Tag: book-reviews

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.

Uri Shulevitz 1935-2025

Uri Shulevitz died on February 15.  The breadth of his artistic vision was outstanding, demonstrated both in books which he wrote and illustrated, and in others that he illustrated in collaboration with another author.  Many were deep explorations of Jewish themes, while others were more universal in scope. Chance was a masterpiece, integrating his entire life’s work in both words and pictures (I have also written about him here and here). The title indicates his conviction that his survival as a refugee from the Nazis, and, therefore, his entire career as an artist, was fundamentally a result of random events.  The book earned many distinctions; unfortunately, a Sydney Taylor award was not among them.

I would like to call attention to one long out-of-print work by Mr. Shulevitz, his quirky, and even disturbing, Toddlecreek Post Office. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1990). Like several of his other books, it adopts a tone from folklore. The small village of Toddlecreek has a small post office. It resembles an ordinary house, with tall windows, flower boxes, and an American flag indicating its purpose. The name of the postmaster is Vernon Stamps, reinforcing the idea that the story is something of a parable. (Some of his neighbors are named Mrs. Woolsox; Charlie Ax the logger; and the garrulous and nostalgic Dexter Shuffles.) Mr. Stamps is busy and efficient, but also compassionate, helping everyone in the community and even welcoming animals to his overcrowded enterprise.

Into this paradise, one unfortunate day, the postal inspector intrudes.  Her presence is immediately disturbing, and the animals react before she even sets about her task. “Birds’ songs diminished…Bees’ buzzing ceased, or so it seemed. The small dogs stopped barking, and stared.” The inspector examines the post office’s records, as well as the evidence that unofficial, but humane, activities are also promoted there. There are books to read, and announcements for barn dances on the bulletin board. She announces that the post office will be closed. Vernon is stunned, but he senses that resistance to this decision is futile. He locks up and leaves.

If readers are not already saddened by this point, Shulevitz makes clear that the post office’s closure leaves a terrible gap in the life of the community.  There is a sense of shock in the rumors about Silken, Vernon’s part wolf and part sled dog companion. The animal has disappeared. “Some say she went north to join the wolves. Others say she was killed by a hunter.” 

What motivated Shulevitz to end the book on an unambiguous note of sadness? He was a great artist and humanist who had lived through the worst conditions imposed by tyranny.  Toddlecreek has been ruined.  “It is not on any map, it is bypassed by travelers and forgotten by time. And now, like any other small village, Toddlecreek has no post office.” Yet, unlike the residents of this unfortunate town, he did survive to produce an unforgettable body literature and artwork for both children and adults.

What Makes Us Happy

I Would Give You My Tail – written by Tanya Tagaq, illustrated by Qavavau Manumie
Tundra Books, 2025

This tender, subtle, book, about a boy awaiting the birth of a sibling, is set among the Indigenous people of Nunavut, northern Canada. It is both unique to their culture and universal in its expression of gratitude, both to people and the environment in which they live. The title refers to a conversation between two hares, echoed by other animals, and finally by the brother welcoming his new sister to the world they will share. The language seamlessly weaves together the language of the physical world and metaphor. The pictures, created in colored pencil, draw from Inuit folklore, as well as the specific qualities of the characters.  Sharing is a concept central to the book, part of the overall vision of happiness passed from one generation to the next.

Assuming a child’s perspective in a book for children may seem natural, but it’s not so easily accomplished. Here, from the first page, readers will empathize with the boy, Kalluk’s, feelings of expectation and some anxiety, as he awaits a profound event in his life.  Tanya Tagaq is straightforward in presenting the situation: “Kalluk’s mother is in labor and about to have a baby.” Even the repetition of seemingly redundant terms, “labor,” and “about to have a baby,” reflects the way that children incorporate reality. Qavavau Manumie’s illustration shows the pregnant mother touching her kneeling son in a gesture of reassurance, before he sets out to bring his grandmother to help.

Unhappiness is, realistically, part of Kalluk’s range of feelings at this moment. He asks two hares why they are happy, and learns how the qualities that they need to survive, speed and cleverness, are fulfilling ones. A brook is happy because of the fish who inhabit it. Mothers, animals or human, are happy with the offspring to their care. Explanations are kept to a minimum. Kalluk can sense the sincerity of all the responses.

