Tag: picture-book

Fight the Patriarchy

The Many Problems of Rochel-Leah – written by Jane Yolen, illustrated by Felishia Henditirto
Apples & Honey Press, 2024

In this truthful fable by Jane Yolen, who explains in the afterword that the story is based on one passed down in her family, Rochel-Leah does not fight the patriarchy. (I’ve reviewed other books by the inimitable and prolific Jane Yolen here and here and here and here and here and here and here and here.)  Instead, as girls and women have done through the ages, she subverts it.  Rochel-Leah is a Jewish girl growing up in Eastern Europe in the 1830s. She works hard, as her family struggles with poverty. Her father is a bottler, and her mother takes on traditional tasks in the home. But Rochel-Leah wants to read. (images) She will not give up her dream, even when confronted with resistance from family, community, and even the town rabbi. This man, who has dedicated himself to learning, cannot bring himself to permit extending that essential part of his culture to a girl. (I’ve written elsewhere about the gender roles in the Old Country when these shtetl dwellers move to the New World, and  I’ve reviewed books about Jewish children’s literature that take on the topic here and here and here.)

Rochel-Leah’s desire to read is all-encompassing. She longs to read recipes, folk tales, and poetry, but she also wants to read the word of God in the Torah. In Felishia Henditirto’s picture, Rochel-Leah is consumed by this passion, stated on a wave of fragrant steam coming from the cooking pot that defines a woman’s role.  In her home, literacy is respected and embraced. Her father reads aloud to the family, and her brothers have the privilege of reading books and newspapers. They learn Hebrew in their cheder, and also Yiddish and Russian.  Pictures of them sitting attentively in a primitive schoolroom are a stark contrast to Rochel-Leah’s exclusion from this setting.

Instead, she is angry, but also “determined.” In Yolen’s metaphor, Rochel-Leah’s “lips grew think, like a dash on a page,” and ‘her eyes turned gray, like the color of old ink.” So consumed is she with the desire to learn that her chin becomes as pointed as a yad, used for pointing to the letters of a Torah scroll.

The rejection of women is painful for a girl who needs support. Her mother actually weeps because she cannot help her. (image) Her father counters reality by denying that she has any cause for complaint, and her brothers laugh at her. (images). Most people would give up, but Rochel-Leah has a strength of unknown origin. She will confront the rabbi.

This devoted scholar is walking through the woods “reading poetry to the birds.” Is he so unworldly that this humble activity is important to him, or is his choice of audience one more example of his complete lack of awareness of women’s humanity? The rabbi informs her that rules cannot be broken. How much wisdom does that answer denote? Rochel-Leah’s inventive solution is to stand outside her brothers’ school and listen to the lessons taking place.  A picture of this stark division shows the letters of the Hebrew alphabet flowing through the wall, defying the restrictions against who can learn them. Then, she physically elevates herself on a ladder. She has forced the rabbi to take notice, and he concedes that rules cannot be broken, but they may be bent. He finally understands the depth of Rochel-Leah’s commitment, although he can only accept it as, to some extent, an exception. She is invited in to learn, but will have to hide in a closet if an inspector comes in. This closet is literal, as well as figurative.

Rochel-Leah grows up to become a teacher. Change eventually arrives, with many Jewish women now fully participating in the life of the mind that was denied them in the past. 

One Person, One Character, One Goal

Little Monk Writes Rain – written and illustrated by Hsu-Kung Liu, translated by Rachel Wāng Yῠng-Hsín
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2026

This exceptionally beautiful and gently philosophical picture book is about a Buddhist monk who has difficulty learning written language, with the exception of one Chinese character. He is singularly focused on writing the character for “rain,” and this limited but powerful ability persists throughout all the onslaughts, as well as the peaceful times, of his life. The book opens vertically, like a writing tablet.  Delicate watercolor and ink drawings reflect traditional art, without mere imitation.  When the book begins, the character is a young boy. Of course, character has two meanings here, an individual human and a symbol for written expression. 

He first appears at the monastery in a tiny woven basket; as he grows, he is integrated into the community of prayer and manual labor, as well as reading and writing. For better or worse, he is not completely isolated from the outside world.  A mention of casual cruelty makes this clear, because “Little Monk is not able to learn to read. And sometimes, other people laugh at him.” Those people are shown as children peering through a doorway. One has a bird on his head, an allusion to innocence, or perhaps of something worse. That oddly positioned bird may point do a different and less excusable deficiency, lack of empathy.

