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!

 

 

 

 

 

HERE & THERE

By Thea Lu

 

(Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, 2024)

 

 

 

There are homebodies and there are those with constant wanderlust. Here and There celebrates both. 

 

The double-page spread format of picture books allows author and illustrator Thea Lu to chronicle the parallel lives of two people, on the surface starkly different, but more similar in terms of how they think and feel.

 

Dan, the homebody representing “Here,” owns a café in a small town by the sea. Aki, the wanderer representing “There,” is a sailor at sea. Dan is content to stay put while Aki is always heading somewhere. If Dan is akin to an oak tree with big roots in place, Aki is a migratory gull embarking on one continuous journey.

 

As different as these two men are, they sometimes pine for another kind of life…one perhaps like that of the other.

 

Outside Dan’s window is the view he has

known for his whole life...

When the wind is blowing, he sometimes

wonders what life is like in other places.

 

Aki’s…never had a place to call home.

When the machine [in the engine room]

is booming, he sometimes wishes for

an old friend to talk with. 

 

The book doesn’t celebrate Dan’s comfort at home and in the café nor Aki’s sea exploits; instead, each savors the truly special moments, things that stand out from their “ordinary” lives. For Dan, he’s enthralled by stories from café patrons, visiting from faraway places. Aki, in turn, enjoys the local hospitality when he docks in port, being treated to a homemade meal or becoming a guest in a home where “[t]he bedding was soft and the room was warm.”

 

Through inference and “reading” the pictures, we discover that Dan and Aki one day meet, each hanging onto a keepsake from the occasion. As different as their lives are and will continue to be, the men find commonality through a chance connection. 

 

This is one of those quiet, beautifully illustrated picture books I imagine enchanting adults perhaps more than children. And why not? There are no age recommendations on picture book covers. Notably, the main characters are adults.

 

Illustrations for Dan’s story are predominately colored in earthy and woody browns while pictures accompanying Aki’s story are filled in with sea blues and grays. Lu, based in Shanghai, originally published the book in Chinese in 2022, then translated the current English edition. 

 

The story appears to be inspired by two actual people whose lives may resemble that of Dan and Aki. On the title page, Lu’s acknowledgments include, “Thanks to the dive guide and the owner of the no-name café in Cambridge for sharing their life stories with me.” The fact they are not named, not even by their first names, adds to the intrigue…a reward for readers who attend to the fine print.

 

This book would be a gentle adult-to-child read, a chance to linger over the soft, vivid illustrations. Really, much would be lost (conversely, little to be learned) from too quick of a read. It would be fun for both the reader and the listener to speculate over whether they identify more with Dan or Aki, not just as to their vocations but, on broader terms, the lifestyles they live. If missed on the first read, a second or third read might show both Dan and Aki have a keepsake of the other. Discovering the evidence may delight the reader, helping them see the extra reward that comes from giving extra attention to a books’ illustrations.

 

Definitely worth tracking this book down.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

JOHN'S TURN

By Mac Barnett

 

Illustrated by Kate Berube

 

(Candlewick Press, 2022)

 

 

 

I checked this book out of my local library based on the writer’s name and the cover image. Mac Barnett is a clever, sparkly writer of children’s books like Sam and Dave Dig a Hole and Count the Monkeys. I figured I could use some amusement. But this isn’t that kind of book. (More on the cover in a bit.)

 

The book focuses on a regular feature of a school’s Friday morning assemblies. At the end, one student performs a special talent, such as playing the tuba, performing magic tricks or doing stand-up. This Friday, as the title notes, it’s John’s turn. 

 

At breakfast in the school cafeteria, John doesn’t look so good. The students around him eat, chat and laugh. John does none of that. He’s got a case of the nerves. Later, backstage, he changes into a white leotard, black pants and slippers. He sits, anticipating his performance, still looking nervous as the assembly proceeds through its normal agenda items:

                            Mr. Ross reminded us permission slips

                            were due Monday. We all sang a song.

 

At last, it’s time for John.

 

                            “What’s John gonna do?”

                            Andre asked without raising his hand.

                            Mr. Ross looked at his paper.

                            “He’s doing a dance.”

                            “Cool,” Andre said.

                            He never raises his hand. 

 

There’s always an Andre. And the fact there is, makes the reader worry a little for John. This is unlikely to be Andre’s (and others’) version of a cool dance. 

 

John dances. Neither John’s movements nor the music—“strings, violins and things”—is familiar. Kids laugh.

 

But they stop when shushed. John commits and, yes, he shines. He takes a bow. How will his peers respond? The ending, of course, is how we want things to go for every young John, daring to be different, sharing his true passion.