A picture of Kalluk seated with his back against a giant mitten embodies his feelings of gratitude tinged with sadness. He clearly misses his mother, thinks of the warm mittens she has created for him, and sends her “all the love in his heart.” The way in which that message is convened does not need to be articulated.

Meeting his grandparents, Kalluk has reached the confirmation of all the previous lessons about gratitude and love. His grandmother, Anaanattiaq in their North Qikiqtaaluk dialect, is unapologetically depicted as old; she “stands up slowly, bones creaking and cane shaking.”  Any diminished physical strength is no obstacle, as she states purposefully, “Let’s go greet the new one.” Walking home, the boy asks her about her source of happiness. When she answers “peace,” he requests an elaboration. This dialogue is different from those with the animals. She tells him in the most direct language that peace grows inside each person, as he or she makes a series of choices in life. The right choices will make you proud, and grant “lots of peace,” the kind that is meant to be shared.

When Kalluk and Anaanattiaq come upon “a conspiracy of ravens,” the squawking, lively birds are friendly towards them.  Their requirement for happiness is “knowledge,” a slight variation of the other animals’ answers. Their grandmother, the ravens assure Kalluk, is full of knowledge. That knowledge is put to the most important use when she arrives at Kalluk’s home, where his mother has already given birth and his breastfeeding the baby whom he is now prepared to teach everything he has learned.  Gratitude for food, water, family, and the ability to choose well, are the gifts he brings to her, as well along with a declaration of love.  I Would Give You My Tail is like a perfect circle, enclosing the reader in the complete circle of Kalluk’s journey.

Parent-Child Conversations

Fantastic Lou: Little Comics from Real Life – written and illustrated by Qin Leng
Tundra Books, 2025

All good children’s books are also good books for adults, but some seem specifically designed for both audiences. Qin Leng’s graphic chapter book, picture book, or collection of “little comics,” is definitely in the latter category. The cover, with a brightly smiling child radiating assertiveness, alludes to some of the mid-twentieth century comic classics. The wry interpretation of parenting issues also brings to mind the work of Liana Finck. Yet Fantastic Lou is also fantastic for children, reflecting their thoughts and feelings about everyday situations and important relationships.

The interminable experience of playing a board game is, at the same time, a way to have some quiet and meaningful interaction with a Lou, her child.  The existential unfairness, mixed with boredom, might even be irritating to adults. “You fell in a hole. That means you gotta go back to square one.” An adult might feel bereft at that news, but a child’s understandable rage is difficult to dismiss. Leng captures the whole range of responses in her lively and delicate pictures, drawn in ink and digitally colored.

Collecting may have different meanings for children and adults. Leng focuses on how a child finds meaning in an object that seems useless to his parents.  Forget well-intentioned recycling. Lou extracts a series of items, explaining the process with clear simplicity. Language also reflects the difference between Lou and Maman: “I see something, Maman. I can use this.”  What further justification is needed for pulling things out of the trash?  The reader is left to imagine the infinite uses implied in Lou’s artistic vision. 

Lou’s image of his future self is as clear as his prospective plans for thrown-away collectible. In “When I Am Bigger,” he divides his life so far into two stags, and projects a third one based on growing size and increased power.  After all, that is how adults appear to children.  The adjacent chapter, “Montréal Trip,” takes that abstract idea and offers a concrete example of his special status as a child.  The prospect of boarding the plane is exciting enough, but, in fact, his small and vulnerable size is granted equal status to the most privileged travelers: “Priority boarding for VIP members and passengers traveling with young children…”

Children are VIPs in Leng’s work. Sequences of constant motion, flights of imagination, and attempts to make sense of adult decisions, add up to childhood itself.

Family Stories and Food

Electra and the Charlotte Russe – written by Corinne Demas Bliss, illustrated by Michael Garland
Boyds Mills Press, 1997

When I was growing up in New York, the charlotte russe was a popular pastry, though the peak of its popularity was already gone by the post-World War II era. At the time, I wasn’t aware that I was enjoying a part of New York food lore in its decline, but that still had meaning for my parents’ generation.  In Electra and the Charlotte Russe, a Greek-American family, living in an ethnically mixed Bronx neighborhood, is the center of the nostalgic story.  In her author’s note, Corinne Demas Bliss writes that the book is based a story which her mother, Electra, had related about her own Bronx childhood in the 1920s.  Whatever your background, and whether or not you have ever eaten the delicate pastry enclosed in a paper sleeve, you will probably respond to the essence of Demas’s tale and Michael Garland’s almost photorealist pictures.

