Children's Books discussion

This month, it's all about picture books that appeal to your inner child. What books published today would you have totally loved as a kid -- and why? If you're able to safely visit a library, maybe make a trip and browse the shelves and see what you might have snatched up when you were a child. Do you see any beloved childhood favorites on the shelves these days, or have most of them gone out-of-print? What has changed about picture books since you were a kid? Also, if you happen to have kids now, what books really speak to them?

I want to do this theme because I have been feeling lately that I am focusing so much on picture books that appeal to my grown-up self in terms of subject or educational value for sharing with my boys. I'm super grateful these exist, because I really do feel the overall quality of picture books is stellar these days and covering so much rich content for education, especially STEAM and history/biographies, and especially in showcasing greater diversity. And I certainly did enjoy some "educational" picture books as a kid and the best books can absolutely be educational AND entertaining. But, increasingly these days, I find myself craving something that I would have loved as a kid simply because it was fun, it sparked my imagination or made me laugh or introduced me to a character I wished could become my new best friend. These days, my kids see picture books as "school books" because we use them so much for their homeschool education, and I realized I need to make sure I'm bringing in books that will make them giggle or dream especially before they are "too old" to appreciate those elements. Not that I've completely ignored that sort of book, but I realize my emphasis has been heavily in one direction when it comes to picture books. So, I hope this project isn't too self-indulgent and that you'll all have fun connecting with your inner child this month :-)

Well for me, picture books by Patricia Polacco totally appeal to my inner child, as do picture books that tell a nice and nuanced, not too simple and not too complicated story without having some kind of political and social agenda. And yes, the illustrations need to be appealing and not too cartoony. Will probably be featuring appealing picture books I have read in the past first and before I start looking for newer ones.

Manybooks wrote: "picture books that tell a nice and nuanced, not too simple and not too complicated story without having some kind of political and social agenda.."

Agreed. I feel these books are few and far between these days, though maybe I am simply not finding them. I feel the picture books of my childhood (the '80s) tended to be longer and tell more involved stories. So many picture books today have so few words! I think a meaningful story can still be told with an economy of words (or illustrations-only) but words have always appealed to me, even as a child, so I tend to like stories that really have a lovely sense of storytelling, sometimes even in the more "old-fashioned" sense of the word where you could imagine a beloved relative telling a tale, or that "once upon a time..." feel where you just kind of meander into the story and get caught up in the wordweaving. Polacco is a great example!

A lot of picture books that appeal to my inner child are German ones I read and loved as a child. And while I generally have found English translations of these books adequate, the lyrical quality has also often rather bothered me. So yes, if one of these childhood favourites has been very well and flowingly translated (although few and far between), I am really happy.

My Donkey Benjamin is delightful, brilliantly translated and a lovely story I enjoyed as a child (as Mein Esel Benjamin) and more recently and actually equally delightfully translated into English.

Mother Earth and Her Children: A Quilted Fairy Tale is definitely the best translation of Sibylle von Olfers' Etwas von den Wurzelkindern I have encountered.

After being rather disappointed with the text (the translation, or rather the so-called translation) of The Story of the Root-Children, I am glad to have been quite pleasantly surprised with and by both the text and the quilted illustrations of Mother Earth and Her Children: A Quilted Fairy Tale. I have to admit that while the original illustrations by Sibylle von Olfers will always remain a personal favourite, I was and continue to be wowed and impressed by Sieglinde Schoen-Smith's quiltwork and very touched by the backstory of the quilt (how creating this lovely masterpiece, celebrating the seasons, celebrating joy, life and rebirth helped Sieglinde Schoen-Smith come to terms with the death of her son, how working on the quilt brought her peace). As someone with basically no sewing skills whatsoever, I remain in complete awe at Sieglinde Schoen-Smith's accomplishment and the fact that she has managed to so successfully portray Sibylle von Olfers' glorious, life-affirming Jugendstil illustrations as a quilt, as a work of exquisite craftsmanship. The accompanying text by renowned folklore expert Jack Zipes is also impressive, as he has actually managed to successfully capture both the poetry and general rhythm of Sibylle von Olfers original text (as presented in Etwas von den Wurzelkindern), no mean feat when translating poetry. My friend Abigail has pointed out that Zack Zipes' text is somewhat shortened, and not as complete as the original (and should therefore perhaps be considered more of an adaptation rather than a translation). However, I believe that this was/is likely in response to the fact that the quilt itself does not depict all of Sibylle von Olfers' original illustrations. For example, Sieglinde Schoen-Smith's quilt does not contain the scene where the "root children" are playing near and on the creek, and it would have been strange and problematic indeed if Jack Zipes had included translated text for images, for depictions not present; this really and truly would not have worked well at all. Zipes' text reads as authentically as possible, capturing the poetry, the exuberant joy of springtime, the beauty (the child-friendly, life-affirming atmosphere) of both Sibylle von Olfers' original text and Sieglinde Schoen-Smith's quilted illustrations. As to the illustrator's and translator's notes at the back of the book, what can I say, but that they are both informative and majorly impressive. Sieglinde Schoen-Smith's backstory about her childhood in post WWII Germany (how she was allowed to peruse her older sister's books, but had none of her own) and how the making of the quilt helped her cope with the tragic death of her son are both informative and emotionally wrenching. I think it might also be eye-opening for modern American and Canadian children to realise that after WWII, many European children did not have books and toys. My own parents tell very similar stories, that after the war, toys and books were not of prime importance for many families, who were often struggling to simply provide their children with adequate food and clothing. Jack Zipes' notes on Sibylle von Olfers' life and work are likely a bit too advanced and textually dense for many children. However, for me, they provided and continue to provide a welcome source of academically interesting material (although I do wish that Zipes had provided a bibliographical list with suggestions for further reading). Be that as it may, there is still enough information included in the notes for additional, independent research, and I do appreciate the information provided, as I had never before read any secondary or biographical material on Sibylle von Olfers; all I knew was that she is the author and illustrator of one of my all time favourite picture books (a book I must have read more than a hundred times as a child).

I do appreciate the fact that Floris Books of Edinburgh provides English language adaptations for many classic German language picture books, but the fact that those adaptations are often quite different and generally anonymous is a bit annoying.

Good Dog, Carl

Now after simply adoring many of the later instalments in Alexandra Day's Carl the Rottweiler series, I have to admit that I was and still remain more than a bit underwhelmed by the first book of the series, by Good Dog, Carl. I do think that in general, God Dog, Carl is a sweet (albeit for some parents, perhaps also a touch unnerving) story, full of fun, whimsy and mischief. However, neither Alexandra Day's narrative nor her accompanying illustrations have managed to completely charm me like I have been "wowed" by for example Carl's Summer Vacation) and Carl's Snowy Afternoon. For the illustrations in both of these later Carl books are truly magical, wonderfully bold and really truly do capture the cuteness, fun and typical characteristics of a family Rottweiler, whereas the illustrations in Good Dog, Carl seem (at least to and for me) a bit bland and washed-out in comparison. They are well-executed, and both humorous and sweet, but lack the whimsy and colourful expressiveness displayed in the artwork of many of the later Carl the Rottweiler books. And yes, I also do tend to find the stories (the plot lines) in the later books a bit more appealing and interesting (realistic) as stories in and of themselves. Now that is not to say that I did not truly enjoy "reading" about Carl and Madeleine's escapades in Good Dog, Carl. I have no moral or philosophical problems with the fact that the mother lets the family Rottweiler babysit Madeleine, and it always amazes me that there are actually unenlightened, moronic individuals who not only vehemently despise Good Dog, Carl, but actually seem think that it is somehow dangerous and should in fact be censored and even removed from library shelves (for example, one obviously brainless patron at our local library recently left a comment requesting that this supposedly dangerous book be removed). Honestly, Good Dog, Carl is a fantastical and fun children's picture book, and if any parents think or believe that leaving a baby alone in the care of a dog is correct parenting (and would even remotely consider imitating this), they have major pre-existing mental health issues that have not been caused by the book, that are not the fault of Good Dog, Carl. However, I guess it is also to a certain extent the fantastical elements in Good Dog, Carl that have made me enjoy it rather less than some of the later Carl the Rottweiler books I have read and adored. Many of Carl's and Madeleine's escapades in Carl's Summer Vacation, Carl's Snowy Afternoon and even Carl's Birthday are quite close to reality; they portray actions, interactions, games etc. that children and Rottweilers (or dogs in general) do engage in and often engage in together (sliding down a slide, fetching a baseball, the dog pulling a sled). And one of the reasons I love these above mentioned three books so much was/is because of the nostalgia, of seeing illustrations of a Rottweiler that could so easily have been the Rottweiler(s) my family owned when my siblings and I were younger. The story depicted in Good Dog, Carl, however, they did not create (and does not create) that same sense of nostalgia in me, as none of our Rottweilers would ever have let us swim in a fish tank, nor would they have known how to give us a bath and dry us with a hairdryer (and thankfully so). But of course, I would still and definitely recommend this generally charming wordless (or rather, nearly wordless) picture book to and for anyone who likes dogs (and yes, both adults and children). But really, if you are going to be reading Good Dog, Carl, you should also take the time to read and enjoy some of the later Carl the Rottweiler instalments (as both the stories and the illustrations do much improve as series progresses).

Carl's Birthday

It is Carl's birthday and Madeleine's mother wants to give the family Rottweiler a surprise birthday party. Madeleine and Carl are sent to a neighbour's house, but instead of taking a nap, they (of course) sneak back into their domicile, checking out the presents, sampling the cake and so on. Again, almost wordless, with brilliant and wonderful illustrations, Alexandra Day's Carl's Birthday would be a cute and fun story to share with a child and especially a child who might have the tendency to be curious about his/her birthday party and wrapped birthday and Christmas gifts. However, the adult in me kind of does also feel more than a bit sorry for the mother and that her efforts to create a wonderful surprise birthday party for Carl are somewhat diminished by Carl and Madeleine's relentless curiosity. But although with Carl's Birthday, I do find that Carl and Madeleine rather manage to wreck the mother’s carefully planned birthday surprise a trifle frustrating and annoying, I am still going to be assigning a five star ranking and mostly because some of the illustrations for Carl’s Birthday are truly priceless and again left (and leave me) me with very fond and nostalgic memories of our own Rottweilers. The absolutely hilarious illustration of Carl trying on his new yellow rain-poncho had me laughing and totally reminded me of the expression in our own Rottweiler's eyes the one time my mother tried to get him to wear a doggie-sweater. His expression seemed to say (just like Carl's expression seems to say), "You really want me to wear THAT?" But for me, the most special, the most nostalgic illustration is the final illustration in Carl’s Birthday of Carl, draped over the mother's lap. For yes, this really has had me reminiscing, remembering how our Rottweilers used to drape themselves over my mother's lap. It was their greatest joy, especially on the weekend, when my mother actually let them stay on her lap for an extended period of time (even though my father definitely did not much approve).

Carl's Summer Vacation

I just so much adore Alexandra Day's evocative illustrations, and the plotline of this "almost wordless picture book" is almost too sweet and touching for my poor words (Carl's Summer Vacation truly is an absolute treasure in every way). The basic story brings back all sorts of fond and homey memories for me, as I do well remember using our own dear Rottweiler as a pony when we were toddlers; we could do almost anything with her, and she was the most wonderful playmate (I also absolutely love the scene where Carl and his "mount" jump over the family of skunks, so cute, but also perhaps a trifle terrifying, as if the skunks had sprayed Carl and Madeleine, potential humour would have quickly and odiferously dissipated). And although our mother would of course never have left us alone with any of our Rottweilers, if she had, my siblings and I would actually have been in good hands (as they were totally trustworthy and massively protective of us children). A wonderful picture story for anyone who loves dogs, and it is so sweetly refreshing to see Rottweilers depicted as the wonderful, loving and fun animals they so often are. I am bathing warmly in the scented and tenderly caressing waters of nostalgia; Carl's Summer Vacation book is just so wonderful and sweetly, lastingly endearing.

Carl's Snowy Afternoon

This sweet and simply wonderful nearly wordless picture about Carl's (but also Madeleine's) snowy (winter) afternoon is the second book about Carl the lovable Rottweiler that I have had the sweet and glowing pleasure to read. Maybe not quite as inherently tender as Carl's Summer Vacation, Carl's Snowy Afternoon is actually in many ways somewhat more humorous than the latter and has had me laughing and chuckling continuously. The basic story line is that Carl and Madeleine are supposed to be at home under the care of a babysitter, while Madeleine's parents go to a neighbourhood pond skating party. However, the inseparable pair decide that they would rather play in the snow. It is funny and maybe just a tad frustrating and frightening that both the babysitter and Madeleine's parents are really depicted as being rather majorly clueless. The babysitter is so enthralled with her television program that Carl and Madeleine can easily slip by her and out of the house for some winter fun, and the parents don't even seem to realise that their daughter and their Rottweiler have shown up at their own pond party. But my favourite two illustrative spreads are when Carl nabs the hotdogs from a hotdog vendor as a snack, and right at the end, when Carl and Madeleine retrieve the carrot nose from the snowman and give it to the hungry bunny rabbit (one reviewer thought that the hotdog nabbing scene was/is a terrible thing to show, with a bad message, but come on, many dogs do like to nab food, and Rottweilers, at least all of the Rottweilers I have known, are champion and dedicated food nabbers, and we honestly do not need heavy messages and morals with every children's book). There is a bit more dialogue in Carl's Snowy Afternoon, but still, it is the wonderful illustrations that basically tell the story. And what illustrations!! Alexandra Day has really captured the essence of Rottweiler cuteness, from their bouncing strides to their floppy, fly-away ears when they are running (our Rottweilers used to look exactly like that, we used to call their ears "Fliegerohren" or flyer or pilot ears in English). I would recommend Carl's Snowy Afternoon to anyone who likes dogs and winter scenes; the combination is simply magical and makes me heartily wish that I was Madeleine's age again and could enjoy winter fun with a lovable and playful canine companion.

Carl's Halloween

Honestly, but I really and truly have to shake my head with both consternation and more than a bit of personal annoyance that there are still seemingly rather too many individuals (and of course, these are likely for the most part adults) who sadly seem to freak out with regard to Sandra Day's Carl the Rottweiler series of picture books, mostly because in each of them, Rottweiler Carl is usually left alone with young Madeleine, with dog and toddler then having solo adventures and escapades without parental (adult) supervision (and the dynamic, inseparable duo of course also often does precisely what they have been specifically told not to be engaging in, such as in this book, in Carl's Halloween, dressing up, going trick-or-treating by themselves, on their own, because Mommy has had to go and help Grandma). But come on, everyone! ALL of the Carl the Rottweiler picture books are generally and very obviously pretty much simply entertaining and engaging fantasy stories for young children, for young dog enthusiasts, and NO ONE in his or her right mind (whether child or adult) would/should in any way even remotely consider Madeleine and Carl's solo shenanigans and escapades (both in Carl's Halloween and in the other books of the series) as either realistic or in any way to be even remotely imitated (it is just plain and sweet fantastical fun, and like is said in the Beatles song, Strawberry Fields Forever, there is absolutely and truly nothing to get hung up about). So yes, just savour and visually enjoy Sandra Day's inherently, supremely cute and wonderful illustrations, and indeed also realise that Rottweilers, when they are well trained and adequately socialised, are or can be wonderful family and even neighbourhood dogs, such as in Carl's Halloween, where it is obvious that the entire neighbourhood both appreciates and very much loves Carl (and my heart just melted when Carl gives his bag of Halloween candy to the neighbour lady who had not been able to purchase any to give to trick-or-treaters).

