Illustrated by Ross Collins
(Andersen Press, 2011)
Okay, before I begin to discuss this book, let me just work
through a rant. Writing and illustrating
a picture book involve distinct skill sets.
I have particular respect for the talented few who excel in both realms. The recent trend in children’s publishing is
to print both the author and the illustrator’s name on the cover without noting
his/her particular role. Same for the
title page. Only from the back jacket
flap can one determine that one person was the writer and the other the
illustrator rather than having the book be a wholly collaborative
undertaking. I agree that names deserve
equal billing on the cover and I realize that, when there is no specification,
the author’s name appears first, followed by the illustrator. I just think the contributors should receive
a specific credit for what they did. Am
I the only one who feels this way? Feel
free to leave a comment.
Okay,...I feel better.
I shall shed my cranky Grizzly persona and move on to talking about
hippos.
When I Woke Up I Was a
Hippopotamus doesn’t actually dwell long on the hippo transformation. No, this is a book about a boy who imagines
he is a series of objects, each occurring at the most (in)opportune time. When it is time to get up and go to school,
enter hippo. “[H]ippos in their sludge
don’t get up in the morning, and so I didn’t budge.” As the boy nears school, he becomes a
statue. His poor parents must push and
tug to fight the inertia. Once class is
dismissed, the boy is a rocket, zipping home faster than the speed of light.
It is a fun book, one that might feed young minds with
DANGEROUS bursts of imagination to help cope with the day while leading to
greater exasperation from parents and teachers with their own schedules and
commitments.
The story reminds me of the amusing imaginings of Frankie in
Let’s Do Nothing and the
adventures of Calvin in so many Calvin
& Hobbes sequences. Why be human
when you can be a monster, a robot or a mud-lovin’ hippo?
My one quibble with the book is that the text is told in
rhyme. Some of the verses come off clunky
as one has to squeeze in a couple of extra syllables. Getting the rhyme right distracts from the
goofy antics. But then, I confess to
reading every children’s rhyme as though it were written by Dr. Seuss. Perhaps it is I who needs to stretch myself.
No comments:
Post a Comment