Tag: fiction

Stage Door

The Rehearsal Club – Kate Fodor and Laurie Petrou
Groundwood Books, 2025

Kate Fodor and Laurie Petrou’s new middle-grade novel, about aspiring actresses and quirky kids, is quite a production.  Alternating between two eras, it does not involve time travel, but rather involves a mystery in the past which contemporary characters have committed to solve.  If this description sounds somewhat formulaic, the novel transcends the very formula that frames its story.  While several familiar elements are there; the magic of theater, coming of age narratives, sibling and friendship rivalries, and intergenerational tensions, they avoid all the clichés associated with this popular literary and cinematic tradition.

The Rehearsal Club is a wonderful book.

Paloma “Pal” Gallagher is a twelve-year old girl who has just moved from Arizona to New York City, where her older sister, Naomi, is pursuing a career in theatre.  Pal’s parents are both librarians, and her mother has a new job in the New York Public Library system. Pal is outgoing and socially awkward at the same time, but she finds a crew of similarly category-resisting friends who provide one another with mutual support. The women’s residence where Naomi lives has a long history, but is now facing financial extinctions. Chapters set in 1954 follow two young mid-century characters, Olive and Posy, with contrasting personalities and different approaches to finding success on Broadway.  Meanwhile, in the present, Pal’s parents take off for a librarians’ conference and Pal, temporarily and surreptitiously, moves in with Naomi, and becomes part of her distinctive milieu.

The authors capture perfectly the competitiveness and camaraderie of theater life, in both the past and present. If it seems idealized to have such striking differences between Olive and Posy, the resolution of their dreams as parallel, more than intersecting, actually works.  At every point when the reader is asked to suspend disbelief just a bit, a surprise intervenes.  There are so many antecedents for the idea of conflict mixed with solidarity in this setting, that adding a new element seems improbable.  Melanie Crowder’s Mazie, for a young adult audience, is also inventive in simultaneously paying homage to clichés while dismantling them, and Shira and Esther’s Double Dream Debut by Anna E. Jordan plays with mistaken identity and explores Yiddish theater.

Characters age in The Rehearsal Club. The young and insecure Olive becomes an ageing grande dame with some decidedly unattractive qualities, but also a core of honesty and toughness. In fact, she reminded me a little of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, for those qualities as well as for her impatience with the idea of patronizing children.  Young people need to learn from older ones, and, fortunately, the advice offered by people with more experience actually has value. 

As the authors explain in their afterword, there was a rehearsal club in New York. That reality was an inspiration for the story of Pal, Olive, Posy, and all the others determined to break a leg and perform to great acclaim.  But only the imaginative and skilled approach of Fodor and Petrou allowed brought the script to life.

Giving a Young Woman Her Voice

Adi of Boutanga: A Story from Cameroon – written by Alain Serge Dzotop, illustrated by Marc Daniau
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2025 (originally published in French, 2019, Translated by the author)

Adi of Boutanga is an important book. That quality would not necessarily make it appealing, let alone essential, to read, but there are many other reasons why it is just that. A voice that resonates with the truth, beautiful illustrations and innovative graphics, a compelling story, and a deep sense of conviction will all enfold the reader in its narrative fabric.

Adi is fourth grader living in a nomadic community, the Mbororos, in Cameroon. Although they are traditionally herders, their economy has changed; Adi’s father transports passengers on his motorcycle and her mother sells Makala (doughnuts) in the marketplace. Adi’s identity is defined by family relationships: “I prefer to stay the big sister of Fadimatou, Zénabou, Youssoufa, Daïro, Souaïbou, and baby Mohamadou.”

Children cannot control their own lives, even to the limited extent that adults are able to do so. Adi loves attending her school, which she describes as a “gift” to the village by Mama Ly and Monsieur, generous benefactors. The process of learning to read may seem inherently magical to many children, but Dzotop captures the poetry of this experience and gives Adi a voice:

      Before the school was given to our village, words were invisible to us. We
      could hear them, but we couldn’t see or touch them. I even thought a
      a strong wind might steal them as soon as they left our mouths. But that
      wasn’t true.