Owl Moon

As a teenager (after we had moved to an acreage outside of Calgary, Alberta), I used to go out by myself on cold and clear winter nights with binoculars to observe the moon and stars and listen for coyotes. Reading this lovely little gem of a picture book (and looking at the snowy and peaceful illustrations) gives a similar sensation, cold, yet warm all the same, silent, mysterious, where every sound (and even the very silence) is music and the atmosphere pure delight. Both Jane Yolen's narrative and John Schoenherr's luminous "winter wonderland" illustrations perfectly, descriptively and caressingly capture the quiet, the peacefulness, the mystery of the winter woods at night, a luminous marriage of text and image (and I can certainly and appreciatively understand how and why Owl Moon won the prestigious Caldecott Medal in 1988). While I do not see much wrong with the father imitating the owl's calls to attract it, I tend to think that using a flashlight on the owl is perhaps potentially harmful, as I believe this could temporarily blind it (and I definitely did not enjoy that part of Owl Moon quite as much). Now these are just my personal feelings and considerations, and I am definitely no zoologist. However, just like deer can easily be blinded by car headlights, I do have to wonder whether owls might not experience something similar if a flashlight were suddenly directed at them (after all, they are mostly nocturnal animals and their eyes are thus suited for hunting prey at night, something that a bright artificial light might well disrupt). But while this small issue does bother me a bit, otherwise Owl Moon is simply loveliness personified, evocative, atmospheric (and a for the most part peaceful, non violent and non interfering way to enjoy the outdoors, to enjoy our feathered friends, simply by observing, watching birds, especially when one considers that until relatively recently, birding often consisted of collecting nests, eggs, and hunting/shooting birds, then stuffing and mounting the specimens).

Chicken Sunday

This picture book by Patricia Polacco is again an absolute gem. Another (autobiographical) story, Chicken Sunday is a glowing and wonderful tale of friendship, understanding, sensitivity, forgiveness, creative craftmanship (and so much more). It is a story to make you smile, to make you cry and to make you feel hungry (and not necessarily for Miss Eula's chicken suppers, but more for the friendship, the love and the easy acceptance of different cultures and religions presented). I really appreciate how the friendship between the narrator (the author as a child) and Stewart and Winston is shown as something "natural" and beautiful, that it is not made to seem exotic, strange or even all that "remarkable" because it is intercultural and interracial (it is just there, and it is a natural, and beautifully natural thing). I find that sometimes, and perhaps even rather often, books that emphasise the supposed, the so-called exotic and remarkable nature of interracial and intercultural friendships can seem somewhat negative to me personally, because friendship is friendship (or should be), and it really does not matter and should not matter if one's friend is of another culture, religion etc. This is avoided with Chicken Sunday. The friendship between Patricia, Stewart and Winston is just a beautiful friendship, the fact that it is an intercultural and interracial friendship actually makes no difference whatsoever. This story is, of course, also somewhat of an Easter story, but it is really not primarily a story about Easter, or religion, Chicken Sunday is primarily about friendship (both the friendship between the three children, but also the developing friendship between the children and Mr. Kodinski). And with that salient fact in mind, Chicken Sunday is naturally, also a poignant tale about courage, about being brave and doing the "right thing." The three children did not throw eggs at Mr. Kodinski's shop, but because he thought they did, he now basically believes that they are part of the bigoted bullies who had been hurling eggs (and other forms of abuse) at him. Going back to his store to not only win him over, but to then ask him for a job, took courage (Mr. Kodinski calls it chutzpah). But of course, it is the home-made pysanky eggs that actually win him over, that actually serve as cementing or beginning to cement his friendship with the three children. Mr. Kodsinki is also a born merchant and I really love and appreciate how he (although he does not have the money to hire the narrator and her two friends) finds a way for them to make money. Of course, the best part (for me) still was and is when Mr. Kodinski gives Patricia, Stewart and Winston the special Easter hat for Miss Eula as a present, how the three children are able to keep their money, and also most importantly, how they will now be able to make Miss Eula happy (and thank her for her wonderful and soul-warming chicken suppers), and how Mr. Kodinski is now a friend as well, a good friend who appreciates and likes them. Reading between the lines of Chicken Sunday, you can tell that Miss Eula, while happy about her new Easter hat, is more happy about the thought behind this special gift and the effort the children had to make to obtain it. The illustrations are again outstanding, and although by themselves, I would not necessarily call them personal favourites, they work wonderfully with the story, the narrative, providing a perfect mirror to and of the text. In fact, the illustrations also go above and beyond the narrative, as two of the illustrations show that Mr. Kodinski is a concentration camp survivor, not only adding to the poignancy of the story itself, but also opening the door for further discussion, especially if reading this book with and to slightly older children. I strongly, no I very strongly recommend Chicken Sunday and I only wish that Patricia Polacco had also included instructions on how to make pysanky eggs in the book, as this could be a perfect class project (and one would not even have to use real eggs, as wooden pysanky eggs would perhaps be an even better project because the "eggs" would last and not spoil).

The Library

With a fun and flowingly rhythmic rhyme scheme, Sarah Stewart's engaging and evocative The Library (whose lyrical text is graced with and by her life partner David Small's bright and immensely suitable descriptive and at times almost outrageous accompanying illustrations) tells the story of the ultimate bibliophile and book lover/hoarder (Elizabeth Brown is a person after my own heart and in many ways, a mirror image of me, as I also tend to love books more than anything and often think that my piles of books will one day also crowd me out of my own domicile). The final solution that Elizabeth Brown finds (when it indeed becomes abundantly clear that her house is literally over-run with and by her many books) is both sweet, positive and socially conscious (donating her books and her home to the town as a free public library and moving in with a friend), and for me personally, the only minor quibble I do perhaps have is the simple fact that I would have liked to have known a bit more information about the real Mary Elizabeth Brown in whose memory Sarah Stewart has written The Library (as the book is supposedly based on a real, on a bona fide person, who actually did donate her home and her books to her hometown as a public library). Highly recommended (and especially bookworms young and old will and should find this story massively appealing and sweetly appropriate)!

Waiting for Winter

What can I say about Sebastian Meschenmoser’s Waiting for Winter except for wow, what a sweet and simply wonderful little story, with equally enchanting illustrations (although I do wish that my local library also had this book in the original German, as Herr Eichhorn und der erste Schnee but that is likely totally wishful thinking, for while there actually are quite a number of German language books available at the Hamilton Public Library, they are, of course and rather unfortunately generally geared more towards adult readers than towards children). Now the humour presented by Sebastian Meschenmoser in Waiting for Winter is really quite massively addictive, and the facial expressions of his depicted animals are to and for my eyes and aesthetics simply to die for (they are in many ways uproarious and hilarious, but also capture the distinct personalities of the featured animals in an almost uncanny manner). And I definitely and appreciatively have laughed with pure, unadulterated delight at how the squirrel and the hedgehog try to stay awake for the arrival of snow by singing sea shanties (for yes, I also love singing and listening to sea shanties). And when they then wake up the bear, he literally does look as though he has just fallen out of bed, so very cute and funny, but also so astutely observant, as many would and do act and look like this if they are rather abruptly and rudely awakened. Also and finally, is it not so true that in Waiting for Winter just like how a proverbial watched pot does not boil, the first snowflakes come when the three animals have actually stopped actively waiting for them to arrive (well, they had originally thought the old smelly socks Bear had found were the first snow, but that is beside the point). Thus, only once Squirrel, Hedgehog and Bear have stopped watching or searching for snow, does the snow finally make an appearance and after having had their winter romp, the three friends happily and gladly fall asleep in the bear's den. A magical and deliciously fun (entertaining) winter animal tale, one to be enjoyed not only by children, but by adults as well (and now, I should also make an effort to find, read and review the German original).

Sleep Tight Farm: A Farm Prepares for Winter

Expressive and evocative, displaying a soothing lullaby-like cadence and rhythm (and descriptive words both lyrical and poetic without rhyming), with Sleep Tight Farm, author Eugenie Doyle (who actually lives on a working farm) caressingly and lovingly presents how a family basically "puts the farm to bed" (in other words, how everyone prepares it for winter, with chores, with activities such as harvesting and storing fruits and vegetables, shaking insulating straw over berries, covering salad, tomato and melon plants with a hoop-house to protect them from snow and ice, insulating and fluffing up the nests in the chicken coop to make the laying hens comfortable and warm for the winter, building natural windbreaks out of hay bales for the otherwise too much exposed beehives). I especially like how the unnamed narrator (who appears to be a child of about ten years or so) is always grateful for the bounty the family has been able to harvest, for the produce that sustains both the farm and the family (thanking both fields and animals, chickens and bees, realising that humans are not simply there to make use of the earth, that we should and must also show appreciation and recognition, and that protecting the fields from winter's chill, replenishing the soil by tilling it, ploughing and loosening it, making sure farm animals are snug and well fed during the winter, is not only important for the farm as an enterprise, but above all, shows both gratitude and understanding). Now for those of you who are vegans or vegetarians, while the presented farm is thus definitely one that also has animals present (there is a single horse depicted, as well as the already mentioned chickens and bees, as well, of course, the obligatory barn cats and a dog), in my opinion, this is in no way a factory type farm, as the majority of the products being raised for market (and even for home consumption) seem to be plant based. Yes, a chicken coop is featured, but it is also clearly shown that there is a large yard for the chickens, that both the hens and the rooster reside together, and that there are definitely NO battery type chicken nests. And while the family did harvest both honey and wax in September, the narrator makes a point that they actually left more than enough for the bees who "made enough for us." Also, the family farmstand shows that aside from some eggs and honey, ALL other products being sold are fruit and vegetables (even the meals described by the narrator, the homegrown treats, are vegetable soup and berry pies). There are thus most definitely NO large scale animal operations either depicted or described in Sleep Tight Farm (no large scale dairy operation, no animals raised for their flesh, and their chickens number about twelve at the absolute most). Becca Stadtlander's accompanying illustrations have a quaint and wonderfully realistic folk art feel to them. With a colour scheme that clearly and expressively presents the change of season from autumn to winter, her pictures provide both a successful and enchanting compliment to Eugenie Doyle's poetic narrative (and the illustrations actually often even expand on it, presenting images not found in the text, or rather merely hinted at in and by the text). Very highly recommended not only for pleasure reading, but also and perhaps even more importantly, Sleep Tight Farm is a gentle and informative introduction to farming, and specifically to what an ecological and ethically run family type farm (at least in my humble opinion) can and should be. And frankly, I think this would be a great addition to a unit on farming in a kindergarten, preschool or grade one, perhaps even up to grade two classroom!

The Trees of the Dancing Goats

The Trees of the Dancing Goats is one of the sweetest, most poignant Christmas/Hanukkah stories I have read to date. Focussing on harmony, peace, religious tolerance, and being good neighbours, the narrative manages to accomplish all this without being in any way preachy or moralising. And while there is definitely (and understandably) fear in Trisha's family that she might have been exposed to scarlet fever, there also is never any blame or intolerance cast at the Kremmels. Instead, Trisha, and her family do their best to make a happy Christmas for their stricken neighbours, even though because they are Jewish, Christmas it is not even their tradition and culture. With regard to the illustrations, while like with much if not most of Patricia Polacco's artwork, I would not generally enjoy the former all that much on their own, they do work exceedingly well with the text, with the narrative, both mirroring and expanding it (and the trees of the dancing goats and the wooden menorah the Kremmels then make to reciprocate really do need to be seen, to be visualised, and the colour scheme used is just so bright and appealing). Highly recommended for everyone!

Fiona's Lace

Another spectacular offering from Patricia Polacco, her Fiona's Lace is once again based on the author's own family history, and this time, her father's Irish great-grandmother Fiona (who emigrated with her parents and younger sister in the latter part of the 19th century, with the family settling in Chicago). And (like usually with Patricia Polacco) I with this sweet tale just so much cherish the presented narrative, how Fiona's lovingly nurtured and parentally supported talent for making fine Irish lace and the remembered family lore of her father courting her mother by following a trail of lace signposts, not only saves the lives of Fiona and Ailish during the Great Fire of Chicago, but then also causes their frantic parents to be able find them (just like the father followed the tied lace left by the mother as a sort of romantic treasure hunt, so do Fiona's parents follow the charred and sooty lace fragments left by Fiona to reunite the family). I also and especially much appreciate the informative author's note provided, namely the cheering and heartening fact that the family has not only cherished and kept Fiona's remaining pieces of her special lace (the lace fragments that saved and reunited the family) but that most family brides would wear it in their veils etc. (Patricia Polacco herself has a framed piece of the lace that she keeps in an honoured place in her home). And while with regard to the accompanying illustrations, I would as usual not exactly consider Patricia Polacco's art all that much to my personal tastes, in conjunction with her words, with her glowing and emotinally gripping text, the illustrations are indeed spectacular, her pictures glow and caressingly shine, both complimenting and often even expanding on the author's equally engaging and evocative printed words. As much as I think that as as story, as a picture book offering in and of itself, Fiona's Lace is most definitely a five star read for me, considering that the main storyline of Fiona and her lace takes place during Chicago's Great Fire, I do think supplemntal information with regard to the history and causes of the same, while not exactly essential, would be an added bonus (especially since Fiona and her parents are Irish immigrants, and that the Great Fire actually was and still is often and even mainly, nastily and with bigotry and occasional even hatred blamed on the Irish). Still most highly recommended, and the lack of additional historical background infomation is more a personal observation, a personal wish, than a true criticism (but yes, the lack of supplemental historical information on Chicago's Great Fire does make me consider four stars instead of five stars for Fiona's Lace).