 

Bravo!   

 

I do have a quibble over the cover. I admit the image of a young boy in ballet gear, complete with pointe shoes, drew me in. I knew this kid book would be different. I figured it would confront stereotypes and traditional gender roles. As an adult, I saw the cover’s message: Very Special Book. But, for kids, the cover may make them giggle—boys, especially—and steer clear of picking it up. I would have preferred an image of John’s face nervously peeking through a stage curtain at the expectant audience. Indeed, there’s a suggestion of this in part of the title page. Given that the book avoids mentioning John’s talent right away, the cover is also a spoiler, making the reveal less dramatic.

 

On my second time paging through the book, I focused on Kate Berube’s illustrations, done with ink and paint on cold-pressed watercolor paper. She skillfully depicts each scene. The title page shows students gathering in the open assembly room (aka the cafeteria), some finishing up breakfast, some chatting, some seated facing the stage, ready for what’s to come, one intently reading a book in his lap. 

 

Whenever Mr. Ross talks, there’s at least one audience member talking to a neighbor. By contrast, when a student performs, the students give them full attention.

 

And then comes John’s turn. Classical music plays and the students look bored, skeptical; one looks primed to heckle. John looks like he’d rather be anywhere else, his face full of angst. His face is tentative during his first moves.

 

And then… 

 

In a double-page spread, Berube depicts six stages of one grand leap and we see John’s face change from worried and cautious to proud and accomplished. From that point on, there is no turning back. John is in his element.  

 

This is a well-told story and a highly useful book to share with children before talent shows or any school assembly when students or a theater/dance group performs. It’s also a great conversation starter about following one’s interests no matter what the peanut gallery might say or do. Pot-shots are easy. Sometimes they come when someone feels uneasy, the subject matter unfamiliar. Sometimes they arise from a desire to mock. There will always be critics. 

 

Let John and boys like John dance on.

 

  

BIJAN ALWAYS WINS

Written by Adib Khorram

 

Illustrated by Michelle Tran

 

(Dial Books for Young Readers, 2024)

 

 

 

This is a curious book, for the wrong reasons. The title doesn’t match the text, at least not to my satisfaction.

 

I checked out the book, thinking it would be about poor sportsmanship—yes, winners can be bad sports. I figured it would include a comeuppance, an occasion when the main character must deal with defeat and, in the process, realize it’s not about winning or losing; rather, it’s about playing the game. A great lesson to learn.

 

I also figured there would be sports involved. Soccer is perennially popular with kids. Maybe some meanness during dodgeball. Perhaps some cheating during hide-and-seek. (Guess who peeks when they’re It.) 

 

But there were no sports. No games. Not even board games or a retro round of Go Fish. 

 

The book isn’t really about a poor sport—not on-the-nose enough for me, at least. Instead, it’s about being boastful. And, in the situations presented, main character Bijan is off the mark when he constantly says, “I win!” 

 

He wins at drawing birds.

He wins at eating vegetables.

He wins at brushing his teeth.

 

What?

 

The situations are ones in which a person is more likely to say, “I’m the best!” or “I’m better than you!” 

 

I can swing the highest.

I have the best Matchbox cars.

My painting is better than yours.

 

Nope. None of that. To Bijan, it’s always, “I win!”

 

I felt Bijan had some language issues. I wondered if he had cognitive challenges. He also seemed obsessive.

 

All I wanted was a book on sportsmanship. Kids need that. 

 

Kids also need a book about modesty and toning down boastfulness. 

 

Somehow Bijan Always Wins blends and blurs these topics to the point it is confusing and the point is lost. Really, I should not have been wondering if Bijan has special needs. This is not supposed to be that book.

 

Part of my letdown comes from having read author Adib Khorram’s vivid and sensitive young adult novel, Darius the Great Is Not Okay.[1] (I gave that book five stars on Goodreads back in 2018.) A promising writer, for sure. Unfortunately, this picture book disappoints.[2]

 

It’s a head-scratcher. How did this get published by a major publisher? Who did (or didn’t do) the editing? Change the title—e.g., Bijan Boasts—and get more specific (and varied) about boastful phrasing. This could have been a great book, worthy of the digital art by Michelle Tran which is reminiscent of the work of Harry Bliss. 

 

Surely, there’s someone out there feeling boastful: I could write a better book…on boastfulness or on sportsmanship. There is room on library shelves for both.

 

 

---

[1] On the back flap, the YA title is missing a capital for the verb, typed as Darius the Great is Not Okay. Major miss by a major publisher.

