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The Word Snoop by Ursula Dubosarsky - review

The Word Snoop: A wild and witty tour of the English language by Ursula Dubosarsky, illustrated by Tohby Riddle

We were recently informed by our six year old that it is just not fair that he has to learn to read English. "English is weird and hard and everything is different in different words!" he complained. Oh, it's true, little man. We're sorry. We should totally be Spaniards.

(t-shirt available from TopatoCo)

We did, however, try to explain that we are endowing him with one of the most versatile, descriptive languages on the planet. His grown-up cousin, a marine biologist, told him that, for example, English affords botanists thousands of ways to describe the hairs on a plant leaf or stem. He was not mollified. His 8-year-old brother was similarly pissed off about the inconsistencies of English when he was learning to read. But now he likes it. For example, he was utterly charmed by this book, which presents our language as a fascinating compendium of mysteries, stories, and tricks.

The Word Snoop speaks directly to inquisitive children in this tour of pangrams, palindromes, interrobangs, spoonerisms, leetspeak, backronyms and mondegreens. Ms. Dubosarsky is clearly a fan of the eccentric, acrobatic English language, and is a dab hand with an anecdote, recommending that readers try to find a recording of Lead Belly singing "The Pig Latin Song." She explains how to make portmanteau words, challenges the reader to solve - and create - word puzzles, lists a few great tongue twisters, celebrates rhyming slang, and so much more.

The ivory color, small size, serif type, and classy pen-and-ink illustrations give the book a slightly obscure feel, as if it might have been discovered at the back of an old bookshop. This is a good thing - kids who love mysteries and history and old-fashioned novelty will gravitate to it.

Short chapters with even shorter sections make The Word Snoop perfect for picking up and putting down. It's a book to buy, not borrow.

Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld - review

Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld

Maybe I sabotaged this book for myself. I don't usually get worked up anticipating a new work of children's or young adult fiction - usually, they show up, and I go, "Wow, look at this!" I'm consistently surprised that chapter books written for younger folks actually engage me. You'd think I'd know better. Like, you'd REALLY think I'd know better.

But when I heard that Scott Westerfeld - believable social economies, interesting ideas, nervy plots - was taking on the satisfying contrasts and textures of steampunk, I have to admit, I got excited.

And then, when I finally got my hands on it, the book, for me, fell a little bit flat. We follow Alek, only child of the archduke Ferdinand and his commoner wife Sophie, after his parents' assassination; and Deryn, a lower-class girl masquerading as a boy so that she can join the British air force. World War I is breaking out, and the German weapons - walking kerosene-burning tanks - are pitted against the genetically engineered organic fighting machines created by the British. Deryn serves aboard The Leviathan, a zeppelin-like airbeast that is mostly whale, while Alek escapes his ancestral castle in a two-legged armored walker, accompanied by his armorer and fencing instructor.

The details are, as expected, splendid, especially the delicate ecosystem that comprises the giant airbeast. There are castles and there are uniforms, scientists in bowler hats and a Tasmanian wolf (mysteriously called a Tasmanian tiger). Yummy.

But why, reading this, did I find myself wishing that I were instead reading Airborn again? There are a lot of similarities between the two books, and I kept remembering details of Airborn fondly as I read Leviathan. It's not a contest - obviously - and they're both exciting books, worth reading, and anyone who likes the one will likely enjoy the other. It's just that, if I had to recommend just one, I'd pick Airborn. Kenneth Oppel's descriptions of sensory experiences - running barefoot, moonlight and cold air - edge out Westerfeld's more hard-edged details.

Recently I've heard that Adam Rex is taking on the YA vampire novel, and I'm excited to see that. I expect that he'll punch a few holes in the "beautiful but doomed" vamp trope, a la The Reformed Vampire Support Group by Catherine Jinks. If I find I am disappointed in that book, I'll know - it's just me.

The Interrogative Mood by Padgett Powell - review

The Interrogative Mood by Padgett Powell

I know exactly the market for this mildly irritating, rather precious book. "Would you rather be bitten by an alligator or a large cat? How many diapers whould you say you have changed in your life?"

It's all questions, leading me to ask a few of my own. What species of human spends upwards of 50% of its time questioning things? What age group considers self-examination as necessary as texting?

Teenagers. In case the "texting" clue didn't tip you off. Only reservation I would have about handing this to a whole squad of teenagers is the slightly hyper-Anglo countrified nostalgia that shows up from time to time. "When was the last time you gapped a spark plug yourself?" "Are you as fond as I of cobalt glass?"