Although there may seem to be a fable-like quality to the book, the characters are not generic. Adi’s mother embraces her daughter’s individuality, responding to Adi’s frequent laughter with the suggestion that her daughter has “swallowed a thousand weaverbirds.” But the warmth and protectiveness of Adi’s life is shattered when her uncle arrives to inform the family that, although still a child, she must marry. Her father and uncle assume opposite patriarchal roles, one caring and the other transactional. “They throw words at each other. Words that hit like stones.”

Saving their daughter means that Adi’s parents must send her away. She goes to Boutanga, where her benefactors have established a school for girls that fosters creativity and dignity. Even if this solution is not a global one, it is enough for Adi and an example for all. Eventually, when she has arrived at the point in her young adult life when she is able to choose, Adi finds love with a man who respects and understands her. Mastering language has been a key to her growth, “catching words… putting them in the right order and making sure they say the right thing.”

The book is not composed only of words, but of images that organically emerge from the culture which they represent. Pages with illustrations alternate with blocks of text set against traditional fabric patterns. Human figures allude to sculpture but have kinetic movement. Earth tones are the setting for the book’s quiet drama, with deep blue sea and red skies framing Adi’s journey. Adi of Boutanga is not a moral lesson, but a work of art that interweaves modern aspirations of freedom for women with the unique threads of a specific culture. It is a book to read, share with children, and read again.

The Happiest Country, a Long Time Ago

Happy Times in Finland – written by Libushka Bartusek, illustrated by Warren Chappell
Alfred A. Knopf, 1941

Everyone knows that Finland is allegedly the happiest country in the world.  You certainly can’t take these simplistic measures too seriously, and comparing Finland to other countries with entirely different histories, economies, and demographics is useless.  I recently reread an unusual childhood favorite, which I had bought at a library used book sale. Its appeal to me at the time remains vague. I would read almost anything, and it had lovely pictures and promised to tell a story about a distant part of the world. Happy Times in Finland, by  Libushka Bartusek, was published in 1941. At that point, it was indisputably not happy at all.  Having been invaded by the Soviet Union, they eventually allied with Germany in that country’s war with its Russian enemy.  This was a bad choice, but it is not reflected in the book, which takes place in the idyllic time period before the war.

There is minimal plot and character development in the book, but a lot of folklore.  To summarize the improbable premise, Juhani Malmberg, a Chicago Boy Scout with Finnish immigrant parents, goes to visit his ancestral homeland.  He is able to take this expensive trip due to the generosity of his father’s employer at a furniture factory, Mr. Adams.  Finland is known for, besides an improbable level of happiness, abundant high-quality wood. A furniture manufacturer would be eager to see firsthand the source of his best supplies. Since Mr. Malmberg is such a loyal employee, his benevolent boss actually takes Juhani along, for free! He has the opportunity to see his beloved grandparents, as well as his aunt, uncle, and cousins.  In addition, Juhani becomes an ambassador from the American Scouts to their Finnish counterparts.  Aside from missing his parents, there’s a lot of happiness here.

Poetic language fulfills expectations about a land endowed with natural resources, and steeped in literature.  Approaching land, Juhani seems to be expecting a myth and he finds one: “Sure enough, there it was, just as his mother said it would be: an expanse of water, blue as sapphire, with green islands dotting it, as though some giant had scattered a mammoth handful of emeralds on a silver-streaked scarf.”  Not only the environment, but its people, are described with hyperbole. Oddly, almost everyone is blond.  Finland has a Swedish minority; the name “Malmberg” indicates that his father’s family is descended from this group. His cousins’ last name is Kallio, of Finnish origin.

Finnish is not a Scandinavian language, but is related most closely to Estonian and Hungarian. (A glossary of Finnish words is included at the end of the book.) Here is a description of Juhani’s aunt, a veritable Amazon of pale beauty: “She was tall and blond, so blond, in fact, that Juhani thought she was white-haired…she had great dignity…he felt as though he were at the feet of some exceedingly beautiful statue, all made of silver and bronze and pearl…her teeth gleamed like mother-of-pear.” There are even references to “Viking blood.”