Suddenly, “for some unknown reason,” it begins to rain incessantly. Joining an older monk indoors, the little monk learns to write the character for rain. After introduction of the character, whenever it appears in the book, it is simply left standing without any guide to pronunciation.  The reader may choose to read the character as “rain,” or to research how to pronounce it and attempt to do so. This seems a deliberate feature of the book, given that the nature of language, at least as people use it every day, is as framed by “some unknown reason” as the rain itself.

As in a fairy tale, the hero persists against adversity. Every day he performs his work tasks, but also writes the one character he has been able to master. Over the years, he grows up, becoming “Big Monk,” but his inner character remains unchanged. Then the environment suffers a reversal, and a drought threatens the world.  The monks take responsibility for leading others in prayers to end the drought. They are well-equipped and organized, “taking their Buddhist beads and prayer books to help folks appeal to the heavens.” There is no sense of superiority in their actions. Meanwhile, Big Monk also prepares, by gathering together his impressive collection of calligraphy, all consisting of the one character for rain..

A vertical two pace spread is a magnificent scene washed in red and gold, of a plaza where ordinary “folks” pray while important men and “splendid altars” dazzle. “Even the Emperor is here.” When the monks arrive, they also appear important to the reader, wearing their crown-like broad hats and bearing their sacred scrolls. But their clothes are “shabby.” In folklore, many times the high and mighty are brought low by their sense of self-importance. At first the monks are unable to respond, feeling faint and weakened by the intense heat. But, seeing the distinguished shifu, for all their knowledge, reduced to angry and petty squabbling, they gather to pray. Big Monk cannot read the prayers, but opens his basket of rain characters and is “flooded with memories.”

Now the monk has a biography. He remembers a conversation overheard long ago. He learned that he was an orphan who had been brought to the monastery. At the age of five, he began to learn writing. His teacher, originally a child, grew old, and the died. The cruelty mentioned earlier in the book intensifies in his memories, as he is “pelted with rocks.” All his thoughts of the past, and all his distinctive qualities, together form a response. He offers his sheets of writing to the heavens and the rain begins. An “ecstatic” crowd of people personifies the rain, elevated above the rain drops with joy.

Little Monk Writes Rain does not use the word “dyslexia.” An afterword, as thoughtful in tone as the rest of the book, explains that some people have difficulties learning to read. Hsu-Kung Liu presents thoughts and questions about the relationship between pictures, words, and the stories that they record. He reminds readers that sometimes “one word means everything.” Of course, those readers may be either children or adults. This remarkable book is a work of art, and a bridge to understanding life itself.

Instructional Jam

How Not to Make a Jelly Sandwich – written and illustrated by Ross Burach
Scholastic Press, 2026

There are an endless number of projects that demand instructions for adult readers. For children, some of these may seem quite pointless. Ross Burach’s How Not to Make a Jelly Sandwich gets right to the point, providing clear guidelines for the preparation of a culinary favorite. There is not even any peanut butter here, just jelly, apparently grape or maybe strawberry. There is a determined little girl, and some animals to help.

Starting from the beginning, she draws plans on an architect’s planning board. Nothing will be taken for granted. There are only “five simple steps,” cutting out grownup nonsense about specialized qualities of the ingredients. She begins with a trip to the supermarket, where she purchases scuba diving equipment and bread, distributing the latter to some ducks in a pond. The series of detours in making a sandwich are a kind of parody of self-important instructional literature. For kids, they are just funny.

The next step is bathing a dog (other children’s authors have also handled the pet-bathing conundrum), followed by directing a medieval pageant. It may seem like a digression, but the dog’s tail will become a jam knife. Here is where spectacle becomes part of the sandwich preparation, involving placing bread and jelly on the tips of the knights’ lances. Since cultivating the right attitude is often considered essential, the girl uses positive reinforcement with hamsters, who will employ their unicycles to cut the sandwich in half. Seemingly useless activities often have an ultimate goal, especially to children.

