Toad on the Go – written and illustrated by Jashar Awan Tundra Books, 2026
As I have observed before, it isn’t easy to write a children’s book that expresses a message without reducing a potential work of art to a didactic bore. In Toad on the Go, Jashar Awan’s follow-up to Towed by Toad, the central character makes a terrible mistake that would seem to compromise his professional integrity. Rushing to bring a vehicle with a flat tire to Pop’s Tire & Car Repair, Toad’s zeal to get the job done causes him to bang up another car and face an angry driver. Awan doesn’t waste words. “Everyone makes mistakes. What comes next is your choice to make.”
The pictures and graphic design of the book recall both classic illustrations styles and animation. The pace is as fast as the title implies, but without the forced zaniness that sometimes takes over when authors and illustrators seem over-eager to appeal to kids. The big and black against white space, and states the premise immediately. “Little ones. Big ones. Everyone makes mistakes.” Dangerous driving is actually one of the worst mistakes one can make, but in this case, since the consequence is a crushed car but no injuries, Awan is able to deliver his point. Hesitant to take responsibility for his mistake turns Toad from a diligent tow truck operator to an arrogant and threatened amphibian. When he hears the narrator’s voice pointing out that “these things happen,” Toad’s answer doesn’t evoke much sympathy: “NOT TO ME!” He grips the wheel and narrows his eyes, daring the reader to recognize the formerly sweet rescuer into someone who believes he is better than the rest of us.
The economy of Awan’s style creates a cinematic series of frames, with each one presenting characters in a minimalist, but complete, portrait. His well-intentioned race sends him past other essential community members: Penny Pigeon the letter carrier, Bear of Bear Bros Moving Co, Red Belly’s tempting food truck. These other animals must also make mistakes, but they must be part of another story. Today, the focus is on Toad, whose anxious wait for the traffic light to change doesn’t prevent the collision. Every face registers a significant change. Winne Neigh-Nay the horse crosses her arms is fury at the sight of her damaged car. The food truck line customers turn around, point, and seem to forget about sandwiches. One animal picking up his mail seems oddly oblivious. True to his name, Pop, the repair shop owner, is able to gently remind Toad of what matters, and that, at least most of the time, mistakes can be fixed with the turn of a wrench, and a little humility.
Frog’s Day Out (A Lift-the Flap Book, Tales from Acorn Wood) – written by Julia Donaldson, illustrated by Axel Scheffler Scholastic, 2026
Frog’s Day Out combines the undeniable appeal of lift-the-flap books with the category of books about animals who live harmoniously in friendly villages (for example, here and here and here and here and here). It is a sturdy board book about a frog taking a trip to the seashore. Children are invited to look inside his satchel, as well as peeking into Cat’s hatbox. Excitement characterizes the atmosphere, as Frog, Cat, Dog, and other animal friends meet at the station and board a train.
When illustrators portray anthropomorphic animals, they choose how to balance their human and non-human qualities. Here, in the pictures by Alex Scheffler (accompanying the text by Julia Donaldson), Frog wears a Hawaiian shirt, making him appear perhaps the least self-conscious of the bunch. Hedgehog carries the biggest piece of luggage, a “holdall” which is similar to Mary Poppins’s carpetbag in size. It holds equipment for digging in the sand. Pig, not surprisingly, brings a picnic basket, but Beaver’s colorful beach ball is the least to his species’ activities. The train conductor is a bear, giving him the authority you might trust from an animal driving a train.
In reading lift-the-flap books with young children, you realize that the special feature is hard to duplicate. Eric Hill’s Spot series features both lift-the-flap and non-interactive stories. Toddlers may prefer the former, but, eventually they learn that the two kinds can coexist and both tell interesting stories. There is definitely a way in which lifting the flaps convinces readers that they are actually propelling the story forward.
When Frog emerges from the dressing room in his red-striped one-piece suit, it’s hard to disagree that “he does look smart.” It’s just what you would expect from Frog.