When I Was Young in the Mountains

Sweetly poetic, engaging, with even some humour thrown in for good measure (that for example eating too much okra can lead to digestion issues and long nighttime visits to the "johnny-house"), When I was Young in the Mountains shows the delights (but also hints at some of the struggles) Cynthia Rylant and her grandparents experience in the Appalachian Mountains of her childhood. The joys of simple country style living, of community, of visits to the enticing, albeit muddy swimming hole are rhapsodically and nostalgically presented, but juxtaposed to the fact that Cynthia's grandfather has a dangerous occupation (a coal miner), that snakes could be a threat, and that taking a bath is a long, tedious process (but for Cynthia and her younger brother, obviously an enjoyable experience all the same). The presented text itself might at times feel a bit too simple and repetitive for adult readers, but for the intended audience (for younger children), it works exceedingly well, with its very repetitiveness and simplicity actually both soothing and educationally an asset (rendering the lyrical words easier to retain, and the fact that the font, the actual printed words on the page are presented as relatively large, also makes When I was Young in the Mountains perfect for beginning level independent reading). And while I do tend to think that a bit of an author's note with information on Appalachia would increase teaching and learning potentials, it really is not a true necessity, just a very much personal wish. As to Diane Goode's accompanying illustrations, they generally present a glowing compliment to Cynthia Rylan's narrative (mirroring the gentleness and tenderness of the text, with a composition and colour scheme that for all intents and purposes is and represents Appalachia to me, with regard to both nature/environment and farming/community life). However, I do find the facial expressions of the human figures depicted a bit overly stylised and rigid, with especially smiles appearing as almost unnaturally cheerful and exaggereated (hence a four star and not a five star rating). Still highly recommended (as my issues with facial expressions are but a minor quibble).

The Storm Book

If you are reaching for Charlotte Zolotow's The Storm Book (which brilliant descriptively evocative accompanying illustrations won a 1953 Caldecott Honour award for illustrator Margaret Bloy Graham) because you are wanting to read an adventure or severe weather disaster style of account, you will more than likely be rather disappointed (for The Storm Book is basically and simply just a sweetly gentle, tenderly descriptive depiction of what precisely and actually occurs during a standard but not overly severe thunderstorm in the country, in the city, in the mountains). With a perfect (at least in my humble opinion) marriage of Charlotte Zolotow's informative but also caressingly soft narrative and Margaret Bloy Graham's always evocative, realistically imaginative and esoteric images, the meticulous details of rain, of thunder, lightning and finally a rainbow are featured, are represented quietly and calmly, without excitement, without exaggeration, utterly enchantingly, beautifully. And for me personally, in every way a full five glowing stars for The Storm Book (and really, not only a lovely textual coming to life of a traditional, standard summer thunderstorm, the rich and expressive vocabulary choices of The Storm Book, the minutely informative and detailed narrative would of course also be perfect for students from about kindergarten to grade two or three to practice language arts, word usage, nouns, verbs, adjectives, adverbs and of course, prepositions). Highly recommended!

Each Peach Pear Plum

A delightfully fun and entertaining way to introduce toddlers to classical nursery rhyme and folklore characters (as well as basic rhyming verses), Janet and Alan Ahlberg's Each Peach Pear Plum promises and will in all likelihood also deliver hours upon hours of I-spy enjoyment (and not just of the specific characters presented in, featured in the text, as the bright, lively and descriptively detailed illustrations might also and repeatedly be used for additional object searches, such as getting children to locate various types of fruit, animals, furniture, crockery and the like). And furthermore, with slightly older children, parents, caregivers, librarians could and should also consider using the illustrations of Each Peach Pear Plum for independent oral storytelling activities and practice, for encouraging youngsters to create, to make up their own descriptively fun tales and anecdotes about Tom Thumb, Cinderella and the other nursery rhyme and folklore characters mentioned and depicted (illustrated). Most highly recommended (and honestly, if someone is indeed and sadly offended by the fact that the Three Bears are carrying guns and going hunting, please do note that no animals are either shot at or killed and that the image of Baby Bear tripping and causing a stray bullet to dislodge Baby Bunting and his crib can always and easily be used for a bit of a discussion regarding potentially unsafe and dangerous types of behavior, can always be used as a teaching and learning moment).

Dorothea's Eyes: Dorothea Lange Photographs the Truth

With an often understated and sparse but always lyrically enchanting and entrancing narrative (that flows both sweetly and at times also somewhat sadly and painfully), Barb Rosenstock's Dorothea's Eyes: Dorothea Lange Photographs the Truth presents and depicts the uplifting and hearteningly encouraging biography of American photography pioneer and legend Dorothea Lange, and how she is able to persevere and overcome both her struggles with childhood polio (and the resulting nastiness and bullying that her being left with a pronounced limp engender) and her immigrant family's staunch disapproval of her desire to become, to learn how to be a photographer (this not being considered "ladylike"), in other words, how to pursue and embrace her dreams and desires (using cameras, using the medium of photography to capture the truth, to capture what she, what her eyes and heart see and perceive and want to share with the world). Undaunted by her family's annoyance and anger at her decision and equally undaunted by her polio related physical challenges, Dorothea relentlessly and fearlessly canvasses photographers' studios, asking for any kind of work, helping to build darkrooms, and above all learning how to use and manipulate the heavy cameras, and develop and mount photographs. And when at the age of twenty-three, Dorothea sets off on a trip around the world, she does not let the fact that all of her money is stolen in San Francisco discourage her; she seizes the opportunity to get a job developing photographs and then start her own San Francisco portrait studio (which soon becomes famous and an "in" place for San Francisco's elite to have their portraits taken). But soon Dorothea begins to realise that what she really desires and craves is to capture with her camera the current social climate of the United States, the faces, the lives and the myriad of stories of the victims of the Great Depression. Thus (and although this is generally and usually physically painful and tiring for her) Dorothea takes to the road to photograph the working poor, migrant farm workers, the jobless, families living in cramped decrepit automobiles (and even though her family and friends consider it at best strange that Dorothea would spend her time, her energy and use her photographic talents to take pictures of "poor people" Dorothea sees this as her purpose in life, to capture for posterity and for remembrance the images of those that we ignore and would rather choose to forget). And while the five years Dorothea spends canvassing over twenty US states and taking picture after picture of the victims of the Great Depression, of the working poor, the unemployed, those with no real homes are tiring and physically exhausting (as especially her polio affected leg hurts always and without remission), newspapers and magazines begin to increasingly print and publish Dorothea's images, not only making her more and more both nationally and internationally famous and respected as a photographer, as an artist, but also and perhaps even more importantly, confronting the American people (both citizens and politicians) with the reality of poverty, the reality of struggle, of what the Great Depression has wrought and its many victims (and it is actually her very photographs, Dorothea's captured and published images, that are amongst the reasons why the U.S. federal government finally decides to act and to try to provide jobs for the unemployed, and families with safe and clean homes). Now while the main star of Dorothea's Eyes is of course author Barb Rosenstock's gloriously descriptive, evocative and sweetly lyrical and emotion-inducing text, Gérard DuBois' accompanying illustrations are also simply and utterly lovely and do very much provide an in all manner wonderful and imaginative compliment to and mirror of the presented narrative. Although by themselves, I would not necessarily consider them personal favourites, DuBois' illustrations are indeed a more than immensely worthy accompaniment to Rosenstock's printed words, as they spectacularly and with realistic imagination mirror both the time and place as well as the emotions and feelings of the author's words and vocabulary images (and as such, they are indeed for me personally as absolutely glorious and as evocative as the latter). Especially the reddish and fuzzily muted depiction of Dorothea in her darkroom always sends shivers of appreciation up and down my spine (and really does so much enhance the narrative, the author's description of Dorothea's relentless and determined pursuit of becoming a photographer), but really, ALL of the images, all of Gérard Dubois' illustrations evoke in me the same kind of emotion and sense of awe that Barb Rosenstock's text creates. And even today, Dorothea Lange's photographs are still as powerful and as evocative as when she took them in the 1930s; they have lost none of their appeal, they have lost none of their strength of image (which can be easily seen within the pages of Dorothea's Eyes, as author Barb Rosenstock has appreciatively included a number of them, including the photograph of a migrant farm worker mother which is now considered one of the most famous and reproduced photographs in history). Now just from my immense liking (actually my intense love) of both text and image (and the sweet and evocative marriage of the two), my rating for Dorothea's Eyes is most definitely already a very high five stars, but what has moved Dorothea's Eyes from merely an appreciated and much enjoyed five star picture book biography to a permanent resident on my favourites shelf is the informative author's note at the back (which also includes a bibliography, suggestions for further reading, quotations sources, as well as a time line). Dorothea's Eyes is what I would glowingly and unilaterally label a perfect children's picture book biography (and is to be highly recommended to and for anyone, both children and adults).

The Gift from Saint Nicholas

Dorothea Lachner's The Gift from Saint Nicholas (Ein Geschenk vom Nikolaus in its original German) is not in any way religiously oriented (Saint Nicholas is thus neither depicted or presented as the historical Greek Bishop of Myra nor as clad in ecclesiastical garments, but simply appears as a jolly European Santa Claus like entity who provides gift and holiday cheer, even when the weather outside is frightful, coldly snowing and socially isolating). Both the author's narrative (and by extension J. Alison James' translation, although I have not been able to obtain a copy of the German original so can only provide a personal feeling and speculation that the English language adaptation does feel and read authentic and story-like) and Maja Dusíková's accompanying illustrations are evocative and sweetly tenderly uplifting (a perfect mirror of one another, they gracefully present both the isolation of the snowed in village and the resultant joy which Saint Nicholas' communal gift ends up providing to its residents); and Saint Nicholas using skis for his trip into the snowed in village, well, that really does tickle my imaginative fancy. Now I am actually not going to reveal exactly what is contained in the large mystery parcel Saint Nicholas leaves in the centre of the village, except to point out and proclaim that while indeed both unexpected and different, it is exactly what the villagers require, exactly what is needed to cheer their winter weary hearts and celebrate both the season and neighbourly togetherness. Highly recommended, although unfortunately both the German original and the English translation are seemingly not in current print (and Ein Geschenk vom Nikolaus especially, is currently pretty ridiculously, even obscenely expensive as a used book, which is why I have not purchased a copy, which is why I made due with The Gift From Saint Nicholas, with the translation, as it was or at least used to be available at my local library).

Winter Is the Warmest Season

What a glowingly wonderful, sweetly caressing message is presented and provided with and by Lauren Stringer's Winter is the Warmest Season, and what a truly fitting and simply lovely homage to one of my favourite seasons, to winter (and I mean a real and true bona fide winter, with cold temperatures, snow, skiing, warm clothing and simple, but tinkling heartfelt laughter and joy)! I am actually someone who absolutely and utterly adores snow in all its many and various guises and forms, and the young narrator (with an authentic feeling and sounding voice at that), he really and honestly does speak from and through my own heart when he points out that winter is not simply a cold season, but is in fact and indeed very much warm, bracing, comforting, joyful and engaging (and that if one dresses according to the weather, one will in general and in actual fact often be much more comfortable outside than during summer heat waves or the unrelenting, dreary rainstorms of October and much of November). And I just so much do love and cherish how in Winter is the Warmest Season, the joys of the winter season are shown and brightly, appreciatively demonstrated by author/illustrator Lauren Stringer (or rather by her young narrator) as being both warming inside and outside (warningly engaging winter activities outside, such as skating, skiing and the like, and inside, hot chocolate, evenings by a roaring fire, snuggling up in warm, cozy blankets to watch the bright snow blowing and swirling by the windows). Yes, indeed, both Lauren Stringer's text and her accompanying illustrations do much warm and cheer one's heart, one's toes, ones's entire body (inside and out, both physically and spiritually, emotionally). And in my humble opinion, if more children (and yes, also and perhaps even more importantly, more adults) possessed and demonstrated the joy and the lovingly exuberant attitude shown and presented by the author with her Winter is the Warmest Season (both narratively and illustratively), the world would (I think, I firmly believe) be much warmer, brighter, more liveable, more loveable and loving (with less heartbreak and nastiness). Highly recommended is Winter is the Warmest Seasons, and while of course perfect for sharing with a child or a group of children on a bracing and brightly snowy winter's day, the book is in fact perfect whenever, throughout the four seasons (and can, during a heatwave, or a dreary rainstorm, really cheer and make joyful, such as for me on this horridly dreary November the fifth, where there is a rainfall warning and the clouds are looking thick, grey and tediously emotionally dragging).

Gregor Mendel: The Friar Who Grew Peas

I do a bit guiltily feel that I have been rather curmudgeonly of late with regard to my reviews (and my star rankings), but Cheryl Bardoe's Gregor Mendel: The Friar Who Grew Peas is what I humbly would label a simply perfect picture book biography and introduction for older children (from about the age of nine onwards) to both the father of modern genetics (to Gregor Mendel) and to the entire concept of genetics as a science. Easy enough to understand without too many problems of comprehension and retention (although never simplistic or lacking in essential facts and details), but nevertheless both historically and scientifically sound, Gregor Mendel: The Friar Who Grew Peas details the struggles Gregor Mendel faced to even obtain an education (and that the small grammar school in his Czech village was simply not enough for him). And I do so much appreciate that the author, that Cheryl Bardoe also presents and points out the sacrifices made by his own family to that end, that while Gregor Mendel's father, although he had originally and naturally desired his son to follow in his footsteps and become a farmer like himself, soon realised that he was destined for something else, and that his family scraped together every cent they could for Gregor's lessons (as well as his room and board), until 1838, when a tragic accident befell the father and he could no longer till his fields, thus causing Gregor to have to earn his own funds for room, board and lessons, until he finally became a friar, for as a friar, at the Abbey of St. Thomas, in Brno, Gregor Mendel could study, could learn, whilst also engaging in his friarly duties of teaching, preaching, caring for the sick etc. (And the fact that Mendel's abbey had a library of over 30000 books and that he and his fellow monks and friars were encouraged to study mathematics, botany, science , philosophy, geology and such, this all demonstrates rather clearly in my opinion that before the emergence and acceptance of the concept universal and generally free primary education and in some lucky countries even free or at least cost effective post secondary education, becoming a monk or a friar for young Catholic men or a nun for young Catholic women was often one of the only ways to achieve this, to achieve goals and desires for higher education, being able to study and learn without constant financial hardships). Now Gregor Mendel was also seemingly fortunate in the fact that his forward thinking and progressive abbot obviously both recognised his intellectual abilities and clearly also wanted him to advance to a higher knowledge and level of education than what even the Abbey of St. Thomas and its library could provide, as he sent Gregor to the University of Vienna to further his scientific studies and pursuits; and when Gregor Mendel returned, he was then asked to teach science at nearby local schools, a profession which he relished and appreciated, although he also and perhaps even more than his desire to teach, to impart knowledge, wanted to discover the answers to at that time one of the most debated and most controversial scientific consideration and query (namely how characteristics and traits are passed down from parents to their children, both with regard to plants and animals, all animals). And therefore, the second part of Gregor Mendel: The Friar Who Grew Peas mostly focuses on Gregor Mendel's scientific experiments, details how with his scientifically, with precision and analysis growing of peas, Gregor Mendel was able to come up with what is now universally and globally known as Mendel's Law, namely that EVERY time plants, animals (and yes, also human beings) reproduce, they pass along their traits (their genes) to their offspring (and not haphazardly and randomly either). Now I have to admit that I do find the author's detailed explanations and analyses of Gregor Mendel's genetic research a trifle difficult to understand at times (but considering how impossible I found this when we covered it in grade eleven science, Cheryl Bardoe has in fact done a marvellous job making this, making genetics at least generally comprehensible and approachable, and thus, and even though Gregor Mendel: The Friar Who Grew Peas is of course a picture book, it would also and could also easily be used for high school and even college science/biology courses, as a simple and straight-forward introduction to genetics as a concept). And finally, while it is definitely kind of sad and frustrating that Gregor Mendel never achieved fame or even all that much recognition for his achievements and discoveries during his lifetime, that the world did not really pay attention when he presented or rather when he attempted to present his findings, his time did indeed come (albeit after his death, but let's face it, that kind of a scenario has unfortunately often been the case for many pioneers of science). For Gregor Mendel is now known universally as having been the first actively practicing deliberate geneticist and Mendel's Laws are still considered the standard of genetics and genetically based research. Gregor Mendel might not have lived to see this, but yes and indeed, his dreams of discovery and scientific recognition have most definitely come true. Now as to Jos A. Smith's accompanying illustrations, they are not only a delightful and expressive mirror of Cheryl Bardoe's informative and engaging narrative, a compliment and complement to her printed words, especially for the second part of Gregor Mendel: The Friar Who Grew Peas, they provide an added dimension, with the illustrations of Mendel's genetic experiments, with the colourful depictions of how Mendel's pea experiments worked, how genetics work, making the at times a bit wordy and involved science lingo much easier to fathom and comprehend (especially for those of us who are also pictorial learners). Combined with a massively informative author's note (that features many supplemental details, such as the fact that Gregor Mendel's own sister gave her brother her own dowry in order to keep him at school, and that sadly, due to Mendel's fame and recognition having only come after his death, most of his notebooks and personal papers have unfortunately been lost or destroyed), as well as a select bibliography, Gregor Mendel: The Friar Who Grew Peas is not only a wonderful, enlightening, engaging picture book biography of Gregor Mendel the person, but also a perfect and relatively simple introduction to genetics, to his discoveries and his scientific intellectual legacy. Five stars and most highly recommended!

