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.
Gift & Box – written by Ellen Mayer, illustrated by Brizida Magro Alfred A. Knopf, 2023
It’s good to know that there are still authors and illustrators celebrating the postal system. Ellen Mayer and Brizida Magro’s wonderful addition to this genre opens with endpapers that display visually specific examples of snail mail. There are some real stamps, invented ones, postmarks, and snippets of correspondence. In the tradition spanning Tibor Gergely’s Seven Little Postman, Rosemary Wells’s works, and Zoey Abbott’s I Do Not Like Yolanda, Gift & Box describes the unique experience of sending a letter or package via USPS.
Two personified objects, a gift and a box, meet and employ their complementary skills to make someone happy. The pictures are composed artfully. The love between a grandparent and grandchild is also at the center of the story. (Regular readers of this blog know that picturebooks about grandmothers are one of my favorite subgenres; see here and here and here and here and here and here.) We see Grandma happily tying a bow on a bag decorated with lovely eyes and a friendly smile. A scissor, string, tags, and scraps occupy the bottom of the page, with white space in between. There are also images of real stamps. They are real not only in the sense of legitimate, but they are from the era when stamps were actually engraved, on woven paper in a range of beautiful colors. These three appear to be deep green, carmine, and bright blue-green. (If you look closely, the one cent “Industry and Agriculture: For Defense” stamp is reproduced with inverted lettering. This might be a deliberate choice.)
The gift and box work together. Mayer emphasizes the cooperative aspect of their task: “Gift’s purpose was to delight. Box’s purpose was to protect.” Their long journey may be important, but it is also tedious at times, involving a lot of waiting. There is even some danger involved. There are collage elements in many of the pictures, reflecting the artist’s use of several media. (“The illustrations were created using rolled printmaking inks, crayons, handmade stamps, and paper collage, then assembled digitally.) Busy city streets are a context for the gift’s voyage, with earth and jewel-toned vehicles passing apartment buildings. The human figures have an Ed Emberley-style simplicity.
Eventually, the package arrives. A little girl, Sofia, asks her mother about the loud noise outside the door. Her mother opens the door expectantly. Their home is filled with mid-century design: a streamlined bureau, a bright blue umbrella in a wire stand. The pictures on the wall include one of Sofia and Grandma. Sofia is delighted with her gift, but is reluctant to part with the box. Readers have been prepared throughout the story for the moment when gift and box, having accomplished their goal, will part. Instead, Sofia’s energy and imagination transform them into something new.
Penelope’s Balloons – written and illustrated by Brooke Bourgeois Union Square Kids, 2024
Children can become attached to unexpected objects. Some, like balloons, have a limited life span. In Penelope’s Balloons by Brooke Bourgeois, a young elephant who is “quiet…bright,” and “a bit particular,” cannot let go of ten red balloons, either literally or figuratively. She is happy lying on her back and watching them suspended in the air, but also keeps them close while eating or diving.
From the beginning of the story, it seems evident that there will be both a problem and a message here. Penelope’s balloon obsession does not prevent her from socializing, In fact, she has many friends of different species. The balloons only make her more “perceptible” and popular, to choose another adjective that is alliterative with her name. The problem is the fragile nature of her favorite item. Her best friend, Piper, is a hedgehog; say no more. Allie is an alligator with sharp teeth. On the other hand, Gerry the giraffe is a good friend to have, her long neck offering some protection from potential piercing.
Eventually, Penelope learns the inevitable lesson about avoiding disaster. Sometimes you cannot. A thunderstorm does not have functional points, but it’s invisible winds can still destroy. Forlorn, Penelope shelters in the forest. She is alone. This picture has no bright red to contrast with the gray and green foliage. Even her friend Piper’s comforting words cannot erase Penelope’s grief. As Piper leads her across a thick branch serving as a bridge, the young elephant is hunched over, her ears falling like flaps over her face. All of a sudden, she seems old.
Arriving home, Penelope stands in front of the doors and rushes in. One balloon has survived and accompanied her. Now we meet her parents. Her mother seems almost confused, which is surprising. Surely her family is well-aware of her balloon problem. There is an expressive scene, viewed from the top of the staircase, of a determined Penelope racing her room. Her mother and younger sibling are small and helpless figures receding into the background.