The reward for all of these focused series of actions is a jelly-sandwich eating event, including everyone who has helped, or temporarily hindered, the sandwich construction. Returning to the title, with its “Not” inserted between “How” and “to,” according to the author information on the back cover, the author is having ironic fun with a typical school assignment. How much room for creativity is available when listing instructions on demand? Backmatter offers some more unorthodox suggestions for sandwich prep, and children will undoubtedly come up with more.

Subject to Change

Ruthie – written and illustrated by Esmé Shapiro
Tundra Books, 2026

It’s impossible to mistake a book by Esmé Shapiro with the work of any other artist (I’ve reviewed her work here and here and here). Her odd, rounded, comically proportioned figures, their quirky thoughts put into the perfect words, as well as the underlying premise of Shapiro’s universe, are all there. (Her pictures in this book are rendered in gouache, watercolor, colored pencils, and collage.) Life is strange, funny, poignant, and always suitable to be made into art.  In Ruthie, a haughty dog believes that he is a prince. Just look at this pet’s bedroom, with its pink-ribboned canopy and fancy vanity.  Royal pictures adorn the walls and a crown, perhaps paper, sits next to brush and hair ornaments. A picture book, left carelessly open, on the floor, features a castle and dragon. Someone must be in charge of picking up this mess, but it’s not the monarch himself.

Ruthie lives in a smallish castle, resembling a brick house. Through the window we can see Ruthie’s human queen, the same one who feeds and grooms him, taking care of his every need. Ruth imperiously identifies some of his favorite objects: bone, fish, and three-year old piece of cake.  This is the only tone he knows how to adopt when communicating his needs. 

There are some disadvantages to her living arrangement. The responsive and super-competent queen sometimes keeps Ruthie on a short leash. The dog-prince suspects that there may be experiences which he is missing, such as a parade given in her honor, but freedom is inconsistent with instantly available blueberry pancakes and a relaxing bath.

Preaching is not part of Shapiro’s vocabulary. When Ruthie breaks loose, he is initially thrilled with the possibilities, but soon he is covered with mud. Strangely, the animals he meets don’t recognize his authority. But explaining his predicament to a, naturally, wise owl, Ruthie finally has the means to return from his Oz-like journey, back to the safety of the person who loves him unconditionally. He even recognizes that, in his quest to get rid of the mud, he has  made “a new friend or two.”

Starring Cecilia

The Curious Life of Cecilia Payne – written by Laura Alary, illustrated by Yas Imamura
Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2026

Cecilia Payne-Gaposchkin: her name has the ring of poetry.  Before she married Russian scientist Sergei Gaposchkin, she was Cecilia Payne, a brilliant and curious young woman born in the U.K., who later emigrated to the U.S. to pursue studies at Harvard.  In Laura Alary and Yas Imamura’s picture book biography (I previously reviewed an Imamura book here), Cecilia Payne’s intellectual gifts and incredible persistence pave the way to her unlikely success as an astrophysicist in an era when women confronted almost insurmountable obstacles.  The adjective of the title refers both to Payne’s inquiring mind, and to the way that her distinguished career evolved.

The book begins with a significant statement: “When she was eight years old, Cecilia Payne discovered she was a scientist.” Alary asserts that Cecilia knew this essential fact, not merely an aspiration, about herself.  Yet she begins at ground level, only later pursuing the stars. At first, Cecilia notices a bee orchid, a flower that, according to her mother, did not grow in England.  The scientific method begins to form in her mind, like the bee enclosed in this flower.  She continues to examine the flower, but also promises herself that she will not allow herself to become discouraged by resistance to her ideas.

The qualities that drew Cecilia to the study of nature contrast with the social expectations surrounding her.  When other children see “twinkling diamonds” in the heavens, she is compelled to determine the actual substance and origin of these beautiful visions.Fortunately, a teacher promotes Cecilia’s scientific literacy, but she encounters setbacks when her family moves to London, where, in a new school,  she is isolated by her singular love of knowledge. Imamura’s picture captures both this potentially destructive social deficit, as well as Cecilia’s healthy response. Seated at her desk, she is the only girl looking, not distracted, but intently focused. A group of girls observe her drawing natural objects, but their apparent disapproval cannot dissuade Cecilia from her purpose.