Once upon a time, there were many children’s picture books with extensive text. Electra opens with a portrait of the little girl and her mother. Electra is entrusted with an important errand. She will go to the local bakery to purchase six charlotte russes for her mother’s guests. These are Mrs. Papadapoulos, Mrs. Marcopoulos and her daughter, Athena. The guest without a melodic Greek last name is Miss Smith, who is learning Greek from Electra’s mother, in preparation for her upcoming marriage to Mr. Demetropoulis.  If you think this is an overly idealized portrait of immigrant communities, the motive behind the Greek language lessons is for the future Mrs. Demetropoulis “to understand what his relatives said behind her back.”

On the way Electra meets her friend, Murray Schwartz, whose tongue has turned green from eating a gumball.  A much older neighbor, Mr. Melnikoff, waxes nostalgic about the charlotte russes of his own past, calling them “a dessert fit for a princess.” The extended text occupies some pages, while others have only one or two sentences. A typical New York City apartment building, as rendered by Michael Garland, seems shaded in ombre light and colors, accompanied by the brief instructions to Electra not to run even though she is in a hurry.  Mrs. Zimmerman at the bakery repeats that prophetic warning to her young customer.

When Electra trips, damaging the exquisite works of art in her bakery carton, she tries to fix them. This leads, of course, to eating some of the whipped cream. A two-page spread shows four scenes of Electra’s face and hands as she attempts to even out the cream.  Every step of the process is detailed in sequence, from Electra’s entrance into her apartment building, to her settling on several landings with the pastries, and finally reaching her home. “They didn’t look quite like charlotte russes anymore, but at least they did look all the same.”

Fortunately, Electra’s mother had prepared other delicacies: baklava, diples, loukoumades and kourabedes. The guests enjoy the now transformed and unidentifiable charlottes russes. After they leave, Electra’s mother explains to her the concept of remorse. “Remorse is when you wish you hadn’t done something that you did.” But she isn’t angry with her daughter, and the book closes with Electra sitting on her mother’s lap.  Perhaps she would have been less forgiving if her guests had not enjoyed the gathering, or the pastries denuded of whipped cream. But I doubt that would have made a difference.

Miniature Medicine

The Inside Scouts Help the Strong Cheetah – written by Mitali Banerjee Ruths, illustrated by Francesca Mahaney
Scholastic, 2024

The format of this early readers graphic novel matches the content.  A compact 7×5 1/2 inches, it easily fits the hands of a young child.  The Inside Scouts series, by Mitali Banerjee Ruths and Francesca Mahaney, features the veterinary adventures of Sanjay and Viv, who shrink to fit the inside of animal in need of medical attention. (It may make you think of The Magic School Bus Inside the Human Body by Joanna Cole and Bruce Degen.) The title is intriguing. If the cheetah is strong, why does he need help?  With minimal text and bright graphics, young readers learn about the causes of muscle cramps and how much they can hurt.  Don’t worry; Sanjay and Viv are on the job.

The heroes of the story exchange their everyday clothes for uniforms with robotic arms and legs, tool packs, and shrink suits.  When Zora the cheetah pops up on their computer screen, they locate her and spring into action. Even with their high level of motivation, they are still kids. Sanjay briefly complains about the heaviness of this tool pack, but Viv reminds him that the cheetah needs help. There’s a Doctor Doolittle element to the story; the cheetah talks to them and explains his problem. They take him to the care lab, a doctor’s office with reassuring pictures of animals on the walls.

Fact and fantasy combine in the story. Navigating inside the cheetah’s body in their jump rocket, Sanjay and Viv use power tools to access the animal’s muscle, described as “bunched up ropes” that “look stuck.”  At the end of the book, “Fun Facts About Muscles” provides some more specific information about the musculoskeletal system.  (The author is a pediatrician.) The book’s best feature is its matter-of-fact approach to learning about science. The superhero approach is minimally elaborated. There is no back story about how Sanjay and Viv met or when they discovered their power to help animals.  Instead, their special identity is presented as a given, as is the underlying message about using one’s abilities to help others (even when a heavy backpack seems a burden). Educators and caregivers can certainly use the book as a starting point for learning more about the topic, but it also stands alone as an attractive and engaging story that blends fact and fiction.  On the penultimate page, Sanjay and Viv plan to rest, in anticipation of their next adventure.  Zora will not be the last animal who needs their help.