Penelope frantically sets to work creating an elaborate fort to protect the balloon. Her intense anxiety foreshadows the upcoming disaster, as well as the solution. Sometimes, with patience, things will work out. The likelihood of this scenario, with the other nine balloons all magically reappearing, seems like pure wish fulfillment (as in Claire Keane’s Love Is). However, Penelope decides that giving her balloons, or, by extension, any beloved, a little space, is the best way to keep them close. The author also suggests that Penelope’s strange attachment had actually been distancing her from her actual friends, “the sharp and spiky ones” who posed a threat to her happiness.
A word about Babar seems required. Any children’s book presenting anthropomorphized elephants seems, to some extent, an homage to Jean and Laurent de Brunhoff. Certainly, some of her animal friends include monkeys, rhinos, and other residents of Celesteville. (Although the rhinos are not bad guys here.) Penelope is certainly less sophisticated and cosmopolitan than Babar, but there is still a sweet reminder of how animals with human qualities offer a unique connection with children. There is more than one lesson in Penelope’s Balloons, and the book is well-worth sharing with them.
Hello Baby, It’s Me, Alfie – written by Maggie Hutchings, illustrated by Dawn Lo Tundra Books, 2026
A long time ago, 1938, or 1931 if you lived in France, Babar the Elephant learned of his triplets’ birth with the sound of a cannon. Since them, many more children’s books have appeared with the purpose, more explicit than in the work of Jean de Brunhoff, of preparing older siblings for the birth of a new baby. Hello Baby, It’s Me, Alfie belongs in the top rank of these works. Narrated from the point of view of Alfie, the soon-to-be big brother, Maggie Hutchings’ and Dawn Lo’s picture book is totally believable. It is also artistically distinguished, illustrated with vibrant colors reminiscent of Fauvist painting, rendered with pencil crayons and gouache. Hello Baby is funny, tender, and thematically consistent. Each page is full of carefully composed images placed at varying angles, adding up to fully realized home life, both indoors and outside. When Alfie promises that “my heart is pretty big. So I’m sure I’ll find space for you,” your own heart will resonate with empathy.
The consistent motif that defines the book is Alfie’s curiosity and love, framed by the famous fruit comparisons used to measure a baby-on-the-way. Someone, probably his devoted parents, have explained the baby’s growth to Alfie, and he is constantly adjusting his expectations. The endpapers prepare us with big, splashy examples of children’s artwork. Fruit is a great subject when you are learning to draw. We enter Alfie’s kitchen, where his bearded and apron-wearing dad is cooking, while his Mom patiently explains that a baby is growing inside her. Alfie’s wide-eyed expression registers surprise, perhaps disbelief.
You know Alfie’s parents, or at least you have met them or seen them in our neighborhood. They are real people, Mom in her green maternity overalls and Dad holding an ultrasound image to show Alfie who is soon to arrive. Alfie is excited to follow the fruit comparison. He is even wearing a tee shirt covered with bright red cherries as he notes his own height, and learns that the unborn sibling, at 12 weeks, is “as big as a perfect plum” It helps to be concrete when providing children with explanations, especially for events with monumental consequences.
There is a fine line between emotion and sentimentality; Hutchings and Lo succeed in evoking a strong response without veering into patronizing territory. When Alife lies against his mother’s belly and feels the baby kick, he interprets this prenatal action as a sign of love, reminding the now mango-sized creature that his older brother is full of love, as well. Alfie communicates essential information to his sibling, including the fact that sometimes fear is part of life. When his dog is frightened of thunderstorms, Alfie hugs him.. This statement is not random; he intuits how vulnerable this future baby, now the size of a mere cauliflower, might feel when he joins their family.
