Tag: book-review

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.

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.

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.

Mycological

Fritz: A Mushroom Story – written and illustrated by Kelsey Garrity-Riley
Tundra Books, 2026

Fritz is a quiet chanterelle mushroom.  He likes hats, which is a good thing, because he always appears to be wearing one, as well as a red cardigan. Fritz is quiet and introverted.  Books for children about people who prefer solitude or quiet activities to raucous socializing are a welcome phenomenon, and not a new one. Nor are books that emphasize that people with different, even opposite personalities, can still be friends (other examples can be found here and here and here). The mycological element in Fritz: A Mushroom Story is appealing, but Kelsey Garrity-Riley is not simply following a trend. Her mushroom child is his own person.

The details that support Fritz’s character are specific and not exaggerated. No, he doesn’t only sit curled up in a blanket reading books, although reading mysteries with his dad is one of his preferred pastimes. So is building boats out of acorns. It looks fun and simple, and messy enough to require a scraps of paper, depicted in a lovely collage style, to absorb the glue. His culinary tastes on sensible. Rose-hip ice cream and cream of chestnut soup are clearly appropriate for different temperatures. He’s not rebellious enough to reverse their seasons, but rather content with his choices.

Socializing is definitely part of Fritz’s life.  Garrity-Riley’s pictures, rendered in gouache, collage, pencil, and ink, feature a subdued palette with moments of brightness, much like Fritz’s day.  In an outing to the playground shades of green predominate, while a bright red slide just off center emphasizes that Fritz can have fun. Other scenes of offer balance, including a smaller circle of friends, and sometimes “only one friend” for cozy indoor play.  Red-roofed dollhouses populated with mushroom dolls stored in a basket seem perfect. Just when it might seem that solitude is not important to Fritz, Garrity-Riley reminds us that “often,” that state is exactly right for him. Reading in bed, his mushroom dolls placed at carefully composed angles, is just right.

Pip is Fritz’s more outgoing friend. The contrast between them is not so dramatic.  Pip enjoys theater and music, with all the character traits that implies. Since he is a fly agaric, otherwise known as amanita muscaria, his body is square and his top a dome.  At one point, the two pals are playing hide-and-seek, and when Pip finds Fritz, the latter declares, “Actually…I don’t think I’m ready to be found yet.” But their time together is harmonious, as they share different flavors of ice cream and “different ways to be wonderful.” There is a fine line between reassurance and preaching, and between resignation to unchangeable traits and celebration of them.  Fritz: A Mushroom Story captures that truth by speaking directly to young readers about difference, accompanied by the colors of a mycological childhood  they will recognize as their own.

Cats Scratch If You Hold Them Too Tight

Arthur’s Cat – written and illustrated by Johan Leynaud, translated from the French by Sarah Ardizzone
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2026

Arthur is a little boy who loves his cat, Zeffo. They are inseparable. The problem is that boy and cat have somewhat different definitions of love. Arthur would like to hold Zeffo tightly and read to him. But he also insists on styling Zeffo’s fur and applying perfume to him. (images). Arthur’s Cat is a book that helps children to think about what it means to love someone, hardly a unique subject. There are many wonderful books that explore the same idea. (such as this and this.). Johan Leynaud’s text and artwork are distinctive. The pictures, rendered in pencil, ink, felt, and pen, and digitally, are simple and luminous, conferring a dual quality which makes them both realistic and strikingly stylized. The book is beautiful, without a trace of preachy sentimentality.

Most of each scene is in black and white, with pastel touches. Zeffo is sky blue, and Arthur has a gold face and limbs. His hair and clothing are white, outlined in black. Leynaud’s use of line is so skillful that each picture seems to emerge fully realized. A pyramid of cluttered objects rises to the left of a page, and Arthur gleefully runs towards his beloved cat. Zeffo objects to being forced into a superhero costume and flies off the facing page. At the same time that the images are reminiscent of animation, there is a stillness to each picture, encouraging the reader to respond to each one individually.

Composition is key to establishing contrast between boy and cat. Arthur jumps into the air, hoping to have fun with Zeffo, who sits on a tree branch, refusing to join in Arthur’s momentum. A game of hide-and-seek is an incentive to escape for the desperate cat. Finally, Zeffo has reached his limit and scratches Arthur, leaving a visible wound. Even the light red on Arthur’s arm seems, in the context of his previous uncomprehending happiness, serious enough. He is in tears.

Eventually, Arthur and Zeffo reconcile. The boy has begun to realize that love doesn’t confer the freedom to subject his pet to constant control. Zeffo also recognizes that he needs Arthur. This idea is visualized in a scene of tentative approach and flight, where Zeffo seems open to playing with Arthur but, once again, turns from him, his body divided as he escapes the page. Leynaud grants Zeffo the freedom to “hang back,” and even “be suspicious.” There is gentle humor in a picture of the boy crawling along as shower curtain rod and the cat turning his head to look at him, although it also seems dangerous! It’s fun to play, but when the game is over, Arthur again resists the confines of the page.