The few realistic elements stand out because of their minimal role in the story.  Aunt Kallio, Aiti to her children, has favorites among her offspring.  Her older son, Jussi, will vicariously fulfill her own dream by becoming an architect, a career closed to women. Eero, the younger boy, is not academically oriented. Unlike his parents, he prefers manual labor. She keeps her disappointment to herself, only thinking how he lacks “initiative.” “Oh, me! she sighed, one could not be everything.”  This statuesque symbol of perfection is unable to tolerate individual differences.

Warren Chappell’s illustrations, some in color and others sepia, appear to be lithographs.  They are stylized images, whether portraying men in a sauna or women clothed in traditional costumes for festivals. There is a haunting image of a blind storyteller who recites Finnish epic poetry.  Mr. Adams recognizes that the Kalevala’s metrics had influenced Longfellow’s composition of Hiawatha. The Old World and the New touch one another in this tale of immigrant roots, written as the shadow of fascism descended on Europe. It’s blatantly out-of-date and also oddly appealing, just for that reason.

Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered

The Witching Hour – written by Jennifer Harris, illustrated by Adelina Lirius
Tundra Books, 2025

My mother used to refer to “the witching hour,” that time late in the day when babies, toddlers, and young children seem to act a bit possessed. Whether because they have managed their impulses as best as they can for many hours, or need limits and reassurance, or are just exhausted, this can be a difficult moment for parents. The “hour” may seem like multiple hours.  Jennifer Harris and Adelina Lirius (I reviewed another of her works here) have captured the phenomenon so perfectly in their new picture book that you and your children will be under their spell. Indeed, as Harris solemnly states, “Anything can happen in the witching hour.”

The two mothers in the book are paragons of patience, trying every inventive solution you might imagine, and then some.  First, the acknowledge that anything, “or even nothing at all,” can set the chaos in motion.  A baby overturns a cup of liquid on a table enclosed in a lovely tree trunk. Yes, we all recognize that scene.  An older child wearing an acorn cap looks on, clearly worried about the next phase.  The author is honest in calling it “chaos.” It takes both moms to extricate the screaming toddler from her highchair. An adult chair is overturned, a black cat arches its back, and the sibling covers her ears in terror.

One of the most frustrating features of the witching hour, when it happens, is escalation. “Coos can become cries.  Cries can become caterwauls. Caterwauls can become crescendos.”  Harris uses every figure of speech at her disposal: alliteration, onomatopoeia, literary allusions, rhythm.  Perhaps your child can be calmed by a favorite stuffed animal. The moms try a variety of real wildlife, finally settling on the owl. You know the feeling of relief: “Definitely the owl. Thank goodness for the owl.”

If you were hoping for fairies, you won’t be disappointed.  They arrive and join in the music and dancing, in a kinetic scene of joy mixed with desperation. Lirius’s fabulous pictures evoke an entire universe where the fantastic and the familiar are effortlessly blended. Earth colors predominate and the domestic interiors are as welcoming as those in Dutch still paintings. One mom holds the baby, who looks momentarily transfixed. The other mom is dancing upside down, her feet fixed to a magical broom.  Fairies usually command attention, but here they are a great audience. When the show ends (who could sustain that level of energy), the moms come down to earth. 

There are still many comforting possibilities to try: “this bottle, this banana, this bat.” The moms are creative and full of hope, waiting for the moon to signal that at least for today, it’s time to sleep. Suspension of disbelief sets in for this lovely family of nurturing witches. Tomorrow they we ready to start again, with all the resources at their disposal. For readers, this home of friendly spider webs, baskets of knitting yarn, and a quaint wood stove, seems uncannily real. For the duration of the story, you will be living among friends, and the supernatural is just, natural.

