FOREVER HOME

A Dog and Boy Love Story

 

By Henry Cole

 

 

(Scholastic Press, 2022)

 

Breathe out. Slowly. Every time I open this book, I feel love. Forever Home is a tender, heart-tugging wordless book masterfully told by Henry Cole’s detailed ink pen drawings. 

 

The story begins before the title page, a practice I love in books. Let’s dig right in. Immediately we see distress in a dog as it sits atop a stoop, a lockbox hanging from the door handle and a key piece of environmental print—a FOR SALE sign—helping the reader deduce what is truly tragic: the family pet has been left behind.

 

Immediately, I’m emotionally invested in the story. I’m incensed. I know that many dogs are abandoned when people move—the next home not allowing pets or maybe there is even less of an excuse for the inexcusable. This dog is left to dig through trash for food, to wander precariously through traffic, to find shelter in a box. 

 

Meanwhile, another story begins. As a dog walker attends to her pack of dogs on a sidewalk, a young boy crouches to make eye contact with one of them. Both boy and dog are intrigued. In the background, two men window shop outside a bookstore. As it turns out, these men are the boy’s parents and, back at home, the boy holds up pictures of dogs while carting a leash. It seems he’s campaigning for a pet. The dads, however, aren’t sold on the idea. The boy’s bedroom is a chaotic scene. If he can’t take care of all his things, how will he ever be responsible for a dog?

 

Side note here. This is Henry Cole’s story to tell, based on a real story a friend shared with him. Still, “tidiness” and “good with dogs” do not directly align. I say this as a dog lover who does not love house cleaning duties. Let me avoid the chores by, oh, walking the dog. I don’t see how my ability to consistently hit the clothes hamper with my worn garments proves I would make a great pet caretaker. Still, this is the dads’ stance. 

 

The boy goes seemingly everywhere with his leash. He walks it in all kinds of weather and picks up invisible poop. This is the equivalent to carrying around a sack of flour to show one is capable of caring for a baby or perhaps minding one of those Tamagotchi virtual pets. I’ll admit to being a little slow in picking up on the story thread because I had not immediately connected the boy’s messy room with justification for not getting a pet. I thought the boy lugging a leash around meant he’d settled on an imaginary friend. 

 

By chance, Messy Boy and Abandoned Dog meet. The boy ups his campaign, showing how responsible he can be. The obvious happy ending ensues.

 

Yes, the happy ending was a foregone conclusion—it’s a picture book, after all—but Cole adds an extra wrinkle to the story and I felt joy and relief when that point arrived. Cole gives us several pages of that happiness. Warm fuzzies most welcome.

 

It takes a special talent and confidence to create a wordless book. Cole “cheats” a little, adding a few signs to help “read” his exquisite drawings. It’s a bonus that the parents are a biracial gay couple. Happenstance. No biggie. Hopefully book banners can chill and let a good story be just that.

 

 

 

 

THE SILENCE SLIPS IN

Written by Alison Hughes

 

Illustrated by Ninon Pelletier

 

(Orca Book Publishers, 2019)

 

 

This is one of those books that may soothe children and adults alike. (Honestly, I think adults will embrace the message more.)

 

We all experience silence. We all need it. Some people, however, are not as comfortable in the quieter moments. The Silence Slips In is a book that anticipates quiet and wholeheartedly welcomes it. 

 

When the others have chattered and shrieked

their way home, when the balloons have all

popped, when the baby finally falls asleep,

when the dog is all barked out, and the

screens are dark the Silence slips in.

 

Silence is portrayed as a large ghostlike figure, part Pillsbury Doughboy, part character from the Disney movie Inside Out. While not an emotion, Silence is a state of being, a presence emerging through absence. 

 

It watches the snow fall in the early

morning and curls up in a sunbeam

with a warm, cuddly cat.

 

 While we all need immersive time in silence, introverts need it more. As an introvert myself, I crave it. This book is especially affirming to people like me who think better and often even feel better in the quiet spaces.

 

Alison Hughes’ words are lovely and Ninon Pelletier’s illustrations (in pencil and charcoal, colored in digitally), mostly in soft, warm colors make the message all the more inviting.   

 

This is a wonderful book to read before bed. Indeed, there is a charming illustration where Silence and another figure, Dark, tuck in the little girl who is featured on every page. Still, the book reminds us that silence can be found at any time of day, sometimes with a bit more effort. 

 

My one quibble is that the book centers on one girl who could be white or Asian. I don’t think the text requires a single character and, by portraying different children on each page, it could help people with a range of ethnicities and abilities directly connect to the text. Moreover, I feel boys, stereotypically louder in the way they navigate the world, would benefit in seeing boy characters on some of the pages. As published, the book may reinforce a notion that girls like quiet times more. Boys need to find the comfort in silence just as much.