An anxious Arthur sits up in his elaborate bed, in a picture that calls to mind the illustrations for James Thurber’s Many Moons, by either Louis Slobodkin or Marc Simont. The enormously high headboard on the right side of the page seems ironic in light of the minimalist disorder of objects to the left. When Zeffo climbs up onto Arthur’s fluffy quilt, the patience of both boy and cat has been rewarded.

Not an Open and Shut Case

A Door Is to Open – written by Kyo Maclear, illustrated by Julie Morstad
Tundra Books, 2026

They are brilliant individually, but each book by Kyo Maclear and Julie Morstad together is an open door. (see my reviews here and here and here).  There are metaphors and there are images. They work together unobtrusively, inviting children to look at the world in ways that are both familiar to them, and a bit different.  A Door Is to Open is dedicated to the innovative author Ruth Krauss, of A Hole Is to Dig, and the prolific artist and writer Remy Charlip. (The meter of the title also reminded me of Maclear and Morstad’s biography of Gyo Fujikawa, It Began with a Page, another homage to the creative process.) Once you enter this book, you will want to return many times.

Door may be inviting or forbidding. The book opens with a girl peering through a partly open door, about to admit a parade of black cats.  Maclear’s simple text is set against white space, and Morstad’s images, rendered in pencil, marker, and watercolors, have clean lines and bright, bold tones. Both author and artist never waste words or lines, giving readers the impression that every element they use is both natural and carefully chosen. The composition of the book can only be called perfect.

Some pictures are earthbound, such as a door opening onto a domestic interior where a table in the background is set with hot food and inviting curls of steam. Others are more flights of imagination, including a girl reading while seated on a planet. A pyramid of color, like an oversized pencil point, reaches up to the sun.  There are some black and white scenes, recalling older picture book art, and some on a smaller scale.

On another page, four separate scenes including doors feature a silhouette of diners, a door designed with floral folk art, a black door with knobs resembling eyes, and an enchanting door emitting musical notes. That last one accessed by a curving staircase. Each door is captioned by a statement or a question, which could be cryptic to adults, or obvious to younger readers.

Then there are fairies.   A full-sized child opens a very small door, witnessing a scene of “tiny friends” with butterfly wings. The child is not intruding, but visiting. An artist, wearing overalls that contrast with the gossamer part of her outfit, is painting flowers, while a child fairy builds with blocks.  Some pictures connect to the inspiration of other artists, such as one of boy drawing a door, in response to the suggestion, “Maybe you’ll choose to make one yourself.” Harold and the Purple Crayon is an invisible presence. A pink horse invites the boy, standing at the top of a staircase of his own creation, to go for a ride, conjuring Eric Carle’s The Artist Who Painted a Blue Horse. Maclear and Morstad gently encourage children to open doors, as the only way to learn about the world. Whether presented in sequence, as concentric boxes, or elements of the natural world, a door is to open and step through, into a complex of endless possibilities.

Up to the Highest Heights

A Year of Kites: Traditions Around the World – written by Monisha Bajaj, illustrated by Amber Ren
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2026

A Year of Kites is a wonderful picture book whose unusual subject matter is matched by its quality. Children, and adults, find the ideas of kites appealing. They start as paper, string, and other materials. With some human ingenuity they take flight, without passengers, all on their own.  Readers may be familiar with some cultural expressions of kites, but this book presents detailed information about much less familiar examples of these beautiful airborne structures. A simple premise introduces the story: “Kites have been flown for nearly 3,000 years by people all over the world.” Each subsequent two-page spread features a fictional child from one of these places, including India, Afghanistan, China, New Zealand, and many more. There are brief descriptions of the festivals that include kite flying, as well as invented personal details. (In New Zealand, Kaia includes a secret message for her grandmother on the inside of her kite.).

Some of the celebrations may complement those that are better known outside of their own cultures. The festival of Diwali may resonate with readers who have never heard of Uttarayan, marking the end of winter with colorful kites, particularly in Gujarat. Lunar New Year evokes images of Chinese kites, and the koi-shaped kites created in Japan are also popular. The sections on these holidays offer background information as a necessary context for the aesthetic appeal of these kites. The fact that Cape Town, South Africa, hosts the largest international event surrounding kites deserves the same level of attention.  There are even workshops that teach the craft, and prizes awarded for excellence.

