Review of the Day: New Socks

New Socks by Bob Shea. Little Brown & Company. $12.99

What is it you want out of your average everyday picture book? Do you want a story? A plot of some sort with a beginning, middle, and an end? Or are your demands a little more broad? I mean, what if a picture book went and just talked about socks for pages at a time? These days, publishers of children’s literature have had their eyes opened wide by the phenomenal success of titles like, “Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus”. So suddenly it’s perfectly okay for the narrator of a work for preschoolers to talk to them one-on-one without having to go so far as to dredge up a standard storyline. With Bob Shea's, "New Socks", all you have t do is combine an ultra-mod look with an over-the-top enthusiastic presentation and you’ve got yourself a book that walks the line between what’s cool and what’s inspired.

A glasses-wearing yellow chicklet (who is apparently named Leon, though the book never calls him that) asks you to guess exactly what it might be about him that’s so new. The glasses? Not so much. No, he’s wearing his New Socks. They fit him to a tee, look good, and there’s nothing better for sliding across a wooden floor. As we watch, the chicken uses the socks to overcome his fear of big slides and pretend to ring up the President. When at last his energy dies down a little the chicken says to the reader, “What can’t these New Socks do?” The last line in the book sums it all up. “Now I’m all excited to get pants!”

First off, this may well be the very first hipster picture book I’ve encountered, published in the last five years. Mod titles are a dime a dozen and you can find more rock, rockabilly, punk, jazz, and blues books for kids than you’ll ever have a need for. But how many of us have ever encountered a hero with thick black-framed glasses and a singular fashion sense? If the chicken in this book confessed that he found these socks at an awesome vintage store in Williamsburg for $3.00, I wouldn’t blink an eye. The fact that it takes a childhood staple (a sometimes unnatural love for the inanimate) and molds it into a picture book format is just gravy on the cake. So to speak.

As I may have mentioned before, “New Socks” probably owes its very existence to “Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus”. This isn’t to say that the two books are particularly similar. Aside from the avian hero who talks to the reader, the two are fairly different in terms of tone. No, it just seems to me that had “Pigeon” not garnered itself a Caldecott Honor and numerous profitable accolades, Little Brown & Co. might have been less inclined to take a chance on the pair of bright orange footies found here. The Mod look, coupled with the joyful storyline, makes the book unique. I can think of plenty of books that could be considered “good design” but that don’t have so much as a lick of humor to them. So it’s nice to sometimes see an exception to this rule. I'm not sure how repeated readings will fare, mind you. Still, I can see adults growing tired of the reading of this book long before their kids ever do.

“New Socks” to my mind, is the very antithesis of the “Fancy Nancy” books. Clean lines. A color palette of orange, yellow, and aqua blue. And nary a sparkle or a smidgen of glitter in sight! I mean, technically it’s all about fashion, but in a completely different kid-centric way. Where “Fancy Nancy” is all about embracing the idea of fanciness in a pseudo-grown-up style, “New Socks” feels more open and honest. We’ve all had that one piece of clothing that we’re just so jolly well pleased with. I mean, let’s face it. If I had a pair of big, comfy, plush, bright, beautiful orange socks I’d probably go all nuts over them myself. The chicken here is true to himself. This is what pleases him and he’s just so happy with his newest acquisition that it’s all he can do not to tell you about it for pages on end.

You know who this chicken character reminds me of? Have you ever watched those old Looney Tunes sequences involving Foghorn Leghorn and his small bespectacled chicken friend? This, right here, is that same chicken only modernized, hipstered up, and contemporized within an inch of his life. As I page through the book, I wonder if it will end up being a good read aloud with kids. Put just the right amount of force, bluster, and sheer good spirits into a reading and this chicken may veritably leap off the page. It’s worth a shot anyway. As new books go, it’s nice to find a title that’s so well and truly pleased with itself. If you’re looking for something fun, but you want to purchase a picture book that’ll suck in style-centric parents, you couldn’t ask for a more ideal title than “New Socks”.

On shelves now.

Other Blog Reviews By: Your Friendly Librarian,

Review of the Day: Eggs

Eggs by Jerry Spinelli. Little Brown & Company. $15.99.