My Roman Summer – by Bruna de Luca Scholastic Press, 2026
Fiction that fits into a comfortable genre, including a romance where a potential conflict metamorphoses into love, needs to be elevated into to hold the reader’s interest. My Roman Summer succeeds, with believable characters, a carefully placed plot, sensitivity, and humor. As in introduction, or affirmation, of Italian language and culture, it’s delightful. The scratch and sniff cover edition adds a lovely touch, (not the first time I”ve fallen for this gimmick), but if you need that to validate Livia Nardelli’s story, you aren’t paying attention.
Livia lives in Scotland with her Italian immigrant parents. She sometimes wavers between two cultures, but this conflict is enriching, not defeating. (“Ma…apologizes to the border control officer for my British passport as if I’m a pineapple pizza she’s smuggled into Italy.”) When Livia and her mother, Caterina, go to Rome for the summer to visit her grandmother, family issues and secrets surface, particularly in a thick atmosphere of hostility between Caterina and Livia’s grandmother, Nona Adelina (Nina). Stubbornly attached to the bar (café) that has been owned by her family for years, Nina refuses to acknowledge that it is on the brink of financial collapse. In the hospital with a broken leg, she argues with her daughter, and seems ambivalent about her visiting granddaughter.
Meanwhile, Giulio, a handsome young man who rides a Vespa, can seem to do no wrong, provoking Livia’s jealousy and confusion. He brings Nina, a surrogate grandmother to him, fresh pasta with Pecorino Romano cheese and black pepper, and humiliates Livia’s difficulty twisting it onto her fork, as any native Roman would know how to do. Worse, Livia begins to suspect that Guilio may have nefarious intentions, possibly engineering the loss of the business that defines her life. It seems as if a summer in Rome will send her racing back to Edinburgh with nothing but relief.
Enrolled against her will in Italian language classes to perfect her less-than-perfect Italian, Livia meets a supportive group of new friends, each with their own personal, or bureaucratic, reason for joining her in the school. Aspiring chef, Ren, enlivens the failing bar with his eclectic dishes, including “seaweed Parmesan gougères…made with Japanese nori.” Kenzi, from a Moroccan family, is fluent in both Arabic and Italian, but her parents are convinced that a certificate from the language classes will help her to obtain Italian citizenship. Livia is not the only person who sometimes wonders, “if I don’t belong here, where do I belong?”
Giulio is incredibly handsome, and also sensitive and intelligent. Livia’s attraction to him is at first conditional. He can’t be a villain, but how can she explain his communication with the predatory banker who hovers over the failing bar? Bruna de Luca’s narrative expertise keeps the story from veering into cliché at every vulnerable point. “Santo Cielo!” The twists and turns are precarious, but all roads lead to Rome, Edinburgh, and a satisfying conclusion.
Eon: My Pet Tardigrade – written by Cybèle Young, illustrated by Cybèle Young and Nell Jocelyn Tundra Books, 2026
This enthralling picture book has several potential audiences. It could be categorized as part of STEAM, since the tardigrade is an actual microscopic animal, one that can survive in an array of environments, and even emerge from a kind of dormant state called “tun,” essentially coming back to life. They are microscopic in size, and oddly resemble, at least in the opinion of some observers, tiny bears or pigs. In addition to young scientists, the story of Eon, the pet tardigrade will appeal to readers who like miniatures, both real and fantastic, and form attachments to these special creatures endowed with fascinating qualities. Anyone, young or old, interested in outstanding picture book art, paper sculpture, and the combination of pencil drawing with collage-influenced composition, will love this book.
A girl first encounters Eon, as she will name him, under the lens of a microscope. He peers from behind a microscopic plant. When his face is appears enlarged, he seems to have “two little eyes.” Unlike the other flora and fauna surrounding him, “he ambled and plodded like a bear.” Soon the girl, rendered in graphite pencil, feels so strongly that she wishes she could hug this new pet; the white page bears bright red folded paper hearts, which are only a hint of the artistry to come.
