written by Carole Lindstrom, illustrated by Aly McKnight
‎Bloomsbury Children’s Books

Rose lives on the prairies, in a Métis-Obijwe indigenous community. Preparing for the buffalo hunt that will sustain her people, she is eager to actively take part.  This elegant picture book takes place in the 1880s, and, like Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie series, Rose’s dwelling is small and homemade.  However, as author Carole Lindstrom explains in her detailed “Author’s Note,” she was motivated to tell Rose’s story by her own sense of distance from Wilder’s accounts.  The Gift of the Buffalo offers the perspective of the Native Americans who are a shadowy and distorted presence in Little House. Lindstrom and the artist, Aly McKnight have not created a rebuke, but rather, an alternative and illuminating vision.

I have written about the complexity of Laura Ingalls Wilder’s works (see here and here and here and here and here), which, along with racism, include a great deal of ambiguity about how a young girl interprets the conflicting messages of her parents and community about the people whose land they have appropriated.  The Gift of the Buffalo would stand alone for its excellence, even without the essential commentary that Lindstrom and Ally McKnight offer about the reality of an autonomous world, which is not merely a frustrating background for the story of Wilder’s pioneers.  Rose is an intelligent and perceptive child. When her father discourages her from accompanying him on the buffalo hunt, insisting that “that’s no place for you. Besides, Ma needs you more,” she cannot accept his restriction. 

Rose’s decision to defy her father is not based principally on her individual needs, although there is an implicit statement about the independence of a young girl. She is deeply concerned about her family and friends. Lying in bed next to her oshiimeyan (younger sister), both of them enveloped in buffalo robes, she is excited about the hunt.  When she later hears adults express concern about their lack of success, she knows that she will need to step forward. Pragmatism is connected to spirituality; Rose will communicate directly with the spirit of the animals that, in the Métis consciousness, will give their lives to sustain their fellow beings. 

The watercolor and graphite illustrations are stunningly beautiful.  Earth and jewel colors, expressive faces, and alternating dark and light, frame realistic depictions infused with metaphor.  Rose, in a blue dress that complements the lighter blue of the sky, offers up a prayer of gratitude, in advance, expecting that the buffalo will “provide food, shelter, and clothing for her people.” Her father sometimes wears a wolf skin when hunting, and Rose assumes the mantle of his authority by putting on the special garment and identifying with the wolf. This ritual enables her to hear the buffalo assure her that her efforts will be productive: “We offer our lives for our relatives.” This evidence of mutual connection contrasts sharply with the exploitation of settlers, who had exhausted the supply of animals, even hunting for sport.

After the hunt, Rose’s father gently admonishes her. She had located the buffalo, but only by breaking his rule.  His suggestion that she might, in the future, accompany him on a hunt, shows  recognition of her needs as well as those of the tribe.  Readers will find familiar elements in Rose’s story of independence and growth, as well as an invitation to learn about a different house, family, and world.

Drawing Welcome Conclusions

Drawing Is…Your Guide to Scribbled Adventures – written and illustrated by Elizabeth Haidle
Tundra Books, 2025

The somewhat clichéd term “interactive” is only marginally useful for describing Elizabeth Haidle’s Drawing Is…Your Guide to Scribbled Adventures.  Reading, and using, this practical and philosophical guide does not involve lifting flaps or choosing endings, although it does encourage choosing paths. Instead, from the very first page, it challenges young (and older) readers to think about what it means to use your imagination in a visual form.  There are questions and suggested pathways, graphics, lists, numbers, black, white, and color.  Every sentence and image is related to all the others, becoming points of entry to the creative process.  All this happens without a touch of pretense!

First, you open the book to see the endpapers, a collection of photographed tools of the trade: pencils, erasers, pens, crayons, brushes.  Then, a black and white doodle with grey sketching presents a small man lifting a, proportionally, huge pencil, reflecting his effort. Haidle prepares you to steer the course with a definition that is simultaneously ambitious and reassuring: “Drawing is two-dimensional traveling. You can travel far away. You can drive inward.”  If you have ever felt discouraged trying to draw, her negative definitions will resonate. Drawing is definitely not a contest, an endeavor exclusively for the talented, nor a “waste of time.” Once you get that out of the way, you can move forward.  As Haidle’s checklist humorously points out, if you blink, inhale, exhale, read, or listen, you can draw.