Color of Grief

All the Blues in the Sky – by Renée Watson
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2024

Sage is a thirteen-year-old girl whose best friend is killed by a reckless driver. This terrible event happens on Sage’s birthday. The terms “losing” someone, or “passing away,” would be completely inadequate to describe the shock, numbness, and internalized rage that follow the accident.  Renée Watson’s verse novel gives Sage a voice in each chapter, narrated from the unaffected perspective of a person confronting emotions that would level a strong adult. With the same sensitivity to the process of growing up shown in her other works (which I have reviewed here and here and here), Watson creates characters who are vulnerable, but also strong.

In All the Blues in the Sky the experiences that test Sage are not the ordinary, but still difficult ones, of every adolescence, although those experiences, such as having divorced parents, are the framework for her growth.  Her parents are supportive, as is Aunt Ini, her surrogate grandmother.  She even has the benefit of a grief counseling group facilitated by Ms. Carver, who is nothing if not patient and professional. Mr. Dixon, Sage’s dedicated math teacher, offers slightly irritating, but totally sincere, life lessons: “Understanding angle relationships in math will help you understand your personal, real-life relationships…There are people –like transversal lines – that cross paths with you, only for a moment.”

There are other people in her life who are grieving.  Zay’s grandmother has died, and she admits relief at the end of her suffering. DD’s brother was killed by the police.  Ebony’s father had a heart attack. Sage is forced to constantly evaluate which types of death are hardest for survivors. No one has been able to answer this question.  Her friend’s death was abrupt and senseless. Sage never had a chance to say good-bye. Other survivors had to helplessly watch a long period of illness preceding a death.  Another troubling part of Sage’s role, which is only implicit in the novel, is her specific relationship to the person who died. She is not a sister, mother, or child, but a friend.  When a relationship is not formally recognized, the most profound sadness can seem somehow less important, although her friend’s family certainly honors Sage’s role in their loved one’s life.

For almost the entire book, Sage’s friend remains unnamed.  There could be many narrative, and psychological, reasons for this choice.  Articulating her name is too difficult, too final.  Nameless, she is both a real person and a tangible symbol for anyone who has grieved.  Words cannot capture the friend’s unique qualities, although Sage gives many examples of their closeness, and even of the tensions that leave her with unresolved guilt.  But specific, mundane, questions are more important than generalities: “What will her parents do with the posters on the wall?” Sage asks, “What will they do with her jean and T-shirts and sweaters/ and sneakers and sandals and socks and leggings and bracelets/ and earrings…”

Sage grieves, but she also falls in love, and begins to fulfill her dream of learning to fly.  More losses are in store, and Watson never minimizes their depth with platitudes. “If I live long enough to be an adult/and if I have children when I am an adult/I will tell them as much as I can about all the loss…” The phrase. “If I live long enough” from a girl of thirteen is terrible, but Sage’s resolve to tell her children the truth is something of a triumph.

Not Scary, Really

This Book is Dangerous! (A Narwhal and Jelly Picture Book #1) – written and illustrated by Ben Clanton
Tundra Books, 2025

What is the difference between Narwhal and Jelly, the sea creature duo from Ben Clanton, when they appear in a picture book or in their previous format, graphic novels (see here and here and here)? This is not a rhetorical question. While in This Book is Dangerous! they inhabit a larger format with a somewhat more intense narrative pace, they still have the same lovably sincere personalities.  There is a narrower range of characters and fewer digressions. Jelly is focused on his fears, given the title of his picture book debut.

Jelly is rendered in Clanton’ inimitable style, with a touch of Ed Emberley simplicity. His inverted eyebrows and down-turned mouth ask the reader what on earth, or in the sea, is going on: “UH…DID YOU READ THE TITLE OF THIS BOOK?!” The redundant punctuation tells you just how terrified he is.  Soon he is caught in a maze of signs urging caution, peril, and the need to stop. Jelly believes that the reader can help him to decode them and offer advice.

There are sea serpents with sharp teeth and a cannon which may or may not be non-functional. Jelly is actually transformed into a dark red cannonball, as Clanton extends the character’s legs, opens his eyes wide, and reverse the direction of the eyebrows.  Children relate to artwork that seems to contain elements of their own.