[2] It’s only worth a footnote to quibble over specific content. Four of the double-page spreads are devoted to separate dreams Bijan has on a single night. (The books is not supposed to be about dreaming.) One dream would have sufficed. The extra pages might then have at least touched on games or sports. 

I AM A STORY

By Dan Yaccarino

 

(Harper, 2016)

 

This is a simple picture book with a valuable purpose: to help young readers understand the enduring love of stories. Writer and illustrator Dan Yaccarino takes us on a journey of story, through time. It begins with people from the Stone Age, cavemen gathered around a fire, a man speaking with his hands in the air, his audience captivated. There is nothing like a good story.

 

We access stories 
through various means.

Yaccarino takes his reader through the ages, chronicling the evolution of how stories are told and published, from pictographs to hieroglyphs, from tapestries to printing presses, from stage to hand-held tablets. The book ends in present day, a family sitting around a campfire, another man animated in the story he is telling, his family captivated. Story, Yaccarino asserts, “will live forever.” Isn’t that a lovely Happily Ever After?

 

Stories will endure.

I don’t love Yaccarino’s illustration style. It’s simplistic, intentionally cartoonish but, in the process, it comes off as cold despite sometimes colorful splashes of background color. The ideas are clearly conveyed, but the drawings don’t draw the viewer in. They’re seen on the surface; the reader can quickly flip to the next page. What I do love is the sweeping passage of time and the message that, despite occasional prognostications of gloom and doom for books (e.g., with the onset of the television era, ebooks and AI technology), story remains, in one form or another. It’s informative for a youngster and both reassuring and empowering for those of us striving to create new stories for people to discover (in whatever form) and enjoy.

 

  

THE SWING

 

By Britta Teckentrup

 

(Prestel Publishing, 2023)

 

The Swing is the picture book version of a tome, straying far from the customary 32-page format and coming in at 160 pages. Still, it’s a fast read. Or it has the potential to be. I found myself lingering.

 

The book is an ode to a swing set perched seaside, at the end of a bushy meadow, with two swings dangling from a red bar. Occasionally, they get tangled. Sometimes they’re wrapped around the upper bar. In some images they’re empty; other times, they’re a resting or a play place for one or two people, for a cat, for birds. Swingers sit, stand, gaze upside down and jump. The illustrations remind the reader how diverse the experiences can be when coming upon such a simple apparatus, sometimes coveted, oftentimes overlooked. 

 

The text is usually sparse. On one of the opening pages, Britta Teckentrup writes, “It looked out to sea and invited everyone to take a seat.” In a few places, a vignette expands beyond a single sentence such as when Mia and her grandmother stop at the swings every morning on the way to school or when young Peter rests alone on a swing after a daily swim, dreaming of his future and avoiding what awaits him at home.

 

The book chronicles the “life” of the swing set over a generation or two as some of the briefly mentioned characters get another cameo later on. Max and Paul, for instance would meet at the swings each day after school. Flashing forward, Teckentrup tells us, “They still do.”

 

The Swing evokes our own nostalgia around times spent on a swing, pumping legs to go ever higher or dangling downward, our bellies held by the seat strap as we stare at seemingly nothing in the dirt, feeling mopey or thoroughly bored. How many times did we insist someone push us one more time—or a hundred more times? Harder. Let me go higher! How many times was a swing a thinking seat or a momentary escape from dark thinking? How many times were occupied swings a place of power as someone arriving too late begged for a turn?

 

Martha had an imaginary friend
who arrived whenever she needed her.

That's the beauty of this book. Despite 160 pages of experiences, most of us can still recall our own special memories. The Swing gently pushes us to think beyond the page.

 

The illustrations are as calming as a standard swing ride though sometimes they go higher—farther out there, becoming magical as the sun’s golden orb seems within reach or the journey transports someone to a place that’s part forest, part safari. The color choices are drawn from a generally soft, muted palette, giving the book a sense of timelessness. 

 

And isn’t that typical of a swing ride? Time stops. We’re in the moment. Until the next time. And the one after that. Indeed, I found myself flipping through the pages many times, sometimes reading and observing all the way through while other times find joy and serenity in a few random flips.

 

This lovely picture book would also serve as a great coffee table book, celebrating the child that remains in each of us, eliciting conversation and an unspoken “Whee!” from a visitor. It is a perfect go-to for paging through, side by side with someone else, like a photo album on one of those afternoons when the weather makes an actual swing ride seem less appealing. But, wouldn’t you know it, Teckentrup sees ways around that as well. 

 

As with its real life counterpart, The Swing is simply beautiful.