Does the story of Eon and the girl resemble narratives about fairies? Yes, and it also forms part of the genre about nurturing an animal and then, selflessly, releasing it to the world where it can flourish, such as Love Is and A Fairy Friend by Claire Keane. In her revealing afterword, Cybèle Young explains how she first observed tardigrades, but also, how they became intertwined with her background creating miniature paper sculpture. When Nell Jocelyn, also an accomplished paper artist, became involved in this project, a fully formed narrative about curiosity, creativity, and attachment was realized. Young also draws on her experiences as a mother and grandmother to trace both the emotional genesis and physical production of the book.
If you, or the children in your life, have ever designed meticulously scaled furniture and accessories for dolls, pets, or fairies, you will relate to Eon’s good fortune. There are small dioramas with folded paper staircases, playful paper gears, erupting volcanoes, and fishing swimming through the sea. Recreation is available as the smallest paper circus, and a birthday picnic with seemingly edible delicacies must make Eon happy. There is a Ferris wheel, a folding chair, and a goose-necked lamp, all occupied by Eon. Each creation is exquisite, and together, the graphic composition of all the images is a seamless story.
Still, one day Eon ceases to thrive and goes to sleep. The girl gently sends him on his voyage to a more appropriate home. Maybe comfortable bedding and indoor lighting are not conducive to his survival. The process of creating these items is not pointless; it has its own intrinsic value, running parallel to the girl’s nurturing feelings and confidence in her achievement as an artist. If she and Eon are reunited, that will be wonderful.
Mint to Be – by Katie Cicatelli-Kuc Scholastic, 2025
I don’t want to give up away any keep developments in my review of this wonderful young adult, or adult, novel. Mint To Be is the second in a series from Katie Cicatelli-Kuc, set in Briar Glen, a New England Village whose competing coffee shops debuted in Pumpkin Spice & Everything Nice. It has a Scratch and Sniff sticker on the cover, and it also features a romance potentially fraught with conflict. If readers find that the novel evokes a holiday movie, no brand mentioned, they may feel validated when the heroine’s mom, after comparing a new romance to a five-month-old baby, admits that her optimism may be partly rooted in watching such staples: “I don’t know. Maybe I’ve been watching too many holiday movies. But I’ve always thought that you and Aidan would end up together some day. It’s a parent thing.”
Aidan is Aiden Cooper-Gallo. He and Emma Sherman have been friends forever, literally, since their early childhood. Neither character is a cloying stereotype. Aidan has some difficulties with anxiety, but is never diagnosed with a specific, reductive, condition. Emma is accomplished and ambitious. It’s clear that she intuitively understands Aidan’s vulnerabilities and is always there to help him. She is also obsessed with New York City. Her acceptance as a transfer student to a private high school there, panics Aidan. But he is not the kind of friend, regardless of his intense feelings, to undermine Emma’s dreams. Chapters alternative between Emma and Aidan’s voices, and flashbacks, both recent and longer ago, build consistent characters.
Emma is somewhat reluctant to decode her own feelings, which makes her easy prey, or, to use a much less judgmental term, vulnerable, to finding her first boyfriend at Easton Academy. His name is Sam, and he privileged and arrogant. No, he’s not a monster. He even seems to be sincerely attached to Emma, and makes some effort to understand her attachment to the small town which is her home. He doesn’t relate to dogs, unlike Emma and Aidan. Aidan’s dog, Mackerel, is mildly personified, not enough to be silly, but he is a character in the novel.
Going back to Emma’s mom, her “parent thing” is wholly positive. None of the adults, or almost adults, close to Emma, including her parents, older sister Kerry, and Jo of the eponymous Cup o’ Jo café, try to force decisions on her. The same is true for Aidan, whose grandparents are also supportive and kind, although Grandma has a welcome, acerbic touch: “Like I said, I’ve seen his type a million times.” Both Emma and Aidan need to reach their own conclusions.
Even when Sam reveals his true colors, one of which is a definite shade of controlling, there is nothing exaggerated about either his actions or Emma’s response. Even if everyone in Mint to Be follows a certain course, it is not, regardless of the title, completely predetermined.
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.
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.
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 Chanceis 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.
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.
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.
Imaginary Elevators 