You read enough of an author and you begin to get ideas about them. And if that author in question cuts a wide swath about them, the urge to stereotype them is strong. Jerry Spinelli cuts such a swath, yet all I’d read of him until now was a little “Maniac Magee” here and a touch of “Stargirl” there. Books that are nice enough in their own way but that don’t really make my pulse pound any faster. There is a blessing one should bestow upon all authors: May your reviewers have low expectations. Cause honestly, I got a kick out of “Eggs”. I mean, it’s basically “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?” for kids. Edward Albee would love this book, I’m sure. And while some people may see that as a deficiency, I’m all for it. You can find plenty of books where a boy and a girl meet and become bestest buddy buddies and skip happily off into a relationship that hasn’t so much as a thimbleful of oomph or excitement to it. Far rarer is the title where the words leap off the page and begin to gnaw on the reader's anklebone. There’s a true streak of anger at the core of “Eggs” which will make it equal parts adored and reviled by its potential readership. Want a book that sparks discussion and red hot emotions? Spinelli delivers.

David found the dead body hidden under a pile of leaves in the woods during an Easter egg hunt. The girl was about thirteen and beautiful, and he told her all his secrets, knowing she’d never tell. So imagine his shock and horror when a couple months later that same girl is sitting in the local storytime, asleep. She is not dead. She is Primrose and once it is made clear that she was never dead in the first place (the gal has a seriously twisted sense of humor) she and David are inseparable. They’ve their own family problems, of course. David’s mom is dead, his father is always away, and he loathes his kindly grandmother for everything she isn’t. Primrose, on the other hand, lives in an abandoned van outside her house. Her mother is an embarrassment to her, believing herself to be a fortune teller who (at this moment in time) will read feet like some people read palms. But with two such violent personalities, it’s only a matter of time before David and Primrose are on the outs. They’ll either fix what’s broken in the other, or be worse off because of their friendship in the end.

First off, I can’t think of better booktalk material. Seriously. Boy sees dead girl in a storyhour? Did someone just spill a whole cup of awesome all over this book? Some books grab you by the throat from page one and don’t let go until you’ve read them cover to cover. This is such a book. It’s not, however, an easy read. You’re constantly on your guard as you go through it. With two such unpredictable characters, Primrose and David are just as likely to slap you as kiss you. Their little pre-adolescent nerves are all ah-jangled and it’s this herky jerky clash of personalities that keeps the book consistently interesting.

The title is also very good at showing the true unattractiveness of desperation. David’s grandmother would do anything for her grandson. If only he’d just throw her a bone. Some kind of thoughtful gesture and all would be well. But the lines are drawn very clearly here. He has decided to hate her because she’s not his mother and she, for her part, doesn’t know how to break through to him. It’s the rare children’s novel, actually, where the main character says that he out-and-out HATES the innocent family member taking care of him. Spinelli sets it up so that you dislike David for what he’s doing to his grandma and, at the same time, you understand where he’s coming from. The woman is a suffocating presence. Her neediness just serves to repel the people she’s trying to befriend. And that you don’t end up detesting David from start to finish is a kind of accomplishment of writing in and of itself.

I also thought that the sheer absurdity of the narrative has a way of sucking you in. Spinelli reveals his characters in fits and starts. Primrose is the kind of person who’d wave at an imaginary car, then not like the imaginary driver’s response and start yelling and spitting. David’s the kind of kid who can weigh down the carrot that his grandmother gives him to eat every day with a kind of heady symbolism, entirely of his own.

There are unanswered questions by the story’s end, I’m afraid. The one that comes to my mind in particular concerns Primrose. The van outside her house where she stays is egged on a regular basis. We never get any specifics about this except when Primrose mentions that the kids who did it “followed” her and that they get their older siblings to drive them over to her van. It’s a mighty odd element to leave unexplained. Otherwise the ending is a strong one. It doesn’t cheat. You don’t get flowers and sunshine and a sudden smattering of scales falling from various characters’ eyes just in time to wrap up the narrative. None of that. It’s a good ending. A strong ending. An earned ending.