Harold and the Purple Crayon

After finally having had a chance to read Crocket Johnson's Harold and the Purple Crayon (which I unfortunately never did get a chance to actually and actively encounter during my own childhood, although I had heard of its existence), and what in my humble opinion makes this timeless classic so very much and inherently, lastingly special is that with the simplicity of the accompanying illustrations, the author/illustrator shows children (no, he actually shows EVERYONE) that imagination and even artistic imagination does NOT need to be realism-based, does not need to be three dimensional, and most certainly does not ever really need to be painterly, as Harold's artistic adventures with his ubiquitous purpose crayon are all depicted as simple line drawings, expressive, evocative, adventurous, but in no way overly involved and with too many minute details (stick figure like renderings that most of us, and even those of us with imagination, and appreciation for art but not really all that much if any talent for drawing, painting and the like could more than likely manage easily enough). And aside from the sweet, engagingly fun act of reading Harold and the Purple Crayon (either as an independent reader or perusing it with a child or a group of children), of showing, of demonstrating how Harold uses his very active imagination, uses his special purple crayon to create his own imaginative world of whimsy, adventure and even delicious treats, one can of course also make use of the very premise of Crocket Johnson's classic to encourage children (either at home or in the classroom) to create their own drawn purple crayon (or whatever coloured crayon) imaginative adventure storyboards, to read and perhaps even to present, to show and tell. Highly recommended and just so much potential fun (as in my opinion Harold and the Purple Crayon simply begs to be imitated, to be used as a blueprint for playtime and whimsical storytelling, but perhaps it might also and equally be worthwhile if not necessary making sure that especially toddlers do not end up initiating Harold too closely by drawing on walls)!

The Faithful Friend

So yes indeed, Robert D. San Souci's The Faithful Friend presents an enchanting and exquisite Caribbean variant (well actually, more a French Caribbean derivation, from the Island of Martinique) of primarily folktale type 516 on the Aarne-Thompson registry (Faithful John, der treue Johannes, which is probably its most universally known title, as collected/presented by the Brothers Grimm). And being much familiar with the Grimms' tale, I also immediately and with considerable pleasure did notice the numerous and striking similarities between it and The Faithful Friend. But that being said, this Martinique variation of folktale 516 is actually in many ways a combination of two distinct folktale types, as there are also evocative and intriguing vestiges of folktale 505/506 present (The Grateful Old Man, The Grateful Dead) due to the fact that Hippolyte and also Clement (as well as Pauline) are ultimately saved by the reappearing beggar to whom they had given a proper Christian burial on their journey to Pauline's Uncle's mansion (and who has now received express permission by le Bon-Die, le Bon-Dieu, the good Lord, to return to earth to demonstrate his gratitude by helping Hippolyte, Clement, and Clement's bride Pauline, whilst also destroying Pauline's uncle, the evil magician Monsieur Zabocat and his power, his influence, once and for all). And really, as much as I have always enjoyed the Grimms' tale of Faithful John, I actually do now rather prefer the ending in The Faithful Friend, as the former ending, with the rescue, the restoring of faithful servant John to life at first being contingent on the required blood sacrifice of the prince and his princess' two children (to which the couple does readily agree, and it is ultimately the simple act of agreeing, that mere willingness to sacrifice the children that allows faithful John to be released from his bondage) has always seemed a trifle too potentially gruesome and strangely Old Testament to me (reminding me of God's command to Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac). Now Robert D. San Souci's adapted narrative reads smoothly and touchingly, harkening both to the European origins of The Faithful Friend (the whole basic scenario, the fact that Hippolyte saves Clement and Pauline three times, and must, after being forced to publicly speak of his actions, of why he has acted such as he did, be turned to stone) and to distinctly Caribbean (and with that, of course, also potentially African) themes and influences. The drumming, the zombies, the entire scenario of the returning deceased beggar at God's command to show his gratitude to both Clement and Hippolyte moves The Faithful Friend far beyond a mere reimagining of a European Faithful John like offering (combining not only different folklore traditions, but also the Roman Catholic concept that doing good deeds, being helpful, caring, even to strangers, to an abandoned and deceased beggar's corpse will have or at least can have positive consequences for ALL and sundry). And well, as to Brian Pinkney's accompanying illustrations, they are simply glorious and as descriptive, as stunning, and with that, as informative as the author's text (as the printed, the recounted words of Robert D. San Souci's adapted narrative). Not only do the illustrations present an evocative, atmospheric feeling and scope of and for the Caribbean, of and for 18th and 19th century Martinique, they also and often rather expand on the narrative, the recounted plotline (showing visually what the text only hints at and and sometimes does not even actually portray). For example, Brian Pinkney's illustrated zombies are NOT the standard modern depictions of zombies as gruesome monster like entities with rotting flesh. No, they are depicted as three gorgeous and in many ways enticing looking young women, three witches perhaps, but really, they are basically three beautiful siren types who as zombies are completely under the spell of the sorcerer, the magician who made them into his acolytes, his minions. The three are thus not depicted, not illustrated by Brian Pinkney as physically demonic looking entities, but simply as human beings under the all encompassing zombie spell of Monsieur Zabocat (and really, truly, that is what zombies originally were considered, were believed to be, normal, everyday humans under the spell and command of a wizard, a sorcerer, living, but existing with no free will of their own, obligated, forced to perform their master's bidding). A wonderful and magical, perfect marriage of text and image (highly recommended to and for anyone, both children and adults, and more than well deserving of the Caldecott honour destination it received for Brian Pinkney's pictorial renderings), the detailed and informative author's note at the back is an appreciated and wonderful added bonus (much increasing the folkloric, the teaching and learning values of The Faithful Friend). And although much of the supplemental information presented by Robert D. San Souci is, in fact, already known to me personally, I remain very much pleased and thrilled that there exists such an author's note, that such vastly informative an author's note has indeed been included (and when I remember the to and for me rather lacking and barely adequate author's note in San Souci's 1989 The Talking Eggs, I am both pleased and even very much a bit in awe that the author has obviously learned a lesson and decided that his folktale adaptations do require and need detailed, informative author's notes). For the supplemental notes provided in and for The Faithful Friend indeed contain very much appreciated and in my humble opinion folklorically even necessary, interesting information and details on the genesis and origin of this tale, and how a number of distinct folktale types were and remain successfully and beautifully, entrancingly combined in The Faithful Friend (in Robert D. San Souci's delightful and visually stunning Caribbean folktale adaptation).

The Apple Tree: A Cherokee Story

An absolute gem of a picture book (and the author is actually both a tribal librarian and great granddaughter of survivors of the horrible, tragic and infamous Cherokee Trail of Tears), Sandy Tharp-Thee's The Apple Tree: A Cherokee Story is a sweet and tender dual language English/Cherokee account of friendship, patience and encouragement, and in which, unlike in Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree, it is not the apple tree that offers up its bounty, its fruit, again and again to a rather unappreciative (at least in my humble opinion) little boy, but a little Cherokee boy who not only plants an apple tree, but then offers his special tree both encouragement and actively imaginative support when said apple tree becomes impatient, discouraged and sad at how slowly it has been growing, even going so far as to suspend a red apple from the tree's branches in order to make the apple tree believe it has finally produced its first fruit (and this astute little ploy, although I guess some might consider it as not being entirely truthful, really not only does the trick so to speak, in so far as the apple tree is made happy and oh so much encouraged, it then offers the red apple to the little Cherokee lad, who even though he was the one who had of course placed the apple on the tree, gratefully and yes hungrily accepts his arborous friend's offering, a sweet and tenderly caressing two way, of reciprocal gifting). And when finally, both the apple tree and the little boy have grown big and strong, and the former is in its absolute glory, producing a myriad of pink blossoms in the springtime and abundant, sweet yellow apples come harvest, the apple tree still remembers and appreciates his first apple, the apple that "the Creator made red" (that the little boy used for a gift to the tree, a gift of love and encouragement, of tenderness). Most highly recommended, and the accompanying Cherokee text (in Cherokee syllabics) is an added bonus, especially as the author, as Sandy Tharp-Thee, also provides historical information on the Cherokee syllabary, a website link for additional information, and last but definitely not least, and for me personally, oh so much appreciated, a legend and explanation on how the Cherokee syllabary works, on how to figure out the syllabics and their specific vowel and consonant sounds. Now as to Marlena Campbell-Hodson's accompanying illustrations, they are truly as evocative and as magical as the author's sweetly loving text, presenting themselves as natural, colourful, realistically beautiful, and above all, showing the little Cherokee boy as simply a contemporary little lad wearing jeans, a t-shirt and running shoes, and not ever thankfully portraying him as donning feathers or other accoutrements to make him appear as Indian, a fact and much appreciated truth that is also echoed by the glowing and tender narrative, namely that while the unnamed little boy is Cherokee, is described as being Cherokee, he is nevertheless first and foremost, he is above all a little boy planting an apple tree, making The Apple Tree: A Cherokee Story also a perfect book and educational tool for demonstrating that Native Americans are not and should not be seen as some exotic other, but simply as people, as human beings, acting and reacting as humans do (and in this case, with the little boy using his imagination and encouragement to help the tree he has planted, providing happiness, love, support, and thinking outside the proverbial box so to speak with his red apple subterfuge).

Cinderella Skeleton

A quirky, fun and deliciously ghoulish adaptation of the Cinderella fairy tale, this is a perfect story for a Halloween read-aloud (I don't want to give away too many spoilers, but Cinderella and all of the other characters are skeletons, they live in a mausoleum, and the Prince's name is Prince Charnel, instead of Prince Charming, perfect). Although some sensitive, easily spooked children might find the lush, descriptively ghoulish illustrations a bit creepy (parents should make sure that the illustrations will not be too frightening and spooky before reading this tale with or to their children), the story itself is actually quite sweet and not all that frightening (with some interesting and humorous twists, like Cinderella Skeleton's stepfamily leaving for the ball in a hearse, and Cinderella being claimed by her prince by means of a lost foot instead of a lost glass slipper). I don't know if I like the illustrations in and of themselves, and I do wonder wether some of the illustrations would have perhaps frightened me a bit as a child (first reading Cinderella Skeleton as an adult, I find the illustrations creepy, but fun, a perfect complement to the ghoulishly quirky, poetic narrative). However, the story, the narrative had me smiling and giggling right from the start, and I think I would have enjoyed the story even as a child, the rather creepy and ghoulish illustrations notwithstanding. I have always enjoyed clever, fun adaptations of fairy tales, and Cinderella Skeleton is truly fun and imaginative, while at the same time retaining the general feel, the emotions, the themes of the original story. As a final word, I kind of wish that the author had included some supplementary material about Cinderella-like tales and their place in world folklore (since this is more of an original adaptation, the lack of an author's note is not as noticeable, but the folklorist in me still misses it somewhat).

The Princess Knight

Originally published in German as Der geheimnisvolle Ritter Namenlos (which can be roughly translated as the mysterious knight no-name), Cornelia Funke's clever tale of a little princess, who, after the death of her mother, is taught by her father the same lessons and knightly pursuits he is teaching his sons, is both entertaining and empowering (and a great story for ALL children, not just little girls). Violetta is smaller than her brothers, and like many younger siblings, receives her share of teasing, although this really never gets out of hand. The brothers are just acting like typical older brothers, and they are not maliciously cruel, not the type of villainous siblings so often encountered in traditional folk and fairy tales. And because Violetta realises that the manner in which her brothers are being taught their knightly skills just does not suit her, she thus decides to learn these skills on her own (in secret), using her own (successful) strategies. While her brothers become tall and strong, Violetta (although small) becomes nimble and quick; and due to her gentle nature and manner, her father's horses love carrying her on their backs. However, King Wilfred finally realises that Violetta is not one of his knights, but a marriageable princess, and thus decides to hold a jousting tournament for his daughter's hand in marriage (something that Violetta definitely does NOT desire). And although I do majorly despise that the king at first shuts his daughter in the tower when she rebels against his wishes (and so appreciate the fact that her youngest brother offers to win the tournament to prevent her marriage), I would, however, agree with many of my Goodreads friends that while King Wilfred is rather clueless and insensitive, he does indeed finally accept his daughter's decision and clearly does love her dearly. When Violetta returns after a year and a day, the king gives her a horse as black as her armour, and she is allowed marry whom she desires, not who is chosen for her. I have, unfortunately, not had the opportunity to read the original German version of The Princess Knight (something I do hope to remedy sooner rather than later). Thus, I cannot and will not say all that much with regard to Anthea Bell's translation (how true it is to the original, for example). But as far as the general narrative is concerned, I think that it flows well, is engaging, and also does not feel like a "translation" (in other words, Anthea Bell's words read and feel like an original, well-written text, something that I find both desirable and important, necessary in translated works, especially works of fiction). There is actually only one minor possible bone of contention for me, and that is the title. I personally believe that the English title really gives away a bit too much of the mystery, and I think a title closer to Cornelia Funke's original German title (perhaps something like The Mysterious Knight or The Mysterious Anonymous Knight), might have been a slightly better choice than The Princess Knight, but that is a minor and generally rather unimportant quibble. Now at first, I did not really enjoy Kerstin Meyer's accompnying illustrations all that much. I was intrigued by the fact that she had used the famous Bayeux Tapestry as inspiration, but as I have never found the former all that aesthetically pleasing, I had a similar first reaction to Kerstin Meyer's illustrations. On reflection though, I do think that the illustrations are, in fact, a perfect complement to the text, to the entire theme of the story. They so perfectly capture the Mediaeval feel of The Princess Knight, the knightly pursuits and lessons, the jousting tournaments. While by themselves, Kerstin Meyer's illustrations would definitely not be personal favourites, in combination with the narrative, with the text, they become magical and fun, whilst also giving an air of delightful historical authenticity.