At Alfie’s fourth birthday party, the pictures highlight a lovely bit of formality, with his mother now wearing a black and white polka-dotted dress accented by a pearl necklace. Dad takes a photo portrait of the scene. If you are a parent, I know you may be thinking that Alfie doesn’t actually know what to expect. The addition of a baby is not, at least at first, going to be unmitigated joy for him. It will be difficult. Again, there is an allusion to past and future feelings. Alfie has painted a rainbow for the baby, but he ran out of the yellow needed to complete his creation. “That’s what the crying was about.” Maybe. He is upset enough to need a reassuring embrace from his father. His mother is now really large, but still almost beatifically calm.
The book ends, not with the typical picture of a newborn, but with Alfie looking into the crib that his father has carefully assembled. The inside of the dustcover is a prenatal growth chart measured by pictures of produce. I will summarize by returning to Babar, because the stunning visual quality of this book elevates it way above the level of handy didactic works on the same theme: “Truly it is not easy to bring up a family…But how nice the babies are! I wouldn’t know how to get along without them any more.” Words to live by, for Alfie and his growing family.
Hanukah Money – written by Sholem Aleichem, translated and adapted by Uri Shulevitz and Elizabeth Shub, illustrated by Uri Shulevitz Greenwillow Books, 1978
This year’s celebration of Chanukah has been marked by a horrific tragedy. The slaughter of 15 people, with many more injured, is now inseparable from the religious and cultural festival this year, but it cannot destroy the meaning of the holiday. The great Yiddish author Sholem Aleichem (1859-1916) often wrote about both suffering and resilience. In his short story “Hanukah Money,” translated and adapted, and illustrated by Uri Shulevitz (who died earlier this year), Sholem Aleichem relates the tale of two young brothers eager to receive the traditional gift of gelt while their family observes the holiday. (Everyone knows of Sholem Aleichem, and you can find more of my reviews of Shulevitz’s brilliant work here and here and here.)
The boys’ mother is busy cooking latkes (potato pancakes). Their father recites the blessing on the candles. He understands the boys’ impatience, and rewards them with their small gift. While they spin their dreidels, their father and Uncle Bennie play checkers, discussing strategies of the game as if it had grave importance: “‘What’s to be done, what’s to be done, what’s to be done?’ intones father.” More relatives arrive and bring coins. The boys’ innocence, within their clearly impoverished home, reflects both their unawareness of material deprivation, and their joy in this occasional opportunity to delight in relative plenty. Even counting the coins becomes a ritual and a game framed by playful language: “One chetvertak and one chetvertak makes two chetvertaks, and another chetvertak makes three chetvertaks, and two grivenniks is three chetvertaks…”
Shulevitz’s pictures, resembling sepia engravings, feature exaggeratedly comic figures. The children seem like small adults and the adults themselves have child-like limitations. Some of the objects surrounding them are Hebrew prayer books, a wall of Jerusalem’s Tower of David, and a chanukyiah (menorah) displayed in the window. When one brother dreams that the cook, Breineh, flies into the room, she is carrying a platter, not of latkes, but of paper bills. “Motl swallows rubles like pancakes,” before going back to sleep. Money is abstract and fungible, but available food fills an immediate need. The boys’ needs are briefly fulfilled in the unique customs of the Festival of Lights.
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.
Anne: The Chapter Book Collection – adapted by Kallie George, illustrated by Abigail Halpin Tundra Books, 2025
Anne Dares – adapted by Kallie George, illustrated by Abigail Halpin Tundra Books, 2023
For fans of Kallie George and Abigail Halpin’s wonderful collaboration in bringing the work of Lucy Maud Montgomery to chapter book readers, Tundra has issued a boxed set of paperback editions. As you will read on my earlier posts (see here and here and here and here), this series is both an accessible introduction to the original Anne of Green Gables, and each volume a wonderful illustrated novel that stands on its own merits. Abigail Halpin’s pictures offer her own perspective on the characters and setting, and Kallie George has succeeded in writing an homage to Montgomery’s vision, not a bland imitation.
In Anne Dares, the bold aspect of Anne Shirley’s personality propels her to take some risks. These include the physically daring walking on the edge of a fence, as well as the courage to perform in her school’s recital. The fence-walking stunt even requires her to ignore the advice of kindred spirit Diana. Ever conscious of a dramatic situation, Anne assures her friend, “And if I do perish,…you can have my pearl-bead ring.