The demonstrative drawings include lines, shading, color, scale, contrast, and texture, all presented with no assumptions about prior knowledge.  But those elements are not isolated from others: magic, wonder, feeling, and focus.  Haidle convinces the reader to be open to experience through her own example.  Along with guidance through concrete steps, she openly acknowledges the ineffable part of self-expression.  “Here are some places that I’ve visited in my sketchbook” lists, not the Eiffel Tower or the neighborhood park, but a “magical library,” a place where she “can feel safe,” and the state of feeling “calm,” pictured as a figure safely ensconced in a volume with smiling eyes and mouth. On the other hand, sometimes an attempt fails, otherwise known as “drawings that turn out awful.”  Don’t worry, but do “watch out for the part of your brain that wants to quit!”

The more mechanically oriented pages are just as filled with delight as the emotional ones. Using contrast to create a lovely owl out of lines, dots, dark, and light is a section you can immediately put to use, while still contemplating Haidle’s vision of art.  There is even a glorious two-age “Intermission” at the middle of the book, informing you that images of baby donkeys, or something the equivalent in cuteness, will help you to pause and recalibrate your gaze. If you are contemplating a self-portrait, (image) unexpected directions can lead to a surprising kind of accuracy. 

There are a number of wonderful books about drawing for children and adults to share, and I have used many of them. Ed Emberley is definitely the grandfather of simplicity in drawing. Contemporary authors such as Kamo, Sachicko Umoto, Annelore Parot, and Kimiko Sakimoto, among authors, have written lovely guides with beautiful graphics. Elizabeth Haidle has approached her subject from a completely different angle; this is one of the best, most complete, books on the subject I have seen, a truly essential work.

There are a number of inspiring people within the pages of this book: André Breton, an inventor of surrealism; the cartoonist Lynda Barry, poet Emily Dickinson, and the great Japanese master of print making, Hokusai. The humility interwoven with genius led him to state that his work before the age of 70 is unrealized, compared to what he hopes to produce when he reaches 90 or 100.  Even as metaphor, this endless faith in persistent creativity will motivate readers to return to Haidle’s book over and over, and to put her ideas into practice.

A Case of Mistaken Identity

Ramon Fellini the Dog Detective – written and illustrated by Guilherme Karsten
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2025

Sometimes people believe what they want to believe, in spite of evidence to the contrary. Children have their own frame of reference for viewing the world. Whether you choose to call it innocence, or just a still untested belief that no one would lie to them, sometimes they interpret events differently than an adult would.  The endearing boy who narrates Ramon Fellini the Dog Detective needs to determine who overturned his fishbowl, leaving one fish missing and the remaining one “terrified.” When a self-proclaimed Dog Detective shows up at his door, offering to help, he is relieved, if momentarily confused. This dog looks just like a cat.

Guilherme Karsten has created a believable character. In his striped shirt, curly dark hair, and oversized glasses, the boy is an image of curiosity combined with trust.  The dog resembles a cat because his costume is “impeccable.” The questions posed by this detective are searching, and, if his methods seemed “strange,” the boy still has confidence that he will find the culprit.  One might think that a close up revealing the dog’s interrogation of the remaining fish would invite skepticism. The fish “looked like it had just seen a ghost,” and the detective extends his very feline tongue towards the fishbowl. But the boy has suspended his disbelief. (Suspension of belief is a theme in Karsten’s work.)

Every picture conveys character. The dog detective mirrors the black and white of the venetian blinds, as he lifts one of the slates to peer outside. One of his eyes half closes exactly like the aperture. But while the blinds are just an object, the dog looks notably sly.  Meanwhile, the boy looks on in appreciation of the detective’s skills.  Even after this supposedly canine Sherlock insists on taking a walk with the fish in its bowl to search for clues, the boy is only worried that his pet will be cold.

Will children think of the boy as foolish? No; just look at the abundant evidence and expertise the dog detective shows, even using a pointer to indicate his deduction about the fish’s escape. When Fellini hands him a post card from the fish’s destination, the boy has even more support for his faith in good deeds.  The dog detective is “AMAZING,” “a legend,” and even “a boy’s best friend.” (images).  The price of the boy’s happiness is not clear. After all, the fish is gone, and the boy is left with the deep satisfaction of having benefited by the detective’s incredible skills and dedication.  What has he really lost?