If childhood disdain is difficult, the adult version can be even worse. Arriving at Cambridge University, Payne is thrilled to be in the midst of possibilities.  Knowledge is not limited to what is immediately visible.  Against a background of male profiles, Imamura envisions a young woman who believes herself to be part of this world, but problems will emerge. Soon she be observing the skies with a telescope, but on the planet earth, men make the rules.  Forced to sit by herself in a lecture hall filled with arrogant male scholars, Payne’s determination is forged even further by adversity. Imamura’s quiet depiction of this scene is free of overt drama, but clearly sends a message about the reality that Payne will repeatedly confront.

Arriving at Harvard, Payne finds both the proverbial room of one’s own, and the support of other women scientists, but also, a thick layer of disdain beneath the hypocritical veneer of hypocrisy.  Imamura’s vision of this phenomenon is perfect. Attempting to explain to her male colleagues her revolutionary hypothesis about the true substance of stars, she is subjected to Harvard mansplaining. One distinguished perpetrator smokes his pipe and looks away, as if her ideas don’t even merit attention. Another stares into a book, while a third, gesturing with his hands for emphasis, informs her that she is wrong. In a later scene of understated triumph, Payne engages with her students, encouraging their questions and treating them with respect.

There are many excellent picture books about women in the sciences (for example, I have previously reviewed biographies of Emmy Noether, Lise Meitner, and Rosalind Franklin).  Brilliance and determination are not always enough to assure fairness.  The detailed backmatter of The Curious Life of Cecilia Payne  offers clarification about her life, times, and successful career, with Imamura’s beautiful illustrations complementing the information, as it does everywhere in this outstanding and inspiring book. 

Cloudy with a Chance of Beauty

Kumo the Bashful Cloud – written by Kyo Maclear, illustrated by Nathalie Dion
Tundra Books, 2022

Children sometimes personify clouds, and so do adults. While the actual scientific facts about their existence is also enthralling, spinning stories about their evanescent shapes is an important pastime. Kumo is bashful, insecure, but also socially enough inclined to welcome the friendship of Cumulus and Cirrus.

When the book opens, Kumo is so pale as to be almost invisible. As Kyo Maclear narrates (I’ve reviewed her other works here and here and here and here and here), “for many years, her only wish was to float unseen.” Yet circumstances change and she adapts, if, at first, reluctantly. “Her mind was heavy with doubt” may seem an intense statement of consciousness to a child, but it makes sense. She is frightened, then trapped in a tree. A friendly kite, not a cloud by cloud-adjacent, helps her out. So does the wind, and a lake, fields, and “singing glaciers.” The natural world is her ally. But When Cumulus feels “under the weather” and Cirrus departs for a cloud convention, she is worried.

Nathalie Dion’s pastel images with touches of brighter color perfectly match the poetry of the text. Eventually, Kumo begins to interact more with the human world, helping a man to plant petunias, and even enjoying an urban scene full of lively families. One child holds a red balloon, while another, with oversized black glasses and dark hair, wears matching red pants. That child is revealed to be somewhat like Kumo. With his head in the proverbial clouds, he loves to dream. Soon he transforms Kumo into a bunny, a car, and a flying horse.

With the boy’s help, Kumo ascends to “the top of the world,” and even reaches out to new friends. With the lovely Japanese names of Fuwa-chan, Miruku, and Mochi, helpfully explained in a short glossary, they support one another, both literally and figuratively. Being alone and having friends, both meteorological and human, both turn out to be within Kumo’s flexible reach. Kumo the Bashful Cloud reveals wisdom with a light touch.

Let It Snow

The Snow Theater – written and illustrated by Ryoji Arai, translated from the Japanese by David Boyd
Enchanted Lion Books, 2025

The art of Ryoji Arai’s The Snow Theater demands strong adjectives: intense, stunning, original, but also: unpretentious, dream-like, and accessible. The reason for this contrast, aside from the artist’s incredible gifts, is the imagery’s blend of naiveté and sophistication, with splashes of color as well as carefully delineated figures. Arai’s pictures capture what it feels like to be a child, and specifically to be captivated by the experience of snow. Snow as theater is not at all artificial, from a child’s point of view. It is a gift, perhaps unanticipated, that then takes on different qualities, including joy. It is familiar, but can also be strange.