The best section in this book comes from the character of Refrigerator John. Night after night the kids take refuge in his home. Looking at them he sums up their relationship nicely: “What brought them together? Sometimes they acting their own ages, sometimes they switched. Sometimes both seemed to be nine, other times thirteen. Both were touchy, ready to squawk over nothing. They constantly crabbed at each other – yet at the same time he might be braiding her hair, or she might be making him lunch. Half the time they left his place snarling, yet the next day there they were, together, knocking on his door.” Good children’s books with complex characters and motives are sometimes a little difficult to locate. “Eggs” at times feels like a bookclub’s dream. You could parse many an action taken and word said in this story without ever quite running out of topics for discussion. A book that is worth reading, at the very least.

On shelves now.

Notes on the Cover: Mm. The old no-title-is-good-title route. Clever work, Spinelli’s an old hand at this technique, what with Stargirl and all. Then again, Stargirl was a completely different publisher than this one. Looks like ye olde Hachette Book Group is looking to make their own titleless mark. I’m a fan of the photo. Very appealing but I do wonder if any kid who is not yet already a Jerry Spinelli fan will feel inclined to pick it up.

Other Reviews By: A Year in Reading, Our Lady of Syntax, Scholarlybrio, Pam's Postings, and a host of others that aren't showing up on Google's blogsearch.

Review of the Day: Celeste's Harlem Renaissance

Celeste's Harlem Renaissance by Eleanora Tate. Little Brown & Company. $15.99.

The thick children’s historical novel faces a challenge that the thick adult or YA novel doesn’t have to deal with. Adults and, to some extent, teens are put off by the number of pages in their books less often than kids. A kid might breeze through a 500 page book of dragons, sure, but realistic novels will often give them pause. That isn’t to say that the thick historical novel for middle grades shouldn’t exist. It’s just that the author and editor must always bear in mind their audience when they take monumental pagination into account. If a book can justify its size, it shouldn’t have any problems. “Celeste’s Harlem Renaissance,” is a remarkable story of loyalty, choice, and forgiveness. It cannot, however, justify its 270+ pages, and this is truly heartbreaking. I love what author Eleanora Tate came close to doing here. I only wish it could have succeeded in the end.

For Celeste, it’s practically the end of the world. Her father’s come down ill and rather than be allowed to stay in her home in Raleigh, North Carolina, she’s being shipped off to live with her Aunt Valentina in up-and-coming twenties Harlem. For shy, uncertain, perpetually afraid Celeste, this is a tragedy. Then again, everyone says that Valentina lives a life of luxury amongst the elite of Harlem society. How bad could it be? As it turns out, pretty bad. Fired from her cushy job as an opera singer’s attendant, Valentina’s been reduced to scrubbing the floors of the theaters she longs to perform on someday. Celeste is soon helping out, and it looks like her nasty Aunt Society back in Raleigh was right when she said Valentina would work her to death. Slowly, however, the jobs lessen and Celeste comes to learn about, and appreciate, all the wonders of the Harlem Renaissance. She makes friends. She impresses people with her violin playing. But just as she starts settling in, word comes of a tragedy back home. Now Celeste needs to figure out where her heart, her loyalty, and her future lies. Fortunately, she has a new found strength to see her through her troubles.

Now I have a particular distaste for children’s books where a child travels to somewhere famous, say Harlem during the 1920s, and immediately runs into a couple big names while he or she is there. This was one of the many unfortunate crimes of “The Return of Buddy Bush,” and so it was with infinite relief that I saw Eleanora Tate was one smart cookie. It’s not that Celeste doesn’t have the briefest brushes with celebrity. She does meet James Weldon Johnson in a café, but that’s after she’s been in town a while and it’s loads better than the standard meeting-Langston-Hughes-on-your-first-day-on-a-street-corner version other authors would (and have) indulged themselves in. If the entire world of Harlem is there for you to write about, it’s difficult to pluck out the choicest people, places, and situations that will best serve your story. Tate, however, selects such moment with aplomb. You get a hint of the flavor of Harlem in this book without the text ever betraying the setting or the characters.

