Review of the Day: Numero Uno

Numero Uno by Alex Dorros and Arthur Dorros. Illustrated by Susan Guevara. Abrams Books for Young Readers. $16.95.

You know what instantly sounds like an awful idea for a picture book? A father-son writing team. Even worse, a father-son writing team where the son wrote a book when he was twelve and then the dad signed on later and got it made. Sounds icky-sticky sweet without any possible redeeming qualities, doesn’t it? And your mind probably wouldn’t be changed too much if you knew that the author in question was Arthur Dorros of “Abuela” fame either. Even good authors of picture books have been known to be suckered into poor writing decisions at the hands of their darling beloved offspring. But then, what if I told you that the illustrator was Susan Guevara? Which is to say The Great Susan Guevara? The woman who brought Gary Soto’s “Chato” books so swimmingly to life? Certainly you’d be swayed neither way when I told you that the book, “Numero Uno” was a fable, but then you might actually get a chance to pick up and read the book. And in doing so your skepticism would just melt out of your ears, I assure you. Dorros and Son (as they shall hitherto be known) make a pretty good team. Add in a magnificent illustrator and a solid storyline and what once felt like an awful idea for a picture book turns into a fairly swell idea instead.

In a small village in Mexico lived two men of monumental ego. On the one hand was Hercules. He thought himself a pretty primo guy due to his manly physical prowess. On the other hand there was Socrates. He’s scoffed at the notion of muscles, placing his trust entirely in the realm of the cranium. As it happened, Hercules was in the construction business and Socrates the architectural side. So when a bridge needed to be built across the local river, both fellows felt they were of the greatest importance to the villagers. So vehemently did they fight about this that a contest was thought up by a local boy. Both men would leave the village and the people remaining would try to build the bridge without them. Whoever they missed more would be of the greatest importance to everyone. Well that’s all well and good but that means that these two rivals have to spend time together in the wilderness. Bickering all the way, they find food, warmth, and shelter with a combination of brawn and brains, never realizing how much they rely on one another. Inevitably, when they return home they’ve both been equally missed. The bridge is completed with their help and there is at least one thing everyone can agree on. They may have missed their intelligence and strength but when it comes to arguing, nobody missed Hercules and Socrates one little bit.

The writing doesn’t feel like a twelve-year-old came up with it. Obviously Dorros Sr. did some cleaning up in that particular area, leaving a tidy little story in his wake. Spanish words are worked effortlessly into the text, cropping up best where they make the most sense. There’s also enough repetition to keep the story hopping along. The old man in the village often says, “Basta!”. Socrates and Hercules rely mostly on the word, “Yo!” And I can’t help but think that this kind of repetition would make for a pretty good readaloud. Just get half of the kids in the audience to say whatever Hercules says while the other half takes the side of Socrates (the parents or teachers could take the part of the old man). Not only would that make for a more interesting reading, you’d actually get the kids actively interested in who’s going to win the contest. After all, they’re going to believe that they will either end up the winning side or the losing side, as chosen by the book.

I don’t know if I would have immediately have thought that this was a Susan Guevara book if I hadn’t been told. It’s a quieter effort on the artist’s part. Guevara’s paintings for “Numero Uno” don’t have the raw intensity of her Chato books. That’s due in part to the change of location. Instead of gritty city streets and back barrios we’re in the countryside now. According to the bookflap, Ms. Guevara has been studying plein air painting with the Canadian landscape painter Ian Roberts. “Numero Uno”, therefore, gave her a chance to try her hand at capturing hills, valleys, streams, and fields. It’s a quiet cool style that shifts perspective constantly. One moment you see Hercules and Socrates being rowed out onto the river by a clearly jaded young boy. The next we’re soaring high, just above an owl with a world of greens and blues, and yellows stretching away below us. In this particular scene we can also see several different versions of the two men on their own separate paths, trying to reach their destination before the other. Whenever they talk, words leap from their mouths. Of course, being the fellows they are, that usually consists of the “Yo!”, “No!” and “Si!”. Guevara’s is a blotchy style and won’t be to everyone’s liking. For this book, however, it matches the narrative and dialogue just fine.

The moral is nothing new and kids will guess at it long before the self-absorbed heroes do. The ending could have stood a little more oomph, but as it stands this is a lovely little book. Insofar as the human race continues to argue the brains vs. brawn question (and they will) this book will continue to have a lot of cache in the years to come. An worthy addition to any folktale section of libraries, both personal and public.

Review of the Day: Wolf! Wolf!

Wolf! Wolf! written and illustrated by John Rocco. Hyperion Books For Children. $15.99.