There are innumerable children’s picture books about snow, and many are excellent, beginning with the Ezra Jack Keats classic The Snowy Day (see some other examples here and here and here and here and here and here and here). The Snow Theater is not unique, but both its design and philosophy and language are distinctive enough to merit acclaim (it is translated by David Boyd, who has translated some of the Chirri and Chirra books, also published in English by Enchanted Lion). It opens indoors, where two boys are “keeping warm” and “looking at a book.” The first picture has the reader looking towards them from outside, where they are framed in the window, almost like residents of a dollhouse. Then, a two-page spread is divided into several more specific descriptions of their activity, and one larger scene of it result. At first they are sharing a picture book about butterflies in a cooperative spirit. Then, the friend of the boy who lives in the house “badly wants to borrow the book,” and the idyll is ruined. That adjective, “badly,” prepares you for the act of, perhaps accidental, aggression that results when the book is damaged.

Now the boy is devastated. Worse, the book is actually one of his father’s favorites, adding a dimension of anxiety to an already tense situation. Arai traces the arc of the boy’s feelings. They boy had wanted to share the book with his friend, not only because they both liked butterflies, but in order to communicate its special status in his family. Worried, he leaves the house and begins to ski through the snow. Suddenly, he finds himself looking into a miniature theatrical production. There are “snow people,” including ballerinas. They surround him physically, occupying his senses. Then the scale seems to change, as he sees “a large theater in front of him.” Yet the performers, who include singers, still appear to be tiny. “Everybody floated quietly to their places, like freshly fallen snow.” There are echoes of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker, with impressionistic colors. Snow people reflect the color of rainbows. Icicles are suspended from their limbs and odd pieces of scenery, like an Easter Island head, occupy the elaborate background.

Then the show ends. As in The Nutcracker, viewers wonder if the performance was a dream, or if the protagonist had really undertaken a mysterious journey. The kinetic, and ephemeral, experience of a snowstorm seems to have been the boy’s escape from emotional difficulty. He reaches across the snow to find his friend against a field of butterflies, only some of which are enclosed within a book. The boy’s father appears with the awaited resolution: “Let’s get you home.” A cup of hot cocoa by a warm stove brings back domestic security, but the song of the snow people is reprised in the boy’s memory.

Roman Holiday

Piccolo – written and illustrated by Dan Yaccarino
Christy Ottaviano Books (Little, Brown and Company), 2025

Piccolo is not actually set in Rome, but rather in Bella Città, a marvelous place where animals speak Italian, visit cultural treasures, and eat delicious gelato. A lively shrew who enjoys riding his moped and frequenting cafés, the title character has several friends who help him when he goes in search of his favorite hazelnut ice cream. There are several detours along the way, and Piccolo will never say “no” to an amusing distraction, or a chance to help out.

Dan Yaccarino’s picture book world is generally reassuring. Populated by people, and the animals who sometimes are similar to them, his stories maintain a balance of challenges and happiness. Whether in Every Friday, whose father and son pair enjoy a special weekly time together, Doug Unplugged, where a young robot breaks free of his charger, or I Am a Story, an ode to literacy, readers connect to his colorful images and comfortingly familiar characters.  Every Yaccarino book is different, but identifiable for its warmth and humanity.

Piccolo has created a list with his fountain pen while sipping espresso and planning his day. He “loves his friends very much,” and the truth of this statement, while obvious, is also proven by multiple examples.  Enzo the hedgehog, Mr. Rosso the fox, and Brother Mantis are all greeted with an enthusiastic Buongiorno or Ciao.

Piccolo’s need for gelato is not so pressing that he can’t help Mr. Rosso, an artist, to carry his painting to the museum, or to ensure that Mrs. Gallina and her chicks safely cross a busy street. (This errand seems like an homage to Robert McCloskey’s Boston street scene in Make Way for Ducklings.)

The cinematic scenes include Piccolo racing to rescue his friend Sofia’s hat by climbing to the top of Tempo Tower clutching the hands of its clock with bravery and skill. In another artist’s vision, this feat could be frightening, but Piccolo’s determined expression makes it clear that he is not taking an unnecessary risk.  Not every one of his detours is so dramatic. He is also happy to retrieve a soccer ball from the fountain and play for a while, and to assist a young crocodile with his necktie.  Yaccarino can easily devote his attention to the smallest actions as well as the most difficult ones. There is some real tension when Piccolo reaches the gelateria and presses his nose against the glass, his purple shadow illustrating the hour, and that “he is too late.” But when Miss Dolce arrives, her leftover hazelnut gelato becomes a simple problem to solve. Grazie, Dan Yaccarino, for this affectionate introduction to Italian culture, perfectly designed for young, and older, readers.