Perhaps the Model for Lionel Trug

Paddington in the Garden – written by Michael Bond, illustrated by R.W. Alley
HarperCollins, 2002

At the beginning of Paddington in the Garden, the bear we all love is, typically, engaged in an act of gratitude. He is making a list of “all the nice things” about his life with the Brown family.  Paddington is not one to overlook the simple joys of life: “a room of his own and warm bed to sleep in.” Of course, he singles out the availability of marmalade, which in Darkest Peru had been only a weekly treat. R.W. Alley pictures him seated at a table in his own garden, where climbing trellises of red and purple flowers and a bird sipping from a fountain set the scene.

Mrs. Bird, the housekeeper whose wisdom is matched only by her kindness, suggests finding space for Paddington, along with the Brown children, Jonathan and Judy, for their own sections of the garden to tend. At first Paddington is perplexed, learning that gardening is challenging, especially for a bear. He decides to go shopping, in search of some inspiration.  In the local market, he comes upon an old copy of an apparently popular guide, How to Plan Your Garden, by Lionel Trug. 

I recently read an obituary in The New York Times that suggested a real-life model for the gardening expert, who eventually awards Paddington a medal for his quite original entrance in the National Garden Day competition. Mr. David Hessayon was, according to the subtitle, “a fixture of British life for half a century.” He earned this status with a series of how-to volumes on gardening, with titles such as Be Your Own Gardening Expert (1959), Be Your Own House Plant Expert, and The New Flower Expert. The books appealed with their straightforward advice and unpretentious tone.  Then I read that Mr. Hessayon was the children of immigrants from Cyprus. By their names, his parents seem to have been Jewish.  His father was a watchmaker, immediately calling to mind Paddington’s friend, Mr. Gruber, tinkering in his antique shop.  Michael Bond was an outspoken advocate for immigrants; Paddington himself found refuge in Britain after a long sea voyage. He was fortunate to be met by the family who took the instructions, “Please look after this bear,” to heart.  (link to my previous posts on Bond.). He specifically linked the character of Mr. Gruber to his memory of having seen Jewish children arriving during World War II, on the kindertransport program.

In the book, Mr. Trug has gray hair and sideburns and wears a tweed vest and a green sports jacket.  Paddington’s naiveté often highlights some human foible. Upon first glancing through the book, the bear had remarked that Mr. Trug, who appears on the back smoking a pipe, seems to “do most of his planning while lying in a hammock.”  He seems a bit full of himself as he marches towards the recipient of his prestigious award. I’m sure that Mr. Hessayon, shown in the Times grinning broadly in a greenhouse with his geraniums, was not pompous at all. In fact, I’m sure that Paddington would have been his friend.

D.E.A.R. (Drop Everything and Read about Stella and Marigold)

Stella & Marigold – written by Annie Barrows, illustrated by Sophie Blackall
Chronicle Books, 2024

Stella and Marigold are each brave, in their own way. Marigold is the younger of the two sisters, but it would be inaccurate to call her a “pest.” This first in a series of adventures about two sisters is not merely an homage to Beverly Cleary, but Beezus and Ramona are somehow omnipresent in the best way.  Cleary virtually invented the portrait of sisters as a complex, and yet easily identifiable, story for young readers.  Annie Barrows‘ narration appeals to exactly the right level, and Sophie Blackall’s gorgeous colored pictures create an unforgettable image of the girls, from Marigold’s birth to their imaginative channeling of pioneer children in a snowstorm.

Each chapter is a showcase for Stella and Marigold’s unbreakable bond and their boundless inventiveness.  Their understanding parents are the perfect audience, and also are there to guide them when a situation demands adult intervention.  In “Lost and Found in the Meerkat Mound,” a trip to the zoo with their father culminates in a visit to the “crabby little animals who live in big groups under the ground.”

After the rather sedentary turtles and the hilarious gibbons, the meerkats should offer a calm conclusion to the day. Instead, Marigold gets lost in the special tunnel built to give children a good view of the habitat.  At home after Marigold’s rescue, the sisters draw pictures; Marigold’s is an appropriate angry swirl of black lines. Stella’s simple reassurance that “Everyone gets lost sometimes. Even grown-ups,” is not enough to make her sister feel better, so she “reminds” her of when the Vice President had visited their city and benefited from Marigold’s assistance. Marigold accepts the truth of the story, not because she is gullible, but because her trust is so deeply rooted.