Speaking of characters, Celeste is a great heroine. Her growth is gradual but understandable and you root for her every step of the way. The problem is that Celeste is also uncharacteristically forgiving far and beyond past the point of believability. And when you get to the point where your protagonist isn’t understandable anymore, you’re in some kind of trouble. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Fool me multiple times in the course of a 279 page novel, shame on the author for thinking we’d believe all of that. At some point Celeste is able to figure out that her aunt is jealous of her talents. “No matter what Aunti said, she was jealous of me, and jealousy was a terrible, dangerous thing. Like Aunt Society said, forgive, but don’t forget.” Unfortunately, Celeste seems incapable of heeding her own advice. Over and over and over, to the point where the readers finds themselves exhausted by their incredulity, Celeste keeps forgiving her aunt and forgetting her flaws. She’s convinced she can get Valentina to move back “home” to the South, and all a reader can wonder is why? Why would Celeste want this horrible horrible woman near her? It reaches a kind of crescendo of ridiculousness near the end when Valentina disappoints Celeste and her friends on their home turf of Raleigh. And even then Celeste is trying to get her to move to Raleigh again. It’s a broken record moment, and one that puts a sour taste in your mouth.

On the other hand, there were wonderful little real moments spotted throughout the text. Aunt Valentina’s jealousy of any praise that might get cast her niece’s way is as ridiculous as it is realistic. A kid might think it weird that an adult would get jealous of a child, but personal insecurities are rarely logical. Also, the slow conversion of Aunt Society from intolerant prune to difficult but understandable woman is so well done. So perfect. Tate’s characters have all three of their dimensions firmly in place. Even Valentina, busting with egotism and self-regard, has her good moments here and there.

The writing is lovely too. There are delicious sentences like, “Seemed like anything I tried to do to get back home was like grabbing fog with my fingers.” Or when Celeste returns to Raleigh again she’s told, “you’ve come back full of fire and sass, hair growing, filling out, speaking up. New York was good for you.” Tate knows how to keep a book moving, even if it means sloughing through unnecessary scenes and pages.

It's so frustrating that I liked this book. I liked it so much. I thought the story of Celeste was fascinating and that the arc of the story said some wonderful things. But there were at least 75 pages that could and should have been taken out right from the start. I finished this book roughly a month ago and gave it the old Did It Stay With Me test. And the thing about Tate’s writing is how memorable it is. I picked up the novel again and everything came flooding back to me. Not every author has that ability. What I would like to see is a paring down her writing in the future. Cut out the excess. Grasp those characters and those plots and those situations and put them out there without all the excess fat. This book reads like a sophisticated version of “Understood Betsy,” by Dorothy Canfield Fisher and shows many of the talents of the author. I urge you then to watch for Eleanora Tate in the future. This may only be her beginning.

Notes on the Cover: I'm actually rather fond of this. It took me a while to notice, but you can see that Celeste is, in a kind of skewed perspective, looking up at the image of her floozy aunt in the window. I like artist Suling Wang's clean lines and I appreciate that the publisher isn't trying disguise this book as contemporary (since I STILL haven't forgiven Scholastic for the crimes committed via A Friendship for Today). I may not fall into the majority on this one, but I like this cover.

First Lines: "Scoot your big bucket over, Cece, and let me have more room," Evalina yelled.

Other Blog Reviews: Middle & Intermediate Book Talk

What's Alvina Editing Now?

Editors take note: This is exactly the kind of blog posting I like to see you guys do. Alvina Ling of Little, Brown & Co. has recently posted a sneak peak of what she is editing at the moment. I love this kind of stuff. Well done, Alvina. Let's see more of this kind of thing in the future.

Title: The Long Gone Lonesome History of Country Music

The Long Gone Lonesome History of Country Music by Bret Bertholf. Little Brown and Company. $18.99

Maybe I should have a rule that if you can’t find the cover of an upcoming book online, you shouldn’t review it. Maybe. I’ll get back to you on that one. The thing is, I would have waited too if this book weren’t so fan-freakin’-tastic. I literally whined, moaned, and groaned so loudly that Little, Brown & Company felt morally compelled to shut my yawp by sendin me an ARC.