Little New Year

Weiwei’s Winter Solstice – written and illustrated by Michelle Jing Chan
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2025

Even if you are familiar with traditions surrounding Chinese New Year, you may not know about an adjacent celebration, Dōngzhi; author and illustrator Michelle Jing Chan explains the origins and significance of this winter solstice festival.  Falling between December 21-23, it is sometimes known as “Little New Year,” and points towards longer days, coming warmth and light, and good fortune.  The book itself if full of bright colors and supportive family relationships, as Weiwei adjusts to life in a new home, where “there are no hummingbirds or chrysanthemums” and “it’s too cold for a screen on the door.”

Weiwei’s family is identifiably a real one. Her grandfather, Yeye, enthusiastically dresses her for the cold weather, but they also seem aware of her unhappiness. Once they are prepared, their outing in the icy outdoors becomes a delight.  Set against a backdrop of snow, Weiwei, in her bright blue parka and red boots, notes how the frozen river “sparkles like a mirror,” and each family member is engaged with nature. Still, when they return home, and begin to prepare the special treat associated with Dōngzhi, I couldn’t help finding their kitchen to be a welcome respite from the admittedly scenic outdoors. It’s both spacious and cozy and everyone seems absorbed in the task. (Chan includes a recipe for black sesame tāng yuán in the backmatter.) I particularly like the contrast between blue and white, from the floor tiles to items of clothing, as Weiwei drops balls of dough into broth.

Sadly, the grandmother has died, and one moving two-page spread depicts the family showing reverence to deceased ancestors (image), serving them tea and special foods. There is a smiling portrait of the grandmother on a shelf, accompanied by plants, fruits, and incense. Sense impressions rise from the page. Facial expressions connote, not sadness, but loving memories. Sensory metaphors also convey difficult feelings. Yeye explains to his granddaughter that tāng yuán itself mimics the sound of the word for togetherness. He confesses to having felt sadness when he first moved to America. Eventually, senses, and the emotions they corroborate, make sense to Weiwei, and she compares the delicious sensation of eating tang yuán with deep contentment: “I feel like a golden sun.” Weiwei’s Winter Solstice is a graceful homage to tradition and family, as well as to change.

Lunch Matters

I Like Cheese! (A Kat and Mouse Book)– written and illustrated by Salina Yoon
Bloomsbury Children’s Books, 2025

Sharing and comparing lunch may be important for children, or for cats and mice playing the role of children.  In Salina Yoon’s universe, animals are particularly sensitive and believable stand-ins for humans. (for example, a penguin and an octopus or an elephant). In this brightly colored graphic novel, Kat and Mouse compare lunches; one of them has seemingly higher culinary standards than the other. Will this affect their friendship? 

While I can’t call it an homage to Russell Hoban and Lillian Hoban’s Bread and Jam for Frances, it’s impossible to read Yoon’s book without that classic in mind.  Debbi Michiko Florence wrote her own version of lunchtime differences in Jasmine Toguchi, Mochi Queen.  In Yoon’s wonderful picture book about beginning school, Bear’s Big Day, the title character is unable to touch his lunchbox because of anxiety over the new experience.

When they meet for lunch, Mouse simply brings “only the best food there is!” Mouse brings that food—cheese—in a no-frills lunchbox, while Kat’s stupendous meal overflows from a family-sized basket.  Every day she brings a different creation, from a sub sandwich that takes up two pages, as well as another two with its name surrounded by Broadway lights. Nevertheless, Mouse is completely secure in his choice, even describing its subtlety, “sweet and savory, but still mild, with a hint of nuttiness – a true delight!”

While there is no overt competitiveness damaging their friendship, gradually Kat becomes curious. Then, Mouse starts to question his own uninterrupted happiness with cheese. Could he actually be boring? Kat even suggests a trial separation.  Not surprisingly for adults, this drastic experiment is unnecessary. Young readers will be reassured about different tastes coexisting, and even strengthening friendship. (as is also the point of It Is Okay by Ye Guo).  Yoon always succeeds in leavening her appealing books with an unobtrusive message. If eating alone leaves you gloomy, and bluer than blue cheese itself, it may be time to reconsider what matters.