Less dramatically, “The Lucky Half” converts the visit of a plumber to retrieve Marigold’s purple hairclip. When the girls’ mother is less than thrilled at this turn of events, Stella devises an alternative explanation to carelessness. The bathroom is the only room in their house with magic powers, enabling all the mundane items there to move independently. She even provides the odd detail to make her story somehow more credible. Her response to Marigold’s asking if toys also had this superpower, is an emphatic “no.” The magic only applies to clips, toothpaste, and brushes, and only for “four minutes each night.”  Stella, like Barrows and Blackall, knows exactly how to make a story believable through the perfect combination of details.  The book is dedicated to Lore Segal, “who knows about kids and stories,” granting that author the same kind of honorary status as grandmother to Stella and Marigold that Beverly Cleary holds.  Fortunately, there is more to look forward to in September, when the second book in the series is released.    

Learning from Color

A Universe of Rainbows – poems selected by Matt Forrest Esenwine, illustrated by Jamey Christoph
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2025

To paraphrase Mark Twain oft quoted remark about the weather, everybody talks about STEAM (science, technology, engineering, arts, and mathematics), but nobody does anything about it.  A Universe of Rainbows is a picture book that fulfills the ideal of combining education about these seemingly disparate fields.  An anthology of poems rooted in rainbows and color, it includes works by well-known authors and others whose work may be less familiar.  Each poem is accompanied by a boldly colored illustrated, and by a column of informational text. The breadth and range of the content and styles is amazing.

Virtually any selection gives a sense of the book’s approach. A poem by prolific author Marilyn Singer, “Rainbows in a Cage,” warns of the dangers of extinction caused by the voracious pursuit of rainbow finches: “They wanted rainbows in a cage:/finches stolen from the wild./A different time, a different age.” Singer uses the poetic form of the triolet, while other poems in the collection are composed in free verse.  This compact form, using only two different rhymes, is perfect for conveying her message.  The birds’ beauty does not excuse their exhaustion by selfish collectors. At the same time, she contextualizes the events by noting that different standards have applied in the past.  Jamey Christoph’s picture of the sought-after birds sitting on branches shows the bright and pastel colors that attracted collectors.  The explanatory text gives historical background and summarizes the results of the birds’ popularity: “the demand for Gouldian flinches became so great they were nearly trapped and caged out of existence.”

Lee Wardlaw points out the unfairness of judging a species only by its obvious beauty in “The Fruit Fly’s Secret.”  Yes, butterflies are lovely, but “just because/they flit and flirt/on wings of rainbow hues” they have deflected attention from the equally significant fruit fly.  Viewed under a microscope, the colors of these insects are revealed, elevating them from their lowly habitats in “drains and sinks and mops” or rotting fruit.  The text box describes how photomicroscopy documents how they refract light, and also interacts with the poem itself.  Wardlaw includes quotes from different authors extolling the beauty of butterflies; the text refers back to the poem by attributing each quote (Victor Hugo, Oscar Wilde, Bashō, and more).

Editor Matt Forrest Esenwine’s own poetry is also part of the book. “Alien Fountain” responds with awe to the unexpected phenomenon of the Fly Geyser, a “peculiar/accident/that could/only have/been created/by human ignorance/and Nature’s/resilient/soul.”  This result of an energy company’s drilling for geothermal water in the 1960s produced a strangely stunning appearance, captured in Christoph’s illustration.  The algae growing on mounds of limestone caused an explosion of color, “giving the geyser its otherworldly appearance.” As in all the explanations, concise presentation of facts works in parallel with literary language.

I cannot recommend this book highly enough.  It sets a high bar for authors and artists aspiring to link science and the arts without sacrificing aesthetic and linguistic distinction.

The Moon is a Melon

How Do You Eat Color – written by Mabi David, illustrated by Yas Doctor, translated by Karen Llagas
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2025

The answer to the question posed in the title of Mabi David and Yas Doctor’s new picture book might be obvious to a child. Color is one of the first categories that children learn to identify. It then becomes integrated into both their imaginary and real worlds. Food, of course, is inextricably associated with color.  How Do You Eat Color, translated from the work of a Filipina author and illustrator, combines simple language with deep metaphors, and images in oil on paper, to express all these connections. 