Now I am not what you would call a big fan of country music. I know my basics, and I’m vaguely aware of its history, but truth be told country is not all the prevalent on my iPod. So the question I have to ask myself here is, do I feel sufficiently qualified to read and review a children’s non-fiction picture book with the title, “The Long Gone Lonesome History of Country Music”? I mean, if I don’t know my Charlie Rich from my Johnny Bond, how am I going to be able to sufficiently judge how well author/illustrator Bret Bertholf has convered this particular genre’s highs and lows? In this particular case, I have my ever-loving, country listenin’ husband to turn to. Side by side we read through Bertholf’s book and came to a single conclusion. For all its flaws, and there are one or two, this is a jaw-dropping piece of history. The pictures are stunning (if occasionally difficult to make out), the facts always interesting, the history correct, and the storyline faithful. Add in the fact that Bertholf has managed to literally give face to almost every single person who ever even THOUGHT about singing about their mean-eyed cat and you’ve a book that looks, acts, and is like no other.

Did you know that you might be a country singer and not even know it? It’s true. And Bret Bertholf is going to show you why. Concentrating the whole of his attention on the American South, the book dips deep into the past to talk about how people would kill time in the olden days. There wasn’t a lot to do, aside from creating your own music. Then, slowly, technology began to change everything. There was the radio and the record players. Those, in turn, led to the first country music star, Jimmie Rodgers. Time goes by and different musical forms like gospel, jazz, and honky tonks changed how the music sounded. WWII came, the singing cowboy was born, and Nashville grew and grew. With humorous asides, ridiculously in-depth pictures, and more than its fair share of humor, the book shows exactly how country music came to be, and where its future may lay someday.

This is Bret Bertholf’s first solo picture book and I would like to point out that the man has credentials out the wazoo. From the bookflap I’ve learned that not only can Mr. Bertholf yodel (no mean feat) but he’s also a part of the group named Halden Woford and Hi-Beams. You may have heard them on A Prairie Home Companion in the past. The book reflects what is obviously his long-standing love for the heroes of the country world. Obviously at some point Mr. Bertholf thought to himself that it would be a shame to mention only some country music stars and not others. The solution? Endpapers. Starting with 1920, every year since that time is given one train car and one singer/musician sitting on top. Each person is presented like a well-rendered bobblehead doll, their features recognizable and (mostly) cheery. My husband assures me that in many cases, the year that a particular star rides does not always correspond to when they really hit it big. There’s also an inclusion of Bing Crosby that’s sure to have a purist or two scratching their heads. The train ends, curiously enough, with 1999. I suppose the author didn’t want to judge too soon the more contemporary stars of today. Could it have killed him to include a Dixie Chick, though? That's a personal beef. Not a professional one.

Every face in this book is different. Every single one. That may not sound like much, but once you begin to notice it, it takes on a certain appeal. My favorite image of the book was a remarkable shot of people standing in line for soup during the Depression. Bertholf, in his agreeable fashion, explains the basics of what happened by offering up a hypothetical situation where a person has handed all their money to Stocky Margaret. But take a gander at the faces in the line. There are at least seventeen of them and each one is different, historically accurate, and deeply realistic. Now turn to the Nashville section. On stage you can see Jake Tullock breaking it down with Roy Acuff and Ernest Tubb. That’s not the impressive part. The musicians have their back to us and we can see in the dim light the faces of the audience members. Now Bertholf could have made the audience dark or drawn a generic face or two. Instead he has given each person there a personality, a hairstyle in keeping with the times, and, even in some cases, an action. It’s mesmerizing. I have a very hard time looking away from it just to continue writing this review. Wow.