 

Quibble aside, this is a worthwhile book I will read a time or two again before returning it to the library. If only Silence slipped in more…

 

 

SURPRISE

 

 

 

By Mies Van Hout

 

 

(Lemniscaat, 2013)

 

 

I love when I discover a book that’s more than a decade old in a first-run bookstore. So often, shelf life is so short. 

 

It’s a fast read. Fourteen words, including the title. But, reading is not a race—except when I read Green Eggs and Ham. This is a book I have paged through many times, sometimes lingering on every page, sometimes letting just a few stand out. 

 

Surprise portrays various stages or concepts of parenting, each expressed from the vantage point of a mother bird. It begins with yearning as a bluebird imagines so many little birds within her body. Clearly, she wants to be a parent. 

 

As a peacock lays an egg, the accompanying concept is hoping. Each concept conjures its own treasure trove of feelings and associations in the reader, from expecting to comforting to enjoying. 

 

A bird drawn with chalk, pastels or crayons appears on glossy black paper on one side of each double-page spread while the concept is printed in white on deep, richly colored paper on the other side, many of the letters adorned with small, simpler birds, barely more than stick figures. 

 

This is a lovely parent-to-child read. It would make a perfect baby shower or Mother’s Day gift. I don’t have children and still I find the book immensely satisfying. It’s hard not to feel warm, fuzzy and calm after paging through it. 

 

Most definitely, this is a welcome Surprise.

 

 

THE WALL IN THE MIDDLE OF THE BOOK

 

 

By Jon Agee

 

(Dial Books for Young Readers, 2018)

 

 

Sometimes I read a picture book and I’m not sure what it’s really about. I mean, I can figure out what’s happening on the page and take it at face value but, the events are so odd, that there must be a deeper, bigger meaning. 

 

The good thing is this kind of picture book is way more fun than a similarly elusive meaning in a poem. Even better, when I was a teacher, I could ask a whole group of students if there might be a bigger message that the author/illustrator is trying to convey. We could build on each other’s thoughts. We could find a meaning that sounds profound and just right to us, regardless of the creator’s intent.

 

Oh, how I wish I had a group to join me in a discussion of Jon Agee’s picture book, The Wall in the Middle of the Book. 

 

At surface level, the book is literally about what is stated in the title. In the middle of each two-page spread is a brick wall. On the left, we’re told by a young knight, all is safe. It’s where the knight hangs out. On the other side, it’s unsafe. Agee has drawn a tiger, a rhino and a gorilla. (And, as we see on the next page, a mouse.) The wall keeps unsafe things at bay. 

 

It gets worse, as tends to happen in stories. “[T]he most dangerous thing on the other side of the book is the ogre.” Egad! An ogre! Ogres are known to eat people, particularly a nugget-sized young knight. Where was the warning sticker on the front cover? (An evil child must have peeled it off my library copy.) 

 

The safe side, as it turns out, isn’t so safe. At the same time a mouse shows up on the right side, a duck appears on the left. No, ducks are not exactly fearsome. But then comes water. The water rises just as the young knight climbs a ladder with a fallen brick that he’s putting back in its place to keep the wall strong, to ensure absolute safety.

 

The knight is oblivious to the fact that, under the ever-rising water, there is a crocodile and some rather fierce fish with big appetites. Just as the wall is repaired, the water rises above the ladder and the knight is adrift in this moat, flooded river or emerging sea. (Let the audience come to some sort of consensus. Or not. Differences of opinion are welcome. Speculation will be needed if we’re going to find a Bigger Meaning anyway.)

 

SPOILER ALERT: Ending revealed hereafter.

 

The ogre manages to climb higher on his side of the wall. He reaches a hand over and scoops up the knight. A rescue! 

 

Or is it?

 

The young knight says to the astounded antagonist, “[Y]ou’re the ogre who’s going to eat me up!” 

 

The ogre finds this hysterical and assures the knight, “[T]his side of the book is fantastic.” As this happens, we see more dangerous things occurring on the left side which is supposed to be safe. (Dangerous if you’re a fish, to be sure.) 

 

The young knight, the ogre, the tiger, the rhino, the gorilla, the mouse—and the duck—appear to live happily ever after on the right side of the wall. 

 

Whew!

 

Young readers will sleep soundly. (Unless they’re particularly fond of fish.)

 

So what’s the bigger meaning? My guess is it has to do with the unknown, of prejudice even, of misjudging people and things. It also has to do with facing fears (including the fear of mice), knowing there is always an element of fear and risk in most everything we do, no matter how or where we’re positioned. 