Roy Makes a Car

Mary E. Lyons' Roy Makes a Car is a witty, fun, gorgeously illustrated African-American folktale adaptation about Roy Tyle of Eatonville, Florida, the ultimate car mechanic (who builds not only an accident-proof car, but then builds another, even better vehicle that he drives to heaven and actually sells to God himself), a wonderful little story to share with young folklore enthusiasts, but Roy Makes a Car is especially suitable for sharing with boys (who are often a bit reluctant to read or listen to the many traditional princess-type folk and fairy tales). And even though I am not all that much of a car fan, I was and remain both charmed and amused by Roy Makes a Car, which is based on a traditional story originally collected by Zora Neale Hurston (a fun and engaging read, with Terry Widener's accompanying illustrations truly being a perfect match to and for Mary E. Lyons' adapted narrative, bright, bold and colourful, with many humorous and amusing touches of whimsy and delight). The detailed and informative author's note about Flora Neale Hurston is a much appreciated added bonus, as it not only presents interesting information concerning the original folktale of Roy Makes a Car and how Hurston first collected the story, but also numerous details regarding Zora Neale Hurston's life and times, as well as her many contributions to the collecting and study of African-American culture and folklore. And the only possible caveat I will add is that Roy Makes a Car does indeed repeatedly mention God and that God even appears in the story as a minor character (although in a very non-religious and for me thus unproblematic manner) and this could, I guess, in a worst case scenario be deemed unacceptable and offensive reading material to either the fundamentally religious (who might consider the entire concept of Roy driving a car to heaven and selling it to God as blasphemy) or the fundamentally secular (who might shun and despise any mention of God, period).

The Noisy Paint Box

Vasily Kandinsky's development as an artist and the struggles of both him (and many of his colleagues) to break free from the standard and "appropriate" (quotes are mine) dictates of what art, of what in particular painting was supposed to be, and this actually being the genesis of Expressionism, Cubism, Surrealism, of basically all abstract art in general, is glowingly and readably presented by author Barb Rosenstock in and with her brilliant and evocative The Noisy Paintbox. The featured and assumed fact that Vasily Kandinsky (and even though in The Noisy Paintbox, he is called Vasya, I will use Vasily as that is the first name with which I am most familiar) most probably had synthesia, that he not only saw colours as red, blue, yellow etc. but that each colour also had an audible sound for Vasily, that his paintbox basically "sang" and that Kandinsky thus actually was often painting the sounds he heard emanating from said paintbox, the hisses, the whispers, basically the music of art, all this is not only a wondrous and magical reading experience, the author's printed words, in conjunction with Mary Grandpré's expressive and impressive accompanying illustrations not only show Vasily Kandinsky's life and his development as an artist, they also present the very essence of what made the latter such a novel and original painter, namely that Vasily Kandinsky was brave enough to break free, to use his synthesia as a tool, that he started to paint his emotions, the perceived colours he heard as sounds, as music. And even though Kandinsky's family and even society in general were often both critical of his art, his desires and also at first tried to mould him into being a traditional artist who painted only realistically (imitating the so-called Old Masters), Vasily (after he had abandoned his law career and moved from Moscow to Munich) finally took the necessary step and painted what he desired and yes, even needed to render, to produce on canvas, on paper, sounds, music, feelings, abstractions, colour as an entity in and of itself, colour as a symphony (a necessary step for both himself and Kandsinky's colleagues, his artist friends, who were equally frustrated by the dictates and mandates of needing to paint, to produce art that with realism was supposed to only represent pretty landscapes, still-lives, portraits). And while I do in fact absolutely love love love Vasily Kandsinky's work (his art, his stylistics, his expressively bold paintings), for me, personally (and this also comes shiningly through in Barb Rosenstock's narrative, in the text of The Noisy Paintbox), even more important is the fact that in many ways, Vasily Kandinsky should be feted and celebrated as not only a talented and pretty much amazing artist, but as one of the main movers and shakers who not only created abstract art, but really was the instigator, the "midwife" so to speak of modern art as a genre and the acceptance of abstract art as actual art, as a satisfactory form of the same. Now as much as I have indeed adored and appreciated the featured narrative of The Noisy Paintbox, for me, what really does make this book stand out and shine is the fact that Barb Rosenstock has not only included an informative and enlightening author's note (with appreciated and detailed source listings and suggestions for further study and research) but that she also has included four examples of Vasily Kandinsky's own work (so much better and also much more of an homage than picture book biographies of artists where, sadly, none of the artist's actual work has been included, which does seem to happen rather too often and frankly, I tend to find this hugely frustrating and annoying). And finally, with regard to Mary Grandpré's accompanying illustrations, they are really, truly simply totally, absolutely spectacular, expressive, shiningly emotional, with a glorious sense of colour and composition, presenting, showing both Vasily Kandinsky's life story and also his oh so very much distinctive painting (artistic) style. In fact, Mary Grandpré's imaginative renderings of the artist's works could, in my opinion, have been created by Kandinsky himself (and that is at least for me on a personal level, the very highest praise I can give, as Vasily Kandinsky is one of my favourite 20th century artists). And really (although I do appreciate the fact that The Noisy Paintbox won a 2015 Caldecott Honour designation for Mary Grandpré, I am actually more than a bit miffed and disappointed that she did not win the actual Caldecott Medal (as I for one certainly do feel that Mary Grandpré's illustrations for The Noisy Paintbox were and are vastly superior to the illustrations for The Adventures of Beekle which were awarded the 2015 Caldecott Medal).

Nana in the City

A sweetly tender and uplifting little gem, Lauren Castillo's Nana in the City is neither earth-shattering nor in any way world-changing, but it is truly and nevertheless a perfect picture book to share with children who are noise sensitive, who are easily frightened by the hustle and bustle of modern urban city life. And as someone who indeed was very noise sensitive and afraid of the sights and sounds of modern metropolises as a young child (especially since I was rather used to silence, with my family living in the country, and me therefore only encountering city sounds when like the little boy in Nana in the City I was visiting my grandmother's house), I do oh so much appreciate how author and illustrator Lauren Castillo textually takes the little boy's anxieties and fears seriously and does not ever consider them as being overreacting or exaggerated snowflake-like behaviour (and while my own grandmother used to quiet my personal fears regarding city and urban sounds like cars and especially blaring sirens by distracting me with books, by reading interesting stories to me, I do love how in Nana in the City, the little boy's grandmother deals with his own fears by means of both exposition, explanation and also by making him a fancy red superhero cape to wear on their excursions into the city, a cape to envelop the boy, to make him feel safe, and yes even safe enough to appreciate and even begin to like the city in all of its different guises and forms, a fun place for his grandmother to live and for him to visit). Now as to the accompanying illustrations, and even though I have never been and will likely never be all that much a lover of city life and city vistas, Lauren Castillo's pictures are indeed quite spectacular (both lively and realistic, they show and present urbanity as vibrant and pulsating, as both positive and negative, and yes, even as not entirely contrary to nature, as there is also an illustrative spread presented that shows an urban park with trees sporting their autumn foliage). Highly recommended, and really, Nana in the City is not just a book for children, but a book for everyone!

The Queen's Progress: An Elizabethan Alphabet

Celeste Davidson Mannis' The Queen's Progress is truly an absolutely amazing, historically detailed, gorgeously illustrated alphabet book for older children (and actually anyone, adults included, desiring to know information and details about Queen Elizabeth I of England and her annual summer progresses through the English countryside). The author's engaging, poetical text actually seems to work, never sounding or feeling forced or artificial, and the historical details accompanying each of the "letters" are a real font of historical and social information, to read, savour, discuss and analyse. And with regard to Bagram Ibatoulline's accompanying, simply gorgeous illustrations, what can I say except that their richness, their wondrous colour and minute detail simply have figuratively quite blown me away (and continue to do so), enchanting, wowing me. Furthermore, The Queen's Progress is also a bit of a historical thriller (there is a traitorous plot against the Queen). Can you (can your child) discover the traitors lurking amongst the masses of cheering onlookers and loyal subjects? Now I almost have almost rated The Queen's Progress with five stars (and I actually feel more than a little guilty at not having done so), but there is one addition that I really think the author should have included with this book, and that is a glossary of Mediaeval and/or Elizabethan terms, especially of the articles of clothing (the diverse costumes) Elizabeth I and her entourage are wearing in the illustrations. Many of the articles of clothing depicted have rather specific names, but unless one is familiar with these terms, one is likely not to know or even be aware of the latter. In my opinion, a glossary would make discussing the illustrations, the historical details and information both easier and more rewarding (and more of a teaching/learning experience); it would have made The Queen's Progress a truly perfect historical alphabet book for me. Still, very, very highly recommended (and I am seriously considering purchasing a copy for myself).

Lucy Maud and the Cavendish Cat

An in many ways lovely, sweet story about Lucy Maud Montgomery's feline companion Daffy, Lucy Maud and the Cavendish Cat really tugs at all your heartstrings. Gleaned mostly from the many references to Daffy that appear in L.M. Montgomery's journals, Lynn Manuel's engaging and evocative narrative shows how Daffy becomes Maud's cherished companion, her intimate friend, and how she often reads to her cat from the story she is writing, from the manuscript of the future Anne of Green Gables. However, upon the death of Maud's grandmother, her house becomes the property of Maud's uncle (who will not consider letting his niece stay on) and thus, both Maud and Daffy are forced to relocate to a place called Park Corner, to stay with relatives who while they are of course known to Maud (and loved by her) are complete, utter strangers to Daffy. I have to admit that I almost cried and was at first really somewhat angry at the fact that upon her marriage, Maud seemingly just abandons poor Daffy at Park Corner. Oh, I know that she could not have taken a cat along on her European wedding tour, but being suddenly alone and frightened in a strange, unfamiliar hayloft did make me very sad for Daffy. And while I was and remain heart-glad that Maud does send for Daffy as soon as she has settled in Ontario with her new husband, I do wish that she had gone to P.E.I. herself to retrieve her cat. Daffy's long and solitary journey from P.E.I. to Ontario (in a large wooden box) is evocatively but also painfully described as being frightening to the extreme for him (he has no idea what is happening and thinks he has fallen into a deep dark well). The end of Lucy Maud and the Cavendish Cat with little grey Daffy once again in Maud's arms in his new home in Ontario is indeed sweet and satisfying, but my heart did ache for him alone in a strange hayloft, and I could well appreciate and feel his pain, fear and confusion on his solitary and boxed-in journey from P.E.I. to Ontario.

Manybooks wrote: "Owl Moon

As a teenager (after we had moved to an acreage outside of Calgary, Alberta), I used to go out by myself on cold and clear winter nights with binoculars to observe the moon ..."

I cannot count the times this has been brought up in one of my reading endorsement classes over the last year. The two reading endorsement professors speak very highly of it, and I have a few friends who used it as well in their lesson plans. I acquired a free copy in the spring and am excited to read it.

It's funny, but I was convinced anthropomorphic animal books were no longer appropriate for kids in today's world for a while when I started college. Like Kathryn said at the beginning, I was thinking more along the lines of books that do serve a purpose or educate in some way. However, I was reminded this past year that anthropomorphic animal books used to be some of my favorites, and relearned their merits this year.

One of my favorites as a child (and one of the ones my family kept and that I still have our original copy of for my future classroom) was Party Animals by Katie Davis. I loved the idea of a surprise party and the really strong friendships that were introduced through all the planning of the party. I also loved parties of all kinds as a child, so I think this had something to do with my interest in this book as well.

Party Animals is essentially a counting book with a story, There is a different number and color for each animal, and I like to think that this book was integral to me learning my colors, especially turquoise, chartreuse, and magenta, which were featured alongside all the rainbow colors in the book.

Recently, I've been able to use this book in a few different math lessons. For one first grade student, I had her write a math problem based on the book (how many animals are going to the party if the number of x in the book and the number of y in the book go to the party?). I also attempted to use it as a scaffold for a kindergarten class that was working on adding to ten. I like this idea because it shows the tens and other numbers as a separate entity, which can be useful on ten frames. If I end up teaching kindergarten or first grade, I will definitely use this book multiple times over that lesson.

Knight Owl
I love anthromorphic animals and this one is darling. The story is sweet and the illustrations are similar to his Redwall illustrations but now they're digital. They don't lose the charm in the switch though.

Catherine's Pascha: A Celebration of Easter in the Orthodox Church

Charlotte Riggle's Catherine's Pascha is a glowing, evocative, and yes, in all ways simply wonderful, informative basic introduction to Orthodox Easter (Pascha) celebrations (both historical and contemporary in scope, the narrative clearly presents and demonstrates just how truly universal Eastern Orthodoxy is, reaching from Alaska to the Middle East and Northern Africa, from Asia to North America). Encased in an engaging framework of how Catherine and her family celebrate Pascha (and what constitutes Orthodox Easter/Pascha celebrations, not just the church service itself, but also the long fasting period that happens beforehand and the joyful post church feasting), I so much enjoy the smooth and flowing combination of fact and fiction (and very much appreciate the informative and detailed author's note with the supplemental links to even more information, recipes and such, although as a hopeless academic, I would have also liked a detailed bibliographical list of recommendations for further reading, but guess what, I always want and tend to ask for that). And just a small nugget of additional knowledge (and I hope you do not mind this, Charlotte), that while the English word Easter is definitely based on Eostre and Eosturmonath (Eostre was likely an ancient Germanic goddess of spring), the German word for Easter, Ostern, is actually also based on the same, which is really rather interesting and intriguing, considering that in most other Germanic languages, the word for Easter is based on Pesach, Pascha, Paques and such, is based on, is taken from the Hebrew (or perhaps actually even the Aramaic).

