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!