David poses questions, gives answers, and offers suggestions. (Karen Llagas is an experienced translator, as well as a poet, and the text reflects her expertise.)  The book opens with an intriguing series of inquiries that establish its theme: “Do you know how red tastes?…Is green sweet and cold like your favorite sorbet?”  If so, or if you have never considered those ideas but would like to, then “Feast on color when you eat fruits and vegetables.” Each two-page spread considers the possibility of looking at a color in a new way, as the setting for a multisensory experience.

Yellow first appears as a river surrounded by giant pineapples and ears of corn. A boy and girl, and their lizard friend, row in boats made of mangos. After this journey, they rest on bunches of bananas. The scale and composition of the pictures inverts the sizes of people and plants, with tall carrots rising against the sky as the children, receding into the background, run towards half an orange as the setting sun.  The purple pages mix fruits, vegetables, and human activity, “As you tuck yourself in like a yam, bundled like plums in a basket.” Horizontal stripes on the girl’s dress contrast with the vertical ones on her blanket, as she clutches oversized plums. 

After the core of the book invites children to appreciate the artistic and joyful natures of food, there are several more pages introducing the actual characteristics of different foods and their health benefits.  Instead of a chart, the format is a dialogue, with answers to questions about each food’s definition, how to eat it, and why it is healthful. Finally, David and Doctor complete the circle, emphasizing how a variety of foods, in their rainbow of colors, have both physical and aesthetic benefits. An in-depth exploration of a simple idea, How Do You Eat Color, suggests multiple answers to that fundamental question.

Turning Over a New Leaf

How to Talk to Your Succulent – written and illustrated by Zoe Persico
Tundra Books, 2025

In Zoe Persico’s incredibly inventive graphic novel, Adara’s mother has recently died. She and her father leave California to move in with her grandmother in Michigan. The potential subjects of graphic novels are unlimited, and How to Talk to Your Succulent is not the first one to deal with grief, or strained relationships of parents and children. It is, however, outstanding in its sensitivity, bold graphics, and experimentation with fantasy and reality as equal components of a young girl’s search for the truth. Persico quietly presents a scenario that defies reality, and then proceeds to immerse the reader in a world where it is utterly plausible.

If you are skeptical about human communication with plants, this book will demonstrate the irrelevance of that reservation. Adara is sad and uprooted, even though her grandmother is a pillar of flexible strength. Her father is trying, somewhat helplessly, to cope with his own desolation and anger, which he approaches by inadvertently discouraging his daughter from expressing her feelings. What could be worse than this agonizing moment in all their lives? As it turns out, Adara’s mother had quietly used a special power. Not only did she have the proverbial green thumb at growing plants, she could actually communicate with them: “Like, you know, actual conversations.”

Adara’s grandmother, who resembles a child’s ideal image of a non-judgmental old person as both youthful and wise, also keeps a garden and greenhouse. When Adara’s father realizes that she has taken to wearing her mother’s earrings, which resemble tiny plants, he takes her to visit a nursery where she can select an actual plant of her own. This gesture is the closest he can come to acknowledging her feelings of isolation. At the greenhouse she meets Perle, short for Perle von Nurnberg, a delicately beautiful succulent who, for a devastatingly brief second Adara believes to be speaking in her mother’s voice. Then comes the epiphany: “I can talk to plants just like Mom! I knew it! I knew it!”

There is nothing affected about this unusual series of circumstances. Readers are not asked to suspend disbelief, but to enter Adara’s emotional state without preconceptions. Broadening her narrow circle of relatives, she also meets a new best friend, Winnie, a frustrated artist whose own mother is demanding and unappreciative of her daughter’s talents. Still, she has a living mother and Adara does not. But other people, as Adara learns, have their own problems and also need to be protected in order to thrive. Perle, the plant who demonstrates Adara’s maternal inheritance, is threatened with extinction if Adara cannot learn that same lesson as it applies to her.

The artwork of How to Talk to Your Succulent is inseparable from the text. Persico uses earth colors, jewel tones, and gradations of light in a setting that combines the spaciousness of nature with the enclosed scale of a greenhouse. People’s emotions register with expressive brush strokes, as do the fantastic plants who interact with each other and intersect with humans. The author’s note reaffirms her commitment, both artistic and emotional, to connecting with the reader. She includes mixed media photographic images, a visual and textual demonstration of her method, and even a guide to the plants at the root of her story. Equally innovative for its graphics and its exploration of emotional vulnerability, this book will bloom with every re-reading.