Now the art is wonderful in some ways. You have paper dolls one one page and a kind of fill-in-the-blank songwriting sheet on another. I love Bertholf’s art. I just wish I could show it to large groups of people. Time and time again the artist will proffer fabulous scenes or images or people, yet do so with an incredibly dark earth-toned palette. The illustrations in this book were done with colored pencil, “and Caran d’Ache crayon on Canson pastel paper.” This means they are always amazing. Unfortunately, it also means that they are very very dark. A couple spreads, like a sudden discussion of “Countrypolitan” and Patsy Cline, will lighten up the book once in a while, but more often than not the images are hard to see. If, as a children’s librarian, I want to show a group of kids “The Rules of Bluegrass”, I won’t be able to because the page is so dark brown and grey that it’s almost black. Bertholf obviously created this book with one-on-one parent/child reading in mind. Had he lightened things up a little, though, this would make for an excellent readaloud to whole classrooms. A pity.

For the most part, Bertholf is more interested in pinpointing the important moments and influences on country music than in spending a lot of time talking about some of the implications. This isn’t to say he doesn’t reference that history obliquely. On a two page spread entitled Gospel Roots we see two different gospel choirs. One the left-hand page are white singers like Bradley Kincaid and Abby Hutchinson. On the right-hand page is a black gospel choir, segregated from the white choir and containing members like Bessie Smith and Thomas A. Dorsey. You won’t get an explanation of why the Confederate flag still flies or even of how racism has influenced the music throughout the years. That isn’t to say, however, that Bertholf isn’t going to allude to it once in a while.

Now when it comes to non-fiction, kid-appeal is key. If you can wrangle a child into getting interested in a subject that they may or may not have cared for right from the start, you’re worth your weight in kiddie lit gold, my friend. Mr. Bertholf most certainly falls into that category. First of all, the aforementioned pictures, for all that you probably couldn’t make them out from a distance of five feet, are wholly entrancing when seen up close and personal. Apparently Mr. Bertholf (and I’m getting this second-hand) lured Little, Brown & Co. into showing an interest in this book with a little two-page spread sent to them entitled, “How To Yodel!” It’s in the finished product, I should add, and it’s quite a magnificent spread. A large mouth, the gutter of the book falling neatly somewhere around the wisdom tooth area, opens as wide as possible as the words, “Don’t Look” and “Where Yodels come from” point to the gaping maw. All kinds of tidbits like this make the book hard for a kid to put down. There’s a section on Country Pets that tells you about Hound Dogs, Hawgs, and the cutest l’il ole Varmints you ever did see. There’s the Big List of Country Names where you take the initials of your real name and come up with your country music alternative (I’m either Cooter Loudbottom or Goober Loudbottom). There are monsters and hot rods and puzzle pieces and all kinds of stuff falling about the place. There's even a peculiar yet adorable "squeezel" that a lot of children will have a fun time finding on one page or another.

Lest you feel from what I’m saying that Bertholf is making fun of the country music genre, allow me to put your mind at rest. Sure, he plays up some of the sillier aspects. The singing cowboys, big hair, and sequin-riddled clothing are all present. At the same time, however, you get a true sense of his respect for the genre at large. The meticulousness of his history and the number of names he’s able to pull out are impressive. I was more than a little disappointed to see that Bertholf did not include a Bibliography of sources, however. I think this was a huge mistake. Libraries that want to classify this book as non-fiction will be all the more reluctant to add it to their collection when they find that the author has not backed up his facts with any reliable texts. And what about kids who want to learn more about country music? Wouldn’t a list of websites, books for further reading, and general articles have fit in like a dream? Sure, there’s a list at the story’s end of all the famous faces that cropped up in earlier pictures, but that does little to bolter the book’s credibility. As I review this title I’m looking at a very early ARC (it’s not even due out until April 2007). That leaves plenty of time to slap together Bertholf’s sources and come up with a kick-ass Bibliography, yes? I sure hope so.

The book changes constantly from spreads that are horizontal to those that are vertical, but I don’t feel that this upsets the nature of the reading any. Just keeps you on your toes. Now, I know that I haven’t even mentioned half the stuff you’ll find in this book. It’s detailed within an inch of its life and if I had more time I’d talk to you about the peculiar look Bob Dylan sports in this title, or the fact that Dolly Parton’s boobs are, to put it mildly, unrecognizable. But I can’t cover everything Bertholf has done, and that’s okay. It just means that when April rolls around you’re going to have to remember to seek out and read THE most memorable country music picture book for the kiddies. It has its flaws, but they don’t keep it from being the best of the best. Keep your eyes peeled.