Monisha Bajaj’s text reflects the way that children connect information and personalized characters in learning.  Amber Wen’s softly colored images of children show an international cast as similar to one another in their expressions of delight, but distinctive in customs.  A culminating image brings together these citizens of the world (image) as they let loose their butterflies, fish, and geometric forms into the sky.

Not a Hutch or Burrow

Welcome to the Rabbit Residence: A Seek-and-Find Story – written and illustrated by Haluka Nohana
Chronicle Books, 2026

Following her earlier book about animals having fun while living in detailed habitats, author and artist Haluka Nohana has now invited readers to a rabbit residence full of activity. Even early in the morning, there’s a lot going on, even if not everyone is awake. Each room is a complete picture in itself, but the sum total of the cutaway house is a collective delight. The endpapers introduce the rabbits residing in the house. There are bakers, a wizard, a painter, a dinosaur keeper, a band, and many other essential professions. There are quintuplets, not so unusual for rabbits, a clockmaker for an old-fashioned touch, and a sleepy rabbit holding a blanket. He must be too young to have a job.  There is a four-page fold-out spread with text and a full view of the house, and subsequent pictures describe the action, and the text suggests indirectly that reader might want to look for a particular rabbit pastime. “Composer Rabbit plays the piano. – plink, plonk.” Some of the onomatopoeia seems as if it might be taken directly from the original text in Japanese, which adds an intriguing note: “Meanwhile, Painter Rabbit is painting, peta, peta.” The sounds connected to rabbit tailoring are “choki, choki.”

It’s easy to make rabbits appear cute, but these are quite distinctive, even within that category.  They are rounded and fluffy, a bit similar to Moomins. Lots of accessories, as well as brushstrokes denoting movement, add to their strangely realistic appeal. A rabbit exercising seems to have fallen and is seeing stars.  A dinosaur with a long neck, maybe an apatosaurus, leans down into the room below to offer a plant to a clockmaker. There is some ambiguity in these scenes, including magic involving a genie rabbit, whose swirling body may or may not be related to the waft of fragrant steam emanating from the kitchen. A mildly dissonant picture shows an almost empty house, framed by the question, “Wait! Nobunny’s home! Where did all the rabbit residents go?” The rooms appear different without all the busy rabbits.  Books are strewn about the library.  A lone telescope has no astronomer, and the magician’s studio shows an empty hat and a cauldron at mid-stir. It turns out that this swanky building has a rooftop open for a party, with all the familiar tenants as well as the light of shooting stars.

Sort of Good Very Bad Day

Just Another Perfect Day – written by Jillian Harris and Justin Pasutto, illustrated by Morgan Goble
Tundra Books, 2025

The family in Just Another Perfect Day, by Jillian Harris and Justin Pasutto, illustrated by Morgan Goble, is appealing in its imperfection. No one in the book seems quite as frustrated or depressed as Alexander in Judith Viorst and Ray Cruz’s classic, Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day (1972), although one child, Leo, does actually spit out a sandwich when it disappoints him. The sarcasm of the title is also refreshing. Basically, this not atypical family has some typical problems, which push everyone to the breaking point, but not over it. The text rhymes, the pictures are bright and colorful, and the message is reassuring without being preachy.

The family’s home is comfortable, if not generic. It is set on spacious grounds and appears welcoming.  But problems begin to crop up as soon as the reader enters the interior space. Annie and Leo have overslept and are not nearly ready for school. Any parent knows the chain reaction that will cause. Mom wakes up, looking at her phone with surprise; three different clocks have malfunctioned, and one is analog. Dad, who hasn’t shaved yet, tries to walk two difficult dogs, holding things up further.  Multitasking won’t work, because everyone is too far behind to catch up.

Once the kids are at school, Mom tries to salvage the day at work in a particularly evocative scene. In a cinematic sequence of images, she is seen “checking off lists and meeting each goal,” a phrase filled with irony. Her computer, which is covered with sticky note reminders, isn’t actually working. Her coffee has spilled, and the bagel with one bite out of it shows that she doesn’t even have time to eat properly.  Even a lovely pink phone dial phone and matching vase of roses, evoking a simpler (maybe) era, can’t make up for the chaos.

This day has to turn around or the book will end in disaster. Everyone is exhausted, but their energy kicks in enough for an impromptu dance in the kitchen as they eagerly anticipate take-out food. When the delivery driver gets lost, the work together to cook up some pasta. Maybe the meatballs were left over in the fridge. If the cheery dance seemed fun, but improbable, the dinner is a believable conclusion.  There is still a sticky note on Mom’s hair, and paint on Annie’s face from her ill-fated art project, but everyone seems to have accepted the inevitability of days like this, which are “less than great.”  Baths, reading time, and family togetherness are the recipe, they conclude that “makes it all work.”  This cheery and unpretentious story is close enough to perfect.