Yesterday at work I had three different patrons ask me for alternate versions Cinderella. How many versions do you want, ask I. As many as you’ve got, reply they. Oy. While searching and running and running and searching for the myriad of admittedly very interesting picture books out there, I started to think about folktales that span the globe. From Ed Young’s, "Lon Po Po” (a Chinese take on Little Red Riding Hood) to “Duffy and the Devil” by Margot Zemach (a book with a “Rumplestiltskin” twist), the world is full of familiar tales. On the flip side of the coin are the stories taken from one culture and put into another for the very first time. Though they haven’t the history and mythology of those stories that naturally developed in different settings, such tales can be interesting in their own right. A fine example of this kind of storytelling is John Rocco’s take on the classic Boy Who Cried Wolf tale. Set in Japan, “Wolf! Wolf!” offers us arthritic wolves and dumb-as-a-post human boys in a tale that is as droll as it is surprisingly gentle.

An old wolf is long past his young hunting days and tries supporting his empty stomach with a large and lovely garden. Trouble is, he has no way of keeping weeds away from his patch of land and the canine is growing increasingly hungry. One day he happens to hear someone calling him from across the mountain. When he investigates, he sees that it’s just a young boy playing a trick on his local villagers. When the boy makes his cry a second time the wolf comes again, but begins to tire of the tricky child. The third time the kid gives a cry the wolf has just about had it. Since his mere appearance (parasol and all) is enough to scare the thoughtless boy up a tree, the crafty creature makes a deal. If the boy ties the plumpest of the goats to a fence post in the wolf’s garden, he’ll... uh... “spare” the rest of the flock. Sure enough, the boy does as our hero asks, but when he finds that the goat has eaten all the weeds and left the now enormous vegetables untouched, he finds that this new friend may prove more useful than as a quick nosh of double-goat dumplings.

It seems surprisingly logical in retrospect to take the tale of the Boy Who Cried Wolf and tell the story from the wolf’s point of view. Rather than make this yet another “The True Story of the Three Little Pigs” knock-off, though, Rocco’s tale makes a kind of perfect sense. When you think about it, when the boy cries, “Wolf! Wolf!”, he is, in a way, directly calling the wolf to the flock. This wolf, being just a tad over the hill, goes to the boy because he thinks he may know the person calling him. The story itself obeys the Rule of Three, and it’s nice to read something where the child character is a putz and the supposed antihero is the smartie. Of course, a part of me wishes that Rocco had stuck to his guns and allowed the wolf to eat the plump and juicy goat at the story’s end. On the other hand, he sets up the happily ever after finale well in advance so that it doesn't feel tacked on when you reach it.

The idea of setting the story in a Japanese setting makes for an interesting read. Not knowing anything whatsoever about the culture of that country, I can’t really speak to whether or not the costumes, clothing, and look of the story are accurate. What I can tell you is that Rocco's pictures, for all their cartoonish glee, carry with them a great deal of sophistication. There is, for example, a picture of the wolf soaking his aching feet in the bank of a riverbed that fills the page beautifully. In the water large white koi flit in the dappled beams of sunlight under large lily pads in a calm green sea. In another view the wolf naps in a cherry blossomed glen beside long eared rabbits and light blue butterflies as the sunbeams reflect the dying day. What Rocco has successfully captured in these images are varying qualities of light. He also knows exactly where to place the white space on his pages too (never an easy task). And if you find that you are unfamiliar with Mr. Rocco’s work, pick up the nearest “Percy Jackson” book and look at its cover. Seem familiar? There you go. On the website Imagekind Mr. Rocco's work was described as, “incredibly whimsical and filled to the brim with color and fantastic details.” There is little need for me to try to say it any better than that.

I once reviewed the children’s book, “A Room With a Zoo” by Jules Feiffer and mentioned in the piece that I had never seen a work of fiction for kids really drill home the agony of throwing one’s back out. Such a feeling is replicated here in “Wolf! Wolf!” but in this case it’s the ache of elderly joints and creaky knees. Grandparents reading this book to their progeny will relate to this most unexpected of protagonists. Altogether, a fine new look at a story we’ve all heard before. The real joy of this book is that not only does it pair with your standard Boy Who Cried Wolf retellings, it can even be read and enjoyed without having any knowledge of the original tale. Beautifully rendered and written with aplomb.


On shelves March 30, 2007.
And be sure to take a gander at Mr. Rocco's website and blog.

(By the way, if you happen to be interested in how folktales crop up in one place or another, consider giving a glance to Idries Shah’s, World Tales: The Extraordinary Coincidence of Stories Told in All Times, in All Places. I don’t know if it’s still in print, but it’s certainly one of the finest records of extraordinary connections between different cultures held together by similar stories.)