On shelves April 1, 2007.

Review of the Day: Fred Stays With Me! by Nancy Coffelt

Fred Stays With Me!
By Nancy Coffelt
Illustrated by Tricia Tusa
Little Brown and Company
$16.99
ISBN: 978-0316882699
On shelves now

Maybe it’s a little too soon to start cooing loudly over a 2007 title. And not just any 2007 title but a JUNE 2007 title. Maybe. And maybe it’s too soon to start mentioning it to my patrons when they ask for picture books that concern a topic all too common in American today; divorce. Maybe. And maybe it’s too soon to start whispering words like “fabulous pictures” and “sensible touching plot” and “must-own title” around Nancy Coffelt’s, Fred Stays With Me. Maybe. Or maybe a blogger like myself should start as early as possible to help rustle up some support for what I strongly believe to be a must-have 2007 pick. Picture books come and picture books go but I think there’s gonna be one thing we can all agree on in the upcoming 2007 season... Fred Stays With Me!

Says the young girl hero of this book, life can be inconsistent but not when it comes to her dog Fred’s living status. Whether she’s living with her mom one day or her dad the next, “Fred stays with me!”. Of course, it’s not as if Fred is a perfect pet at all times. When they’re at her mom’s he likes to bark at the next door neighbor’s poodle. When they’re at her dad’s, Fred eats every sock you can find. Still, the pup is a constant in the little girl’s life. So much so that when each of her parents make the point that Fred can’t stay with them, our heroine declares long and loud that there is no question of Fred staying with one parent or another. After all, “Fred stays with ME!” Realizing this, her mom and dad find ways to work around or change Fred’s less than desirable habits and all is well in the end.

Now you would think with the sheer number of children of divorce living in America today that there would be a plethora of excellent picture book titles out there reflecting those kids’ living situations. Now I’m going to sit you down and ask you a question. Have a seat. You ready? Okay. Look me in the eye and name five books written for young children that are really excellent, talk about divorce, and are instantly relatable. Can’t come up with five? I’ll make it easy on you then. Come up with three. No, wait, two. Come up with just two titles. Remember, they have to be “good”. Not the usual Mommy-And-Daddy-Don’t-Live-Here-Anymore Mr. Rodgers knock-offs clogging bookstore shelves nationwide. Honest-to-goodness smart books of divorce are as uncommon as sweet summer rains in December. They can happen, but they’re rare. Fred Stays With Me! is the very definition of rare too. Few books really capture the heart of a character’s story like this book manages to do. The little girl in this book accepts her situation. It’s not perfect but she has something constant in her life that she can always count on. Her Fred. And Fred’s no saint himself, but with a little pushing on the girl’s part, her parents can learn to adapt to the dog’s messy ways. He doesn’t fit perfectly into their lives but he fits perfectly into their daughter’s, and they simply are going to have to accept that. “Fred doesn’t stay with either of you. Fred stays with ME!” Says it all right there, it does.

Extra points to the person who roped illustrator Tricia Tusa into this project as well. Ms. Tusa is a memorable illustrator. Even if you’ve never read any of her picture books, you’ll recognize her style from innumerable book covers. Here, Tusa works with a purposefully limited palette. In an era of increased glam and glitz in the children’s book industry, Tusa’s muted autumnal colors come as a truly gorgeous compliment to Coffelt’s low-key action. The entire book is told in golden brown, saffron, and peach watercolors. Tusa then creates characters that are sweet but never maudlin. She manages to create truly amiable people and animals that win your heart with just the slightest of glances at the cover. But when you see the little girl sitting in a tree showing Fred her paper dolls or holding Fred in a kind of makeshift spotlight as she explains that her pet is HER pet, you don’t feel overwhelmed by sticky sweet emotions. You are instead facing actual honest-to-goodness raw and realistic feelings that Coffelt and Tusa offer up to you honestly. Add in the details Tusa is able to sneak in here and there (like the footwear-devouring Fred staring lovingly up at a single sock hanging on a line) and you’ve got yourself the only artist I can imagine Coffelt’s book ever pairing with.