 

And perhaps it’s a reminder to not leave the hose running or at least be wary when a duck appears out of nowhere…

 

 

WHERE TO HIDE A STAR

 

 

By Oliver Jeffers 

 

(HarperCollins, 2024)

 

 

I have been a fan of Oliver Jeffers’ picture books since I discovered The Incredible Book Eating Boy which I read to countless classes and parent groups. (It’s one of the first picture books I blogged about.) That book celebrates an unorthodox love of books and a hunger for knowledge. (Yes, the title should be taken literally.) Since then, Jeffers has continued to produce whimsical, zany stories that always make me do a double take before a broad smile covers my face.

 

Where to Hide a Star is his latest amusing, satisfyingly off-kilter tale. It begins as the story of a boy and his two friends—a penguin and a star, naturally. (Yes, cue double take.) The boy and his friends love to play hide-and-seek, the boy always being It “as he was the only one who could count.” During one game, the star goes missing. Worried, the boy seeks help from a Martian (of course).

 

In the meantime, the star is discovered by a girl who, lo and behold, has always dreamed of befriending a star. When the boy shows up, it’s awkward. “They both wanted the star, but they didn’t want to make someone else unhappy.”

 

Precious. 

 

At this point, the story is similar to Jeffers’ This Moose Belongs to Me. But then it’s decided that the Martian will assist the star in hiding, the presumption being that whoever finds it shall claim primary friendship rights. 

 

I’ll leave you to discover the ending yourself.

 

At this point, Jeffers’ books are—to borrow a term stirred up from his Book Eating Boy days—comfort food. I always know I’m going to enjoy them. I love the familiarity of his simple illustration style with boxy bodies, stick figure appendages, and warm background colors. I know I’m going to read each book again, the first read focused on quirks, the follow-ups taking in the entire project, sometimes picking up a missed quirk. 

 

With Where to Hide a Star, Jeffers’ winning streak continues.

 

 

 

  

THE YELLOW BUS

 

 

By Loren Long

 

(Roaring Brook Press, 2024)

 

This story began from a curious mind. As author-illustrator Loren Long explains at the end of the book, an old yellow school bus “surrounded by goats” rests in a field he passes by while on his regular jogs. How did it wind up there? What was its history?

 

Here’s a window into Long’s imagined chronology of the bus’s roles, its users varying over time:  

·      Pitter-patter, pitter-patter, giggle, giggle-patter;

·      Shuffle-clunk, shuffle-clunk, creak, creak-clunk;

·      Rustle-bump, rustle-bump, brrr, brrr-bump;

·      Clip-clop, clip-clop, maaah, maaah-clop

·      Swish-swoosh, swish-swoosh, glub, glub-swoosh.

 

I’ll leave you to imagine the bus’s patrons from obvious beginnings. Yes, the goats make an appearance—figure out their representation, above. (Hint: Long imagines something different as the bus’s final resting place.)

 

The story reminds me of Shel Silverstein’s The Giving Tree, personifying an object and portraying it as finding joy in being of service. Unlike Silverstein’s tree which has a relationship with one boy, Long’s bus operates over time for many.

 

It’s a simple story though Long offers refreshing surprises in the bus’s journey. Cue warm fuzzies and ample opportunity for discussion with young readers, themselves curious.

 

As with other books by Loren Long, such as Otis and Toy Boat, the art reflects his distinct style and is extraordinary. Indeed, I would love to see an exhibition of Long’s work, just as I’ve seen exhibitions honoring Eric Carle (at the Eric Carle Museum of Picture Book Art in Amherst, Massachusetts), Ezra Jack Keats (at the Skirball in L.A.) and Maurice Sendak (at the Skirball and, currently, at the Denver Art Museum).

 

What’s unique to the art in this book is that Long first created a 3-D model of the town and valley that would be the setting of the story. This offered a chance to explore shadows and light as well as play with vantage points in showing the bus on various pages. The reader/viewer is truly rewarded by Long’s extra work.  

 

Long’s explanation of media used to create the art in The Yellow Bus is worth reading in the fine print on the end page, both for its specificity and its surprise:

The art for this book was crafted with graphite pencil, 

charcoal pencil, and charcoal dust on Epson 

Doubleweight Matte paper; it was scratched out with 

X-Acto blades and smudged with Q-tips. The colors 

were created with acrylic paint, and all of it was 

mixed with whatever dust and dog hair may have 

been floating around the artist’s studio. 

 

It should be no surprise Long is a precise, detail-oriented artist.

 

I suspect whoever reads this book will return to it for repeated reads on account of a gentle story but also for frequent browsing, an art show awaiting between the hardcovers. 

 

Enjoy!