Now while personally, I happen to especially adore and love the addition of parts of the Orthodox liturgy (surrounding the main illustrations of Catherine's Pascha), I also do realise that this might be problematic and uncomfortable for and perhaps even considered as inappropriate by those vehemently anti-religious or so set in their own religious ways as to not be willing or able to consider any deviance from their own beliefs and dogma as acceptable (although truly, the liturgy parts are very unobtrusive and at least for me, provide a beautiful and enchanting spiritually enlightening, uplifting accompaniment to both text and images). And finally, with regard to R.J. Hughes' illustrations, while colour wise, they are actually a bit too pink and purple hued to be considered personal aesthetic favourites, they do provide a simply marvellous (and light infused) mirror to and for Charlotte Riggle's narrative, to and for the story of Catherine's and her family's Pascha, both complementing the same, as well as vividly expanding upon the written words by having as their background almost twenty Orthodox churches and cathedrals from all over the world (however, I did and do have to wonder and with expectant sadness whether the Mariamite Cathedral of Damascus, Syria still exists, whether it has not been destroyed by bombs and the cultural hatred of ISIS extremism, but thankfully, according to information provided to me by the author, at present, the Mariamite Cathedral has not been damaged or destroyed).

The Métis of Canada are the only mixed-blood people on earth recognised by every level of government as being a nation (they have their own language, song and flag). However, the Métis' path to that official recognition has been one of hardship, denial and downright disgusting lies (some of which are unfortunately still being spread and adhered to, especially amongst those bigoted "Canadian" citizens who think that Louis Riel was a traitor and the Metis just a bunch of, sigh, "mongrels"). In the aftermath of the North West Rebellion of 1885 (the Riel Rebellion), the Métis of Canada were manipulated, deceived and robbed of their pride and much of their culture. In David Bouchard's excellent foreword, he describes in evocative detail how many of his and other Métis' grandparents were humiliated and pushed into denying their native ties in favour of their more "acceptable" European bloodlines. Many Métis are now searching for their past, are only now stepping forward to say (to dare to say) that they are proud to be Métis, that they are proud of both their First Nations and European heritages. Bouchard's text is therefore not only a proud declaration of his Métis heritage, of both his First Nations and European background. It is also (and maybe even primarily) an emotional, heartfelt apology to his First Nations (Native Canadian) grandmothers (Bouchard's Nokums), that no one ever spoke of them, that their traditions, their lives, their very names were considered shameful, less worthy, that their stories, songs and cultural traditions are now quite unknown to him (as they likely are to and for many Métis). I cannot even begin to describe how this apology has tugged at my heart and the multiple emotions it has engendered and continues to generate. Besides the joy of discovery (Bouchard's discovery and embracing of his First Nations roots) there are also feelings of incredible sadness and, of course, righteous and deep anger at the fact that the First Nations traditions of the Nokums were perceived and approached in such a (and often officially) prejudicial and bigoted manner. The poetic narrative is textually dense, descriptive and really quite sophisticated (the English text, that is, as I cannot really say all that much regarding the accompanying Michif, except that I have found and continue to find it powerful, as well as a compelling and joyful symbol of cultural and linguistic survival). And although the text itself reads easily enough, it does demand both attention and maturity from its readers. I would therefore consider The Secret of Your Name suitable for children above the age of nine or ten; there is no upper limit, as this is also a book for adults (in fact, adults might well appreciate The Secret of Your Name considerably more than many children). That being said, Bouchard's word choices are not overly complicated, and Dennis J. Weber's accompanying artwork does much to assist with comprehension, making The Secret of Your Name perhaps even suitable for slightly younger children (ages six to eight), if the text were being read with or to them. Métis artist Dennis J. Weber's illustrations are so wonderfully evocative, so descriptively and boldly gorgeous that I can only describe it with one small, yet powerfully effective word, "wow!" His full-page oil paintings reflect the same haunting quality, the same sense of loss, longing, of undeserved repression and imposed "shame" that is shown in Bouchard's narrative. Louis Riel was actually Dennis J. Weber's first cousin five generations removed, and Weber feels that his own mother was made to feel ashamed of her Métis culture and heritage; he has dedicated the illustrations to his mother (who died in 1991, two years after the Métis were officially recognised as a nation). Now if you decide to read The Secret of Your Name, I do and most strongly recommend that you also listen to the accompanying audio CD. Hearing the texts (David Bouchard himself reads the English text, the Michif text is read by Norman Fleury) is an amazing, emotional and simply wonderful experience, and the fiddle music by Métis musician John Arcand is not only a real musical treat, it pays homage to the fact that music was and is an important part of Métis culture and life. And if you speak and understand French, you will most probably also be able to figure out at least some of the accompanying Michif text by listening to it on the audio CD. And personally, I actually think you will likely be able to discern more of the French Canadian words by listening to the Michif than by only trying to read it, as the French words used in Michif are not spelled like standard French; they are spelled rather majorly phonetically (which to me indicates the oral, non written origins of Mischif, of language in general, of most creoles). I know that I was able to understand more of the spoken Michif, the written narrative was quite difficult for me (I did manage to figure out some of the French words in the written text of The Secret of Your Name, but I most definitely understood more of the French words used in Michif when I listened to the text on audio CD). Very, very highly recommended for anyone, The Secret of Your Name is one of the most poignant and evocative books I have read in a long time (that I have ever read and will ever read, and that I will also and gladly reread over and over again).

The Secret of Your Name: Proud To Be Métis / Kiimooch ka shinikashooyen: aen kishchitaymook aen li Michif iwik

Considering that the ice and snow of a white and glistening northern Canadian winter are amongst my very favourite features of the season (and one of the main reasons I do not think I could ever permanently relocate to a country, or to an area of a country where there is no winter or where winter primarily signifies rain and greyness, such as the coastal areas of British Columbia or the Pacific Northwest), I was already expecting to much enjoy Jean E. Pendziwol's Once Upon a Northern Night when I recently grabbed it as an impulse purchase at a local independent bookstore. That being said, I absolutely did not expect Once Upon a Northern Night to be quite as exquisite, as wondrous, as mysteriously caressing as it turned out to be (and after one casual perusal, already a permanent member on my favourites shelf). With tender and descriptive (but not ever overly verbose) lyricism and grace, the author's winter inspired poetry provides a sweet and celebratory paean to the season, to winter nights (to pure white dancing, prancing snowflakes that cover the earth like a soft blanket, the many nocturnal animals that frolic on and in the virgin snow, silently foraging grasses, frozen fruit and scattered birdseed, to the stars, and the northern lights singing songs of wintry praise across the night sky). Combined with Isabelle Arsenault's equally magical illustrations (mostly frosty white, with splashes of colour to deliciously and evocatively offset), this in all things perfect marriage of text and image melodiously and jubilantly paints and chants not only a rejoicing in and glorification of winter, but also features a tenderly sweet, caressing lullaby-like cadence and rhythm (softly rocking to sleep, to rest, both readers and listeners with delightful visions of snow and ice, the chilled, calm and yet euphonious silence of northern, of Canadian winter nights). Absolutely, totally hypnotic and irresistible in every way, and most highly recommended for ANYONE (and not just for children).

Once Upon a Northern Night

Spin to Sea

Although some of the rhymes presented in Izra Fitch's Spin to Sea read and flow perhaps a bit awkwardly, and I actually do have to wonder whether the text is supposed to be mainly lyrical prose or poetry (as it is almost as though the narrative cannot make up its mind, vacillating between rhyming poetry and a type of poetic prose, which although lyrical, does not tend to rhyme), the text, the narrative of Spin to Sea more than adequately describes the joy, the community spirit and sweet charm of this annual (and actual) communal event (where on Halloween, in a small Nova Scotia community, carved pumpkins are floated out to sea by costume clad children). And truth be told, I was actually at first somewhat surprised by the fact that pumpkins are able float, but after checking images of floating pumpkins on the internet, yes, indeed, pumpkins do seem to be able to float (and hollowed out, carved pumpkins even more so, as their insides have been removed, leaving only that hollow and carved outer shell). The added fact that the main author/illustrator of Spin to Sea, that Izra Fitch, is but fifteen years old (or at least was only fifteen years old when Spin to Sea was published) adds to my enjoyment and yes, sense of awe. While her mother (Nova Scotia author and artist Doretta Groenendyk) seemingly cowrote the narrative with Izra, the illustrations are ALL by the latter, and they are simply wonderful, expressive, whimsical, bold, with an almost uncanny sense of colour, and frankly a rather perfect combination of text and image, as narrative and illustrations, small issues with awkwardness of cadence and rhyme notwithstanding, demonstrate a lively and loving homage to not only community and community spirit and tradition, but also to the sea itself, to the magical call and rhythm of the sea. But furthermore, the pumpkins being floated on ocean waves also show the marriage of earth and sea, as the carved pumpkins, which are of the earth, are set afloat in and embraced by the sea, by its waves, beauty, sense of mystery, and perhaps even a bit of possible danger. And truly, Spin to Sea is a wonderful little gem of a Halloween/autumn picture book that really does deserve to be more universally known and read (I literally stumbled across it at my local library in the fall of 2015 whist doing research for Thanksgiving and Halloween themed picture books for one of my GR book clubs, and I am so glad that I did indeed decide to sign it out; it brought and and still continues to bring smiles to my face and a fervent hope that the young author/illustrator, that Izra Fitch will keep writing, drawing and harvesting appreciation and laughter). Now for me, personally, as someone who has always loved reading about and discovering diverse cultural traditions, I would most definitely have appreciated a bit of an informative author's note regarding the specific history and genesis of this particular (and seemingly very local Nova Scotia Annapolis Valley) Halloween custom. The lack of the same does not in any way interfere with my enjoyment of Spin to Sea, I just think that the inclusion of an author's note would have increased the teaching and learning potential of the book. Highly recommended!

Absolutely stunning and totally utterly magical! Author Sheryl McFarlane lyrically and caressingly recounts in her Island in the Salish Sea how a young First Nations girl spends her summer vacation visiting her grandmother at her and I quote island cabin on the Salish Sea (Pacific West Coast of British Columbia), where every day is a beach day, where the little girl and her grandmother go swimming even when it is raining and where every day is also different and filled with both fun and education (such as watching Joe carving his totem poles, realsing that taking rocks from archaeological middens is an insult to the past and that nature is to be both made use of and also though respected). Both graced and often also visually, aesthetically augmented and expanded by Leslie Redhead's absolutely delightful and esoteric but still always glowingly realistic accompanying illustrations (with my personal favourites of Ms. Redhead's pictorial spreads being the harbour seals sunning themselves on the anchored raft with the rainforest reaching almost right to the ocean's edge, right to the edge of the Salish Sea and the final illustrations of the pod of Orcas the little girl views on her return trip via ferry to the B.C. mainland), Sheryl McFarlane's text is both an homage to coastal British Columbia and of course also simply a sweet vacation story of a little girl spending magical and delightful summer months by the sea with her grandmother (with Island in the Salish Sea, with both the author's printed words and the illustrator's accompanying artwork also and importantly showing and demonstrating that First Nations individuals are not exotic, are not "the other" that they are just persons doing their jobs, enjoying their vacations, spending fun and engaging times on the beach or near the beach).

Island in the Salish Sea

Through the Window: Views of Marc Chagall's Life and Art

Although I would not call Barb Rosenstock's Through the Window: Views of Marc Chagall's Life and Art in any way a straight birth to death picture book biography, personally, I have absolutely and totally enjoyed (as well as appreciated) both Barb Rosenstock's presented narrative and Mary Grandpré's accompanying illustrations (and that they luminously and descriptively portray how Marc Chagall was from his boyhood in Belarus to his later years in Paris and the USA fascinated by views from and through panes of glass, with the author's text and the illustrator's images often if not even generally focussing on the latter and on what Marc Chagall saw and depicted trough windows, a tribute both poetic and aesthetic of one of the main tenets of Chagall's artistry, even if and while Through the Window: Views of Marc Chagall's Life and Art does not really represent a specific and detailed biography of every of each and every scenario of Marc Chagall, his life, his times and his oeuvre). And with that salient fact in mind, although personally I do consider Through the Window: Views of Marc Chagall's Life and Art a five star book, which to and for me totally captures and harnesses both textually and illustratively delicious and expressive tableaux of Marc Chagall's window-visions and snapshots of his life story (with the informative author's note at the back, three examples of Marc Chagall's actual artwork and last but not least a detailed bibliographical list of sources being both appreciated and the icing on an already delicious cake for me), if you are indeed looking for a straight forward picture book biography of Mark Chagall from his birth in 1887 to his death in 1985, you might want to look elsewhere. Now there have been a number of reviews of Through the Window: Views of Marc Chagall's Life and Art that criticise and even (in my opinion) seem to rather condemn that author Barb Rosenstock has seemingly portrayed how Moishe Shagal changes his name to Marc Chagall once he relocates to France as being entirely too positive and as though immigrants changing their names is being depicted as something entirely and inherently positive and even necessary. But personally and as an immigrant myself, I have found Barb Rosenstock's wording in Through the Window: Views of Marc Chagall's Life and Art in no way problematic with regard to this. For she very distinctly and to and for me clearly shows and demonstrates that it definitely and certainly was entirely Moishe Shagal's OWN PERSONAL CHOICE to change his given name to Marc Chagall once he arrived in Paris, France and as such, this should and needs to be both accepted and yes also very much respected (as while yes, immigrants being forced to alter or being coerced into changing their given names to more French, English, German etc. sounding examples is certainly problematic and something that does need to be seen with a critical eye, immigrants who on their own accord and for whatever personal reason decide to alter their names or make their spellings more easy to pronounce in the language of their new country or area of residence, that is or at least should be seen and approached as mostly a matter of choice). And therefore, I do have absolutely no issues whatsoever with Moishe Shagal's name change to Marc Chagall, just as I also would have not had issues if he had in fact chosen to NOT alter the spelling of his name (as that was and remains entirely his personal desire and obviously what he wanted for himself). And by the way, I also do NOT in any manner whatsoever think or believe that by becoming Marc Chagall, Moishe Shagal in any way was rejecting his Jewish culture and background. For while Marc Chagall obviously does not appear to have been a religiously observant Jew (and to have considered Paris, France as his real and true home) it is also and nevertheless pretty clearly shown in both the text proper of Through the Window: Views of Marc Chagall's Life and Art as well as in Barb Rosenstock's author's note that Chagall's artwork regularly and often presents and features themes from Jewish and Russian history, culture and lore, and that at least in my opinion, this very much and obviously demonstrates that there never was an active personal rejection of his background and culture and indeed that Marc Chagall's Frenchified name is thus not and also should not be regarded as a potential problem or an act of background and cultural, ethnic rejection.