This isn’t a book that unfairly plays with your heartstrings. It wins your heart fair and square and manages to be the number one best picture book about divorce ever written as a result. On that you can quote me. By far one of the strongest picture books you’ll see on your shelves, and a book you should write down the title of right now so that you can remember it’s shining face later on down the line. A strong remarkable creation.

On shelves June 1, 2007.

Review of the Day: Mama's Saris

I guess I never really realized that it was a universal instinct. You are born. You grow a little older. And then one day your raid your mother’s closet, trying on her dresses, shoes, scarfs, and so on for the sole purpose of becoming, if only for a little while, older. I remember trying on my mom’s wedding dress once, in all its frilly early 70s lace glory, and I was not a child usually prone to “playing dress up” as it were. Imagine then if you had a mother that wore clothes that had names like Zardosi, Banarasi, and Kalamkari. Pooja Makhijani has taken a very simple concept and has expanded it to encompass the whole wide world. With simple language and just the right words, she conveys better than anyone what it can mean to a daughter to find herself made into the image of her mom.

A small girl is about to celebrate her seventh birthday and you know what that means. Time for Mama to pull out the suitcase of saris she always stores carefully under her bed for special occasions. On this day in particular she lets her daughter pick out which sari to wear. Will it be the black chiffon one that “shimmers like the nighttime sky”? Or how about the blue with the gold flowers that dance along its border? No, nothing but the brilliant orange, “with edges that look like they have been dipped in red paint”, worn on the day when our little girl was first brought home from the hospital will do. Only, it’s not enough. The girl wants to finally wear a sari of her own, and this time, because it’s her birthday, she’s finally getting her wish. She is swathed in blue, bangled to match, and then in the final crowning touch is given the kiss of beautiful glittery bindi right in the center of her forehead. And when asked what she thinks, the kid answers in delight, “I think I look like you!”

There’s an awfully helpful Author’s Note at the beginning of the book that provides quite a bit of sari-related information for people who, like myself, haven’t been initiated into the world of Kantha and the like. Says Ms. Makhijani, “I wrote Mama’s Saris after realizing that my own fascination with my mother’s fancy clothes was not unique. It seemed as if each of my female friends, regardless of ethnicity or age, remembers being captivated by her mother’s grown-up clothes.” True nuff. Extra points for the rather nice Glossary of terms, also at the front of the book, that defines everything from what a didi is to chaniya choli, alongside pronunciations. As for the text itself, it really does convey the yearning many a little girl feels towards becoming as glamorous as her mother. Add in the extra delight of dress-up and you’ve got yourself a book that speaks to all kids of all persuasions.

Now sometimes the stars align in just the right way to allow a first-time picture book author like Ms. Makhijani to be paired with just the right illustrator. What this book required was an artist that could match the author’s eloquent ode to the sari in a realistic fashion. A messy illustrator or representational one working primarily in the realm of splotches and blots would not have done this book any justice at all. Elena Gomez is no newcomer to the world of picture book illustration, but she has yet to be recognized fully. And in the case of "Mama's Sari", she proves herself to be especially good at repeating vibrant patterns in this story, and everything from the bedspread to the saris to the wallpaper is reproduced here magnificently. I also enjoyed the moments when the narrator would discuss a moment from the past and Gomez would accommodate by showing the characters from that moment as snapshots lovingly framed and fallen against a multitude of glorious fabrics. Interestingly enough the artist’s figures are far more natural when they aren’t side-views of faces. Sometimes a shot from the side will look a little forced or unnatural. It rarely happens, however, and she makes up for these with pictures like the magnificent view of the girl’s mother smiling in her vibrant orange and red sari, as her daughter pouts over her left shoulder, simultaneously entranced and envious.

All in all, a soft and sweet little book. Written with love and illustrated with obvious care, it definitely is a keeper through and through. Consider adding it to your own collection should you feel you need to beef up your mother/daughter selection. A perfect Mother’s Day gift, to say the least.

On shelves May 2007.