Her performance involves facing her apparent nemesis, Josie Pye, as well as Gilbert Blythe, the boy whose thoughtless teasing will prove to be a mere mask over his true feelings. Her new puff sleeved dress, a gift from her beloved father figure, Matthew, gives her some of the strength she needs in front of an audience. The dress is both a cherished article of clothing, as well as a tangible proof of the love that now characterizes her home life, although her initial arrival had provoked skepticism. On stage, at first “she thought she might faint.” Daring or not, she is still afraid. Fortunately, “she knew she must live up to those puffed sleeves.” Montgomery’s heroine, re-imagined by Kallie George and Abigail Halpin, lives in two worlds, where undeniable difficulties and dreams of beauty are intertwined.
The Newest Gnome – written and illustrated by Lauren Soloy Tundra Books, 2025
The Pocket is where the gnomes live, in Lauren Soloy’s remarkable universe of small creatures dedicated to choosing hats, telling stories, and generally explaining and appreciating the world. I was impressed with the first gnome book, The Hidden World of Gnomes, and I’m thrilled that Soloy and Tundra believed in them, and that they merited a second look (I’m also a fan of Soloy’s other work, as you can see here and here and here). Although the gnome books are rooted in tradition and folklore, they are also new and singular.
When the book begins, the existing gnomes, including Cob Tiggy, Twiggy Dell, Minoletta, and Beatrix Nut, are about to welcome a newcomer to the Pocket. These creatures, whose names evoke both Beatrix Potter and a kind of cosmopolitan flare (Minoletta, Hotchi-Mossy), need to meet in their mushroom circle to discuss the latest Pocket resident. When Grolly Maru arrives, they sense the need for reassurance, similar to Winnie the Pooh’s helpful and sustaining words: “Everything will be all right.”
After a good night’s sleep under the mushrooms, the gnomes will be prepared to teach Grolly Maru essential skills. As in Babar’s Celesteville, every inhabitant has a specific job and role to play. When Grolly Maru expresses concern that the changing moon may eventually disappear, does this reflect and anxious personality, or just a basic lack of familiarity with the environment? It’s up to the reader to decide, but since Abel Potter shows Grolly Maru other round and spherical items from nature, it doesn’t matter.
The pictures feature gnomes interacting with one another, along with close-ups of objects that fill their lives: dandelions, yarrow, marbles, ants, and suggested exercises. There is a recipe for Bonnie Plum’s baked apple with blackberries, which, considering the scale of gnome to ingredients requires both hardware and strength. The gnomes are artisans, designing grass baskets: “It’s not as easy as it looks!” (Who would expect it to be easy?). Their overarching purpose is constant fidelity to the idea that each individual is unique, but that we are all part of something greater. Lauren Soloy’s artistic vision is fully realized, in a universe of beauty and comfort, populated by small beings with great wisdom.
15 Minute Art Drawing: Learn How to Draw, Colour and Shade – written and illustrated by Jessica Smith Hardie Grant Books, 2023
I have many books that teach aspiring artists how to draw, using different media. Some are specifically designed for children, and others for adults. Jessica Smith’s 15 Minute Art Drawing is beautifully adaptable for older children and young adults, even if those groups are not its exclusive audience. Smith’s instructions are clear, her tone reassuring, and the illustrations’ simplicity and rich color are inspiring. Creating images of a strawberry, a dalmatian, or a pattern of repeating stars are within reach of almost anyone.
Drawing can be frustrating, especially for children, or adults, who are concerned with making mistakes. If you have ever watched a child crumple up a piece of paper when results don’t match her expectations, you will appreciate the design of this book, where optimism and realism both guide the artist. Two wonderful books for both children and adults that offer an overview of the artistic process are Elizabeth Haidle’s Drawing Is and Jeff Mack’s time To Make Art. For young children, the stories in Builder Mouse, by Sofia Eldarova, and Spaghetti: A Mouse and His Treasure, by Merrilees Brown, depict animal artists who are undaunted by obstacles.