Oma's Quilt

Oma's Quilt, written by Paulette Bourgeois, with illustrations by Stéphane Jorisch, touches deeply. Both text and accompanying pictures are poignant and evocative, and I think this heartwarming and heartbreaking story of Oma's (grandma's) reluctant move from a house to an assisted living retirement residence will likely strike an emotional chord with many children and adults, especially those who have had to face or are currently facing a similar situation within their own families. Now Oma's new domicile, Forest View Retirement Home, is in Oma's Quilt described as a charming, beautiful place, with attractive rooms and gardens. However to Oma, who has lived in her house on Maple Street for most of her life, it is simply not home, it is strange and unnerving. And while some reviews on Amazon sadly seem to complain that Oma's moodiness and her refusal to be more accepting of her new surroundings are rather annoying, and while Oma's constant bad mood and stubbornness might well be somewhat problematic, one has to realise that being forced to move from a house where she made the decisions, where she was "boss" to a retirement or nursing home where many if not most decisions are now being made not by her, but for her, might indeed and easily result in feelings sadness, and even of active resentment at no longer being independent, of anger at utterly and basically everyone and everything. Oma's memories are tied to her house on Maple Street and to the many objects she has collected (and perhaps even hoarded) over the years. Of course, Oma's room at the retirement residence is no way even remotely large enough for her to be able to keep most of her collected keepsakes, so this particular fact is without a doubt one of the main reasons for her moodiness, her sadness; she feels as though she has lost her memories, her sense of belonging (and likely even angrily feels as though her memories have been taken from her, that she has had no choice but to relinquish them). And precisely this is why little granddaughter Emily's idea of making a quilt for her grandmother out of some, out of a collection of her many keepsakes is such a wonderful, thoughtful and yes imaginatively ingenious idea. Not only does this memory quilt allow Oma to keep some of her many collected treasures near her, a quilt is also such a comforting, soothing object (being wrapped in a quilt made of memories would be like being surrounded, being lovingly embraced by them). And how sweet and poignant that it is Emily, the little granddaughter, who has the idea of making a memory quilt for Oma. This is not only a beautiful tribute to Emily's imagination and ingenuity, it also demonstrates that children can be of vital assistance to their parents in difficult, stressful times, something that I do believe Oma's Quilt always and very much glowingly presents. The quilt Emily and her mother end up making from the fabric of collected memories helps to ease Oma's pain, helps her to adjust to Forest View Retirement Home, although it does not (and I appreciate that honesty) suddenly transform Oma's moodiness and resentment. But it does make life at Forest view more acceptable, more tolerable for her. And by extension, the quilt also helps to somewhat ease Emily's and Emily's mother's worry and concern for Oma. The quilt provides solace and hope; it is made of love and represents both love and the importance of memories. Now while I have indeed (as I think I have shown) very much enjoyed Oma's Quilt and as much as I enjoy and am moved by Paulette Bourgeois' poignant narrative and can relate to both Oma's frustrations and to her daughter's (Emily's mother's) worry, sadness and probable feelings of guilt at having to move her clearly reluctant mother into a retirement home, I also think that she (that Emily's mother, that Oma's daughter) is really somewhat majorly clueless and insensitive at times. For example, Oma has clearly always much loved to cook, to do housework, so for Emily's mother to make a comment about Oma not needing to cook anymore now, this is really and truly not the most sensitive, the most helpful thing to say. And actually, I often find that granddaughter Emily seems to understand her grandmother's feelings somewhat better, and although I can easily empathsise with the mother's difficulties and realise that she is trying to do her best in a difficult situation, I do wish that that she were a bit less insensitive and lacking in understanding with some of her comments. And finally, Stéphane Jorisch's colourful illustrations truly do work beautifully in this story, in Oma's Quilt, evocatively reflecting the emotions, the feelings of the characters. Oma, hunched in her chair, calling the other residents of the retirement "nincompoops" looks supremely curmudgeonly, a cantankerous grandmother par excellence. And her daughter's facial expression as she and Emily are on their way home after getting Oma "settled" in her new room, they also clearly and evocatively demonstrate how worried and sad she is, as both text and image totally show that Emily's mother indeed is about to cry. My absolutely favourite Oma's Quilt illustration though is the two-page spread at the end of the book, of a much happier Oma, telling her daughter and her granddaughter stories about the many fabric pieces in her new but also old quilt. The images, the memories are depicted as almost dancing on the quilt, and Oma's, Emily's and the mother's smiles are like bright sunshine after a storm, signalling that calmer skies and better weather are likely on the horizon. Highly recommended.

Imagine

Ever since I first listened to John Lennon's Imagine, it has been one of my absolutely all-time favourite songs, not only for the sweet rebellion of totally freaking out my parents and grandparents as a teenager and having them think I was a raging and dangerous Communist just because I happened to enjoy and love the song (and then seeing them dumbfounded and even more angry that when instead of feeling insulted by this appellation, I said to them simply and smilingly "thank you for the compliment" in very polite German, although politically, Communism is problematic at best for and to me, but heck, my parents and grandparents absolutely did need a taste of very bitter medicine which I was gladly and more than willing to provide), but even more so of course for the actual lyrics of Imagine themselves, which in my opinion are not only a hymn of peace, of universal brotherhood, of human rights, love and acceptance for ALL, but are actually much closer to God and to the historical Jesus Christ than ANY religious based text that I have personally ever read, and yes, indeed, this also very much includes the Bible. For quite frankly and in my opinion, John Lennon is with his Imagine NOT anti the idea of a supreme being, not anti deity, but against organised religion of ALL sorts, including the human (and thus secular, often not at all tolerant and loving) concepts of heaven and hell (and even though Lennon's lyrics might be deemed anathema to and for so-called religious fundamentalists, for me, Imagine is with its call for universal peace and tolerance, spiritualism pure, and yes, the loving your fellow man dictum preached by the historic Jesus Christ himself before his words and legacy were tainted and destroyed by Paul of Tarsus and many other "founding" fathers of Christianity both historical and more recent, for if there is a God, God is love and tolerance and anything less than this, is at best sad and at worst very dangerous if not profoundly evil). And with my above musings in mind, I absolutely love this here 2017 picture book, simply and evocatively titled like the John Lennon song, and also showing only the lyrics of Imagine with no additions or subtractions (although there is a lovely foreword by John's widow Yoko Ono Lennon which touches me precisely because she says everything that has also always made this particular song special to me, and yes, she is indeed more than right about the sorry fact that today, we need the sentiments and the viewpoints of John Lennon and especially his Imagine more than ever). Most highly recommended (and although by themselves, I would consider Jean Jullien's accompanying illustrations a trifle too cartoon like for my aesthetics, the pictures work amazingly well with Lennon's glowing and so evocatively essential lyrics, and I do love the sweet idea of the dove's journey with its olive branch, as to me it reminds me of Noah's dove finally finding a peaceful utopian nirvana of universal peace, tolerance and both collective and individual happiness).

Holes in the Sky

Patricia Polacco's latest picture book, her Holes in the Sky (which is also very much a companion piece to her Chicken Sunday and like many of her picture books based on her own life, on her own family and childhood) tells with poignant emotion but always sweetly and gently how after Trisha's beloved Babushka, how after her maternal grandmother dies, she, her older brother and their mother relocate to California, and how once moved into their new house in Oakland (which is described as sunny, friendly and spacious) Trisha befriends Stewart, a neighbourhood boy whose grandmother Miss Eula becomes a second grandmother to and for Trisha as well (and being in oh so many ways so totally akin and alike to her late Babushka that Trisha realises Miss Eula is indeed the sign of love and healing from the stars, from the holes in the sky as described by her Babushka before her death for which Trisha has been waiting, a sign from her deceased grandmother that Miss Eula is to be another equally wonderful, equally loving grandmother type to and for Trisha, who had a very strong bond with her Babushka and was therefore also devastated and very lonely when she died). Now while some readers might well consider Miss Eula a bit of an interfering busybody, from what Polacco describes in Holes in the Sky (and as it is as narrated by her childhood self Trisha), Miss Eula is not only much loved, respected and appreciated in her diverse and eclectic Oakland, California neighbourhood (with families hailing from all over the world), she also generally seems to have both common sense and the proverbial wisdom of Solomon so to speak. For while I had certainly expected Mrs. Bacci to react with both pain and yes even much (and even understandable) negativity towards Miss Eula and the entire neighbourhood reactivating and reanimating her deceased son Angelo's garden, I also very much know that Miss Eula is right when she claims that turning the neglected garden back into a thriving lush feast for the eyes would be the perfect living tribute and monument to and Mrs. Bacci's son (which is then proven as the long awaited rain begins to fall, ending the drought). Five stars for Holes in the Sky, and while like usual, I generally do not really all that much enjoy Patricia Polacco's artwork in and of itself, in conjunction with and to her printed words, her narratives, her illustrations generally are the perfect accompaniment, the perfect mirror, a lovely and wonderful marriage of text and images.

We Are Grateful: Otsaliheliga

Traci Sorell has with her We Are Grateful: Otsaliheliga created a truly glowing, moving and yes indeed brightly sparkling homage to the Cherokee Nation (of which she is a member), a simple yet at the same time deeply profound narrative that above all, that first and foremost presents and depicts the modern Cherokee not as exotic, not as the "other" but simply, sweetly, descriptively as individuals, as people going about their day to day business, their routines (like everyone tends to do), being appreciative of, being grateful for life's many blessings (as well as its struggles and challenges), whilst of course and naturally also at the same time celebrating traditional Cherokee culture, spirituality, religion. An in all ways wonderful and evocative marriage of Traci Sorell's loving and tender text and Frané Lessac's descriptively colourful, imaginative accompanying images is We Are Grateful: Otsaliheliga, with the fact that the included Cherokee words are penned in both English lettering and Cherokee syllabics being the absolute icing on the cake for me, and a very much appreciated bonus (although in the Kindle version of We Are Grateful: Otsaliheliga, the back material, the supplemental details, they are sadly and frustratingly presented in such a tiny and minuscule font size that I have had major issues being able to read this without a very strong magnifying glass). And therefore, while I will definitely and gladly rank We Are Grateful: Otsaliheliga with a more than well deserved and shining five stars, I do in fact NOT recommend the Kindle, I do NOT recommend the e-book edition of We Are Grateful: Otsaliheliga (because as an e-book, We Are Grateful: Otsaliheliga is just not very reader and user friendly regrading the to and for me oh so essential and interesting information at the end of the book, the definitions, the author's note and especially and in particular, the legend for the Cherokee syllabary, which is really and truly nigh illegible on the Kindle).

Frederick

As someone who has always had a dreamy, artistic temperament and has also often been told that I am therefore by nature lazy and indeed that I should not even be getting a paid salary for "simply" teaching language, literature and the like, I have to admit that many of the more negative reviews of Leo Lionni's Frederick that I have read online over the years (and in particular the ones that pontificate about Frederick being a good for nothing and lazy lay-about, that poets are parasitical by nature, that those of us who are artistically inclined at best take away from real and true workers and labourers, that we are therefore insignificant and oh yes, that of course we supposedly are also one and all Marxists as well) absolutely and totally infuriate me to no end. For let's face it, not everyone is meant to be a farmer or a physical labourer and with Frederick Leo Lionni clearly demonstrates that for the field mice it is actually much more essential and necessary for poet field mouse Frederick during the harvest season to gather inspiration, colours and images (instead of helping to gather in the crops) so that come the greyness and cold of winter, he is able to cheer up his family and sustain them spiritually and poetically (that poetry, words and lyricism, that spiritual sustenance are in every way just as important and as required as the physical necessaries of enough food, water, and a decent place to live). And believe you me, us poets, authors, teachers, professors, artists etc., yes we do generally work very hard, and if I am preparing a language lesson, marking exams, even if I am just reading for academic purposes (or even for pleasure), if I am writing a book review, an article or editing my or someone else's writing, I am working in my own way just as much and as hard as a farmer labours in his or her own way and indeed vice versa (and in my opinion, anyone who does NOT realise and understand this, is at best a trifle if not actually MAJORLY NAIVE). Four stars for Frederick (for although narrative and text-wise, I would definitely want to consider Frederick as a five star offering, and with a very important and necessary art and the importance of poetry promoting message, I am just not that much of a personal fan of Leo Lionni's illustrations, which although bright and colourful are also rather too one dimensional and emotionally stagnant for my own aesthetic tastes, their Caldecott Honour designation notwithstanding).

Celia wrote: "Manybooks wrote: "Owl Moon

As a teenager (after we had moved to an acreage outside of Calgary, Alberta), I used to go out by myself on cold and clear winter nights with binoculars to..."

Owl Moon is lovely for both young and old.

Canadian children's book author Nancy Hundal totally makes my inner child sing, and I have loved the three picture books from her pen I have read thus far.

Camping

Poetic, ecstatic and marvellously evocative, Nancy Hundal's words, her free flowing rhyme-less lyricism for her 2002 picture book Camping imaginatively, magically, glowingly but at the same time also delightfully very much realistically demonstrate and describe the oh so many joys, the delights, the multifaceted nuances of a summer vacation family camping trip. However and yes I for one do think importantly, Nancy Hundal's text for Camping also pretty clearly points out that her young narrator at first does not really want to go camping, that for the family, camping is in fact the only decent summer vacation that is actually affordable (if the entire family is going to be able to go on vacation together and as a unit). And indeed, that in Camping our young narrator's original annoyance, frustration and reluctance with her family "having" to go camping pretty soon turns to absolute and poetical ecstasy, to both loving and appreciating a family vacation full of everything bright, beautiful and fun to be savoured and experienced with ALL the senses, close family ties and wondrous experiences both during the day and at night (in front of an inviting outdoor fire), for me and to me, this really makes Camping much more special and much more of a textual pleasure than if Nancy Hundal would just be describing something that happens for every vacation, that the slow but steady switch from reluctance to acceptance and delight make Camping truly spectacular. Accompanied by Brian Deines' illustrations, which for me and my aesthetics do totally colour and depicted content wise capture and reflect the very essence of summer camping and how much fun going on an extended camping trip is turning out to be for the family, for ever member of the family, Camping both textually and visually presents a brilliant, emotive and absolutely superb marriage of Nancy Hundal's text and Brian Deines' images, a both visual and narrational (poetic) celebration of summer, of family, and of camping as a fun and rewarding type of holiday (and most definitely, a four star rating).