The drama settles down, and the book briefly returns to the idiosyncrasies of the graphic novels.  A page entitled “SOME NEARBY ITEMS” also reminded me The Everything in the Whole Wide World Museum: With Lovable Furry Old Grover, although the stakes are higher. Jelly needs support, but he may have some problems depending on “PRICKLY UNDERSEA PINEAPPLE,” or “RANDOM CACTUS.”

Jelly becomes angry, disappointed with the reader who, as in The Monster at the End of This Book, does not seem to understand the gravity of his problem. After all, someone who cannot help him extricate himself from danger is as dangerous as the book itself and all the horrors it contains. When Jelly finds some courage, along with ingenuity, and a bit of luck, he feels calmer, safer, and happy to meet his old friend Narwhal for a nostalgic ending.  His warning not to read the book over again is not to be taken literally.

Writing Is Heroic

The Trouble with Heroes – by Kate Messner
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2025

“I’m still sad and I’m still angry sometimes, because so much stuff isn’t fair and grief is totally on that list.” That sentence, from a letter to a dead woman whose gravestone he defaced in a moment of rage, is by Finn Connelly, a boy in middle school. His father, a New York City firefighter, survived 9/11/2001, only to succumb years later, during the Covid-19 pandemic. This novel in verse, by acclaimed author Kate Messner, is getting excellent reviews. Instead of just adding to them, I will make a few points about some questions that the book raises.

It seems counterintuitive that novels in verse should have become so popular. Reading poetry is not in the mainstream of middle-grade or young adult literature.  Having read many of these books, it has become obvious that the most attractive feature of this genre maybe its short length. Each chapter is a short poem, often, but not always, in a conversational or free verse form.  The Trouble with Heroes is not this kind of facile example, which relieves the author of the obligation to create a narrative with continuity between each part. Simply dividing sentences of prose into shorter lines does not add up to poetry.  Whenever I read an accomplished book in verse for young readers (I have, for example, reviewed other examples here and here and here), I am impressed that the author has thoughtfully crafted a distinctive voice for a range of characters, often using a variety of metric forms.

Middle-grade literature is full of angry kids. Childhood and adolescence provide many reasons to be angry, and Finn’s motives are severe enough to grant him a kind of instant empathy. Still, vandalizing someone’s grave is awful, and needs to be met with a strong response. Should that response be a punishment, an opportunity for growth, or perhaps a mere acknowledgement that being a victim does not excuse victimizing others?  Finn earns the reader’s respect, not because his life is unbearably sad, but by his honest, caustic, and introspective reactions to everything life has thrown in his path. We would still feel sympathy for what he has suffered, but that emotion alone does not make a character worth the reader’s attention for over 300 pages.

The adults in Finn’s life are imperfect, from his mother, worn down by her own burdens, to his supportive grandmother, to the teacher who expects him to turn in poems about heroes. One truth that emerges from Finn’s story is that each person is trapped in his own experience, which can never be fully shared. At the same time, Finn struggles, and learns how to accept the flawed, tarnished, human beings who care about him.  Whenever adults do their best to impart survival skills, learned from their own experiences, the author needs to weigh the validity of the child’s response.  Finn is not obligated to be fair, but Messner succeeds in creating a character whose contradictions are believable.

Finally, there are recipes in some of the poems.  I was relieved by that, because Finn enjoys food, and his family bakery plays a role in the plot.  I was afraid he was going to be thrown into mountain climbing in the Adirondacks because Edna, the woman whose grave he vandalized, had touched people’s lives through her commitment to hiking.  The outdoors are not necessarily the ideal setting for every single human being to undergo life-affirming epiphanies. How appropriate was the choice, by Edna’s daughter, to enforce hiking as an alternative to more punitive consequences? Readers may differ on the answer, but I appreciated the references to other areas of Finn’s life that did not involve potentially brutal geography, wild animals, and a mother’s totally realistic fears for her son.

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.

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?

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.