The composition of Smith’s book, including the ratio of image to white space, is perfect. “Project 2: Citrus” starts with a freely sketched oval of color in primary and pastels, and moves toward a finished fruit. Pens, markers, and pencils can all be part of the project; Smith offers specific suggestions, but oil pastels and watercolor would also work. Often she writes in the first person, advising, but not directing: “I used a blue pen here to add the shadow and I love how you can still see the color of the orange through it.” I love how she phrases that, expressing emotions about how rewarding it is to draw.
“Project 11: Leaves” could not be better for the artistically timid: “This simple project is nice and speedy, and uses only three steps!” Yet the resulting drawings look sophisticated and evocative. I can’t emphasize enough how difficult that is to achieve in an instructional art book. Smith goal seems to be a genuine desire to enlist the reader’s enthusiasm. She manages to combine a sense of humility and enthusiasm about the results of her work, and, by extension, that of her readers. Some of the other projects include a bowl of noodles, a house, a mermaid, and a woman dressed in “busy patterns and popping colours” and holding a grid-patterned shopping bag. There are even two-page spreads of drawings that take a step back from the instructions and simply focus on beauty. The color reproduction is excellent.
The sum of an art book may be greater or less than its parts. 15 Minute Art Drawing lays out a premise, verbally and visually, and guarantees success within its terms. The book begins with an autobiographical sketch and includes an overview of tools, materials, and the use of color.
Journey of the Humpbacks – written by Juliana Muñoz Toro, illustrated by Dipacho, translated from the Spanish by Lawrence Schimel Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2025
Although this fabulous informational book about humpback whales has not relation to Baudelaire’s poem, “L’invitation au voyage,” I could not help thinking of its title and famous refrain when I turned the first page. The author states her purpose: “This is an invitation for us to go on a journey. We don’t need a backpack or shoes. Just our eyes wide open.” Every book fits this description. By framing the experience of reading this way, Juliana Muñoz Toro raises expectations and meets them. Baudelaire invites readers to encounter a world where “Là, tout n’est qu’ordre et beauté,/Luxe, calme et volupté,” (“There, there is nothing but order and beauty,/Richness, calm and beauty.”) Instead of dream world, Muñoz Toro, and illustrator Dipacho, extend an invitation to the natural order and beauty of the environment. Science books for young readers need not omit a sense of wonder.
I won’t try to summarize the wealth of information in this book about the often misunderstood sea mammal, the humpback whale, otherwise known as Megaptera novaiangliae. Did you know that its Latin name means “giant-winged New Englanders?” Probably not, even though you may associate whales with New England, where this one was originally sighted by Europeans. To orient you on your journey, Dipacho’s elegant graphics, paired with captions, text boxes, and color judiciously added to black-and-white. Some of the questions even present the answer upside down, adding the sense of a game. To help you envision scale, a parade of Emperor Penguins sits atop the huge creature, whose principal features are carefully labeled.
If you come to the book with some basic knowledge of humpback whales, you will still learn a great deal. Nothing is necessarily obvious, including the basic fact that every part of the environment is related to one another. “Nothing that happens in the water does so in isolation.” “Lunch time” involves a nutrients provided by algae, sardines, and krill.
The pictures are meticulously accurate, but also personify the whales a bit, with their balletic movements that seem almost joyful. Referring to the segments of their day as “nap time, “ “time for adventures,” and, of course, “time to breathe,” sets a tone of familiarity, but also awe: “The breathing of humpback whales is long and deliberate, as if they were meditating.” Note the phrase “as if.”
When people appear, they are comically observant, watching the whales and taking notes of what they see. Here Dipacho presents richer colors than in the extensive factual scenes, as he brings humans into the picture. They are important and provide perspective, but they don’t compromise the whales’ starring role. In fact, a wonderful two-page spread categorizing the baleen whale family (image) identifies the humpback, with a touch of humor, as “the protagonist of this book.” Another concise and complete section on the whale’s reproductive life is, again, accurate and also performative.
Steps numbered in sequence give the facts and also allow the reader to draw her own conclusions. “She alone will take care of her offspring.” The “Have You Wondered” section reveals how a calf learns to identify its mother. The book’s backmatter declares that it was created by “a team of people who love whales.” By this point, you will not have any doubt of that essential fact.
Imaginary Elevators 