Prairie Summer

Poetic, ecstatic and evocative, Nancy Hundal's words, her free flowing lyricism imaginatively, magically, glowingly but at the same time very much realistically demonstrates the joys, the delights, the multifaceted nuances of a summer (or more to the point, of a yearly summer vacation) on the Canadian prairies (in all likelihood Saskatchewan, but Southern Alberta and Southern Manitoba have equally grand vistas and similar scenarios), with gophers, grain elevators, mosquitoes, not only the sights but also the many sounds of Western Canadian farming life during the months of June, July, August and parts of September (from the hum of tractors to the often all encompassing drone of swarms of grasshoppers). Accompanied by Brian Deines' orange and brown hued illustrations, which do so totally colour wise capture the very essence of the season, of both time of year and geographic place, Prairie Summer presents a brilliant, emotive and absolutely delightful marriage of text and image, a both visual and narrational (poetic) celebration of the Canadian prairies in picture book format, a paean to summer, to the prairie's wide open spaces, to big skies and awe-inspiring grandeur, although I do have to wonder a bit that while Nancy Hundal depicts the majesty and giganticness of prairie winds, summertime prairie thunderstorms with their both awesome and frightening power and possibility for destruction have seemingly been ignored (and of course, while Prairie Summer is about Canada, Nancy Hundal's verses and Brian Deines' artwork could equally be describing the US Mid-West and states such as the Dakotas or Kansas).

Melted Star Journey

Lyrical and sweetly, poetically magical, Nancy Hundal's Melted Star Journey gracefully and with flowing cadence describes and depicts the sights, the myriad of evocative observations a young boy perceives and makes on his and his family's journey home by car from visiting friends or relatives on a rainy night (and from the illustrations, Luke and his family obviously live in the Vancouver/Victoria British Columbia area). A true feast for the senses (and yes, for all of the senses, not just vision, as the other senses are most definitely equally implied), Melted Star Journey presents both a lyrical and tender family-type story and also passionately celebrates the power of imagination and observation, and how through the rain-splattered car windows, the outside, the surroundings look or at least tend to appear fuzzy and misty, even somewhat colourfully, playfully abstract (hence the title, Melted Star Journey, as to young Luke looking out of a car window full of tiny and moving raindrops, street lights, car lights, traffic lights etc. have an appearance of melting, of dripping watery globlets of sparkling and glittering starlight). And as to Karen Reezuch's accompanying illustrations for Melted Star Journey, while in and of themselves I would not in fact consider them personal favourites (as especially her human figures seem to be a trifle too realistically stagnant and in one's face for and to me), they actually as a whole, as a collective entity do work very very well in conjunction with and to the lyricism and poetry of Nancy Hundal's narrative, for especially how Karen Reezuch has depicted the translucent effects of raindrops, of water on light does in every way totally and utterly, marvellously mirror and reflect the author's printed words, how Luke with poetic imaginativeness perceives and sees his surroundings out of his family's darkened and rain-drenched, rain-splattered car windows. Four stars, and highly recommended, although I do not think that Melted Car Journey is actually in current print (but it does appear to be still pretty easily and relatively cheaply available used online).

Hello Lighthouse

With a wonderful and sweetly nostalgic marriage of lyrical text and glowingly imaginative but nevertheless always spectacularly realistically shining accompanying images, I have both absolutely loved and appreciated Sophie Blackall's Hello Lighthouse and am also and of course tickled absolutely proverbially pink that it has been awarded the 2019 Caldecott Medal. For Hello Lighthouse truly is an utterly sparklingly special and delightful gem, presenting first and foremost (and most importantly) what made lighthouses so historically significant and essential (and the immense pressure, as well as the often tedious but nevertheless always necessary work of the lighthouse keeper, and how in Hello Lighthouse when the lighthouse keeper suddenly falls seriously ill, his wife must then take over his job until his fever breaks, making sure the light is kept constantly shining and beaming to warn passing ships of otherwise treacherous ocean rocks and other potential threats as well as tending to her husbands needs, nursing him through his bout of what probably would have been a serious case of pneumonia). Both nostalgic and yes indeed also imbued with more than a bit of sad regret that almost ALL lighthouses are now generally automated and that there are thus for the most part no more lighthouse keepers, Hello Lighthouse is a paean and celebration of a bygone era and in my opinion also a glorification of the magic of the ocean, of the sea (and of course also an homage to the many lighthouse keepers who not only made sure that their lights were constantly kept glowing and shining especially at night and during foggy, rainy and snowy weather conditions but who also often had to risk life and limb when there was trouble, when ships foundered and sailors needed rescuing, and yes, I do kind of sometimes have to wonder whether having modern lighthouses totally automated is really all that safe, because indeed, if there is a shipwreck near a lighthouse nowadays, there are of course generally no lighthouse keepers to spring into action and lead immediate rescue efforts). Four shining stars for Hello Lighthouse, and the only reason I am not quite ready for five stars is that I for one would have appreciated if Sophie Blackall had put her informative author's note on lighthouses and their historical significances within the actual text proper and not on the side flaps of the dust cover, as my library book has like most such tomes the dust cover securely taped into place, and sadly, much of the author's note is therefore obscured and not really all that easily and readily legible.

Mrs. Noah's Pockets

I guess I can certainly to a point understand that Jackie Morris' Mrs. Noah's Pockets could and likely would offend very staunch Biblical literalists. However, since I have always found Noah as he appears and is presented in the Old Testament of the Bible rather totally personally unappealing at best, yes indeed, I have massively relished and smiled at how Jackie Morris has rendered her Noah (her Mr. Noah) in Mrs. Noah's Pockets as not simply a pretty well mean-spirited and arrogant curmudgeonly pater familias, but indeed also as someone who actually is actively trying to seemingly supersede and rise above God, as someone who is in fact NOT AT ALL following God's direct orders with regard to the Ark (to save a pair of each and every animal species), but rather that Noah is basically taking the role of God for himself by making a separate list of animals that he will allow on the Ark and a list of according to Noah those so-called troubling and annoying creatures that he desires to let drown, to leave behind (and really and ironically, the Noah in Mrs. Noah's Pockets is therefore being rendered by the author, is actually depicted by Jackie Morris with in my opinion quite the same type of holier than thou arrogance and non God-fearing behaviour that caused God to want to drown humanity and the world in the first place). And yes of course, considering how much I find both the Biblical Noah and even more so the Noah of Mrs. Noah's Pockets annoying and insufferable, I absolutely love love love how Jackie Morris describes Noah's wife and how Mrs. Noah quietly but with true purpose thwarts her (clearly clueless) husband's machinations regarding leaving those animal species he does not approve of behind to drown in the flood (by simply furnishing a large cloak which pockets that she fills with the creatures Noah has deemed unacceptable) and indeed without her husband even realising this (for like a typical patriarchal male, Noah obviously simply thinks that his wife is there to support him and accept everything he does and thinks). A to and for me wonderful and engagingly fun reimagining of the Noah's Ark myth with a powerful and cheering quiet vision of girl, of female power is Mrs. Noah's Pockets, and indeed, also with an important and essential message to readers both young and old that if someone (even one's husband, even a famous Bible character like Noah and between the lines, I would go so far as to claim that Noah also somehow could perhaps even represent God himself to an extent) is engaging in behaviour that is destructive and terrible, thwarting said person with and by subterfuge and trickery is both appropriate and often totally necessary, that rebellion is often something that indeed needs to occur. Finally and last but certainly not least, with regard to James Mayhew's accompanying illustrations for Mrs. Noah's Pockets, albeit that I certainly do not (and like many readers seem to) find them in any manner superior to the author's, to Jackie Morris' presented narrative (which I indeed have totally loved), Mayhew's visual renderings are definitely a total and utter aesthetically spectacular feast for the eyes, for my eyes (presenting a colourful and lushly descriptive mirror of and compliment to the author's printed words, and yes, I also totally have found it aesthetically pleasant that James Mayhew has managed to render Noah's facial expressions as generally a bit creepy and negative and as always calculatingly arrogant, whereas Mrs. Noah, both on the Ark and when she is out and about rescuing the poor and unfortunate creatures that have not made her husband's to-be taken along list always appears as nurturing, gentle and kind, as a total and positive foil for her arrogant husband).

Thank You, Omu!

Although the accompanying illustrations of Oge Mora's Thank You, Omu! would generally and aesthetically speaking be just a bit too cartoon-like for them to be considered absolute personal favourites, I have indeed been more than pleasantly surprised at how much I have visually enjoyed them and how the pictures both colour scheme and general descriptiveness wise do indeed work very well with the author/illustrator's presented verbal narrative, how glowingly both text and images mirror and reflect the importance of being good neighbours and sharing, of giving freely and without second thought (and even if one literally gives away everything, like how Omu gives away all of her stew, all of her supper fare, that in a thriving and vibrant, that in a caring and community oriented neighbourhood, good deeds will fortunately not like that silly saying states end up resulting in personal punishment but will instead mostly if not always have positive effects and help cement and strengthen neighbourhood ties). Educational without being didactic, I love the naturally multicultural feel of Thank you, Omu! and that everyone (ethnicity notwithstanding) appreciates both Omu and her delicious red stew, that Omu's doors are indeed welcomingly open to absolutely one and all, including members of the police, as well as the mayor (and yes, I have also very much enjoyed reading how according to Oge Mora's author's note, Omu's name might mean queen in the Igbo language of her Nigerian parents but for her, growing up, it was the name she called her grandmother). A simple but magical combination of Oge Mora's lovingly tender (and obviously from the author's note also her grandmother honouring) printed words and bright collage like illustrations, Thank you, Omu! has been a surprisingly sweet reading experience for me (with especially the final illustration of Omu and everyone to whom she had doled out some of her delicious red stew during the day enjoying a spontaneous supper party tugging at my heartstrings, and indeed, I also kind of had to smile at the scene of the hot dog vendor coming up to get some of Omu's delicious stew, that Omu's cookery is definitely and naturally much more enticing taste and scent wise to the hot dogs, to the so-called street meat it is his job to sell day in and day out). And really, the only inclusion to Thank you, Omu! that would in my opinion make this book even better would be a featured recipe for Omu's red stew (as I for one love soups and stews and would majorly enjoy trying my hand at cooking this for myself).

Linnea in Monet's Garden

Christina Björk's Linnea in Monet's Garden (which was originally published in Sweden in 1985 under the title of Linnea i Målarens Trädgård, with the English language translation penned in 1987 by Joan Sandin) has been on my to-read list for almost a decade, and I am happy to say that I have now remedied this shortcoming, that I have both read and yes indeed also very much enjoyed Linnea in Monet's Garden (although truth be told, I do very much wish that I were fluent in Swedish and could thus tackle Linnea in Monet's Garden in the original, or better yet, that a dual language English/Swedish edition of Linnea i Målarens Trädgård were available). And yes, I very much do appreciate the smooth combination (the back and forth) of fiction and non-fiction in Linnea in Monet's Garden (and am actually rather surprised to have discovered quite a bit of hitherto personally unknown to me details and information regarding French Impressionist painter Claude Monet's life as an artist, including that for the 19th century, Monet definitely lived not only rather unconventionally, but also in a relationship with more than one woman simultaneously and in the same house). With Linnea's first person narrative voice shining brightly and sweetly in the fiction sections of Linnea in Monet's Garden, one can really emotionally feel and broadly smile at her effervescent joy of discovery and her constant delight as she and her elderly neighbour Mr. Bloom (who is a retired gardener) visit France to follow and explore both Claude Monet's art and his life. And while I do know and realise that there are in fact sone readers who seem to find it strange and even potentially problematic that a young girl like Linnea is allowed to travel to France without her family and even share a hotel room with an elderly gentleman who is not of her immediate family, frankly and in my opinion, there is absolutely nothing even remotely bordering on inappropriateness with and in Christina Björk's and by extension also translator Joan Landin's texts (since the joyful and engaging first person narration of Linnea in Monet's Garden really does demonstrate that Linnea's relationship with Mr. Bloom is comparable to a grandfather and granddaughter scenario, sweet, encouraging and with Mr. Bloom always acting like a treasured, understanding friend as well as a teacher). Now as to Lena Anderson's accompanying illustrations, they are bright, descriptive and totally capture not only Linnea's joy and and delightfully bubbly personality, they also present a glowing visual homage to France and to Monet's garden in Giverny (as well as depicting Mr. Bloom as being in all ways a kindly and grandfatherly soul whom I personally would definitely have wanted as a friend when I was Linnea's age). With the many reproductions of Claude Monet's signature impressionistic artwork (as well as the additional information on French and in particular Parisian museums either specialising in Claude Monet or showing the art of French Impressionism, not to mention the suggestions for additional fun and educational things to do if one visits Paris) being appreciated added bonuses, I easily and happily grant a full five stars to Linnea in Monet's Garden (and this even though I personally do wish that the short bibliographical list contained more than just five books, since well, at least Christina Björk has actually included a bibliography in Linnea in Monet's Garden and that indeed, all of the included tomes on Claude Monet's life and art do look very thorough and academically appealing to and for me).

The Highway Rat

Absolutely marvelous! As an adult reader I totally adore the clever and delightful textual parody of Alfred Noyes' classic The Highwayman ballad (and indeed also much appreciate that with The Highway Rat, Julia Donaldson has just taken Alfred Noyes' external form and has not made her text content wise into some silly love story and her Highway Rat into a romantic type of hero, as no, that would in my opinion have made The Highway Rat annoyingly maudlin and not the engaging and so very much fun poetic parody of The Highwayman that it is). And as a child (that is if I had read The Highway Rat as a child or had it read to me, but of course The Highway Rat was not yet available when I was a child, since it was only published in 2011), oh yes, I would have oh so much loved loved loved the Highway Rat and totally, absolutely appreciated it (with both its in many ways a bounding horseback ride imitating form and in particular its textual, verbal themes and contents) as a what I would label an inverted trickster tale, with the Highway Rat, with the cocky and oh so sure of himself and continuously bent on subterfuge, mayhem and greed villain finally meeting his match and getting his just desserts (and indeed, a pun is most definitely intended here) when he tries to rob a diminutive duck, who though not only turns the tables on him by playing up to his legendary gluttony and greed (and getting the Highway Rat hopelessly lost in an echoey cave), the duck also also takes possession of the Highway Rat's horse and rescues all of the food that had been stolen, returning all of it to the Highway Rat's victims (who share their retrieved goodies amongst themselves and have a huge party and feast, whilst the Highway Rat is lost in the echo cave, finally makes it out at the other side, and delightfully ends up throughly defeated and working at a very lowly type of cleaning job). Combined with Axel Scheffler's brilliantly imaginative illustrations, which not only mirror Julia Donaldson's delightful engaging, entertaining (and parodistical) verses, but also visually and aesthetically sometimes even expand on them, The Highway Rat (and indeed even though I personally do not all that much enjoy stories or poems featuring anthropomorphic rodents) has definitely and certainly been a full five star book for me, a wonderful parody of Alfred Noyse and an engagingly humorous tale of trickery and standing up against bullies that also is first and foremost totally wonderful to read aloud.