In fact, the whole thing could easily be a 164-page entry in McSweeney's Internet Tendency. With a side of Stuff White People Like. On the other hand, I do feel affection for it. Like Padgett Powell, and the swanky authors who endorse him on the back cover (Safran Foer! Amy Hempel! Luc Sante, now that's hard core!), I like words. And I like that this book contains these words and phrases:

• hernia
• pine cone
• amateur
• filament
• hoeing
• banana-seated stingray bike
• crotch bark
• booze
• harbormaster

One Shoe Blues, by Sandra Boynton, starring B.B. King - review

One Shoe Blues, by Sandra Boynton, starring B.B. King

This is Sandra Boynton's collaboration with B.B. King. You knew it had to happen. One beloved icon meets another. Let's just say - there are Converse high-tops involved, and that can't be bad.

So - I snatched this off the shelf today, and read it to myself while waiting to pick up the kids from school. Then I read it out loud to some 3rd graders while waiting for the 1st graders to arrive at dismissal (the 1st graders are always last). There is a song in this book: the song is called "One Shoe Blues". I sang the song to the 3rd graders. Did I know the melody? Well, no. There's sheet music in the back, but I figured - it's blues. You can make up blues. The kids enjoyed it, even though they rolled their eyes at my singing. The other parents were more charitable.

When we got home, we played the DVD. It was A. Dorable. Sock puppets and B.B. King singing about how he can't find his left shoe. (The shoe is on his foot.) B.B. King's mama hollers for him to look under the bed and in the closet. He says he did. She says did he look THOROUGHLY under the bed and in the closet. (B.B. King's mama has found herself dragged into the search for a missing item before, one surmises.) Set in a lovely little red shack, with curtains blowing and trees out the window, I loved the little movie. It's on YouTube, see what you think.

Oddly, the DVD was not that well received by the 1st graders and 3rd graders in attendance. I'm guessing they weren't particularly impressed by B.B. King. They don't know a blues legend when they see one. Why would they? But I was very enthusiastic, and played the thing twice, and was happy to answer the question, "What ARE blues, anyway?"

And, like the celebrity appearances on Sesame Street, I believe that such was Sandra Boynton's sneaky little plan. B.B. King is the bait to get the parents into the room, and after watching together, maybe there's more conversation. Or maybe not. Maybe Sandra Boynton just wanted to hear B.B. King sit in a chair and play her song. Nothing wrong with that, either.

Prowling the Seas: Exploring the hidden world of ocean predators, by Pamela S. Turner - review

Prowling the Seas: Exploring the hidden world of ocean predators, by Pamela S. Turner

Ok, I want Pam Turner's job.

And before you point out the obvious, I am aware that I have no excuse - Pam Turner obviously decided that her job was going to be tagging along with and interviewing biologists doing fieldwork. I know perfectly well that it's not like somebody called her up and said, "Hey, Pam Turner! Pack yer stuff, you're gonna go catch frogs with herpetologist (and fashion icon) Tyrone Hayes!" So, conceivably, you or I could wake up one morning, snap on our research gloves, and write a book proposal about a nineteen-year-old ornithologist who was recruited to spend six years in the Congo doing biology.

She didn't write that book. I'm thinking about writing that book.

But she wrote Prowling the Seas. She contacted the brilliant and dedicated folks at the Tagging of Pacific Predators Project (TOPP), listened and watched them and learned and read and asked questions, and produced this good little book, perfect for, say third grade and up. Four species are profiled, with strong, clear photographs (mostly provided by the researchers themselves), an outline of each animal's life cycle, maps of migration routes, and real-life episodes from the scientists' experience tracking the beasts.

We learn about white sharks, bluefin tuna, leatherback turtles, and the sooty shearwater, a predatory seabird. Interesting choice of animals, don't you think? Now the shark, of course - he's what you call charismatic megafauna: big and scary and high-profile. Ever since Jaws, you've got to contact Mr. Shark through his agent. And everybody loves a sea turtle. We were on Jekyll Island last spring when an injured sea turtle named Dylan was released back into the sea, and there must have been a thousand people on the beach to wave goodbye him. You'd have thought he was, you know, Dylan. Or at least... Dylan.

Gratifying, then, to see the tuna and the shearwater getting the same kind of attention as these more-celebrated species. The tuna, especially, is a lot more interesting than you'd have thought. And the picture of the researcher with his whole arm shoved down a shearwater burrow to retrieve a chick? Oh man, that is one dedicated biologist.

The TOPP personnel are doing a lot to extend our knowledge of these predator species, some of which, due to their pesky habits of diving deep and/or flying high over some of the most little-traveled segments of the globe, have life cycles, or at least life stages, that are considered cryptic. ("Cryptic life stage" - I spent the last twenty minutes trying to remember that phrase. How cool would it be to have a "cryptic life stage" as part of your own biography?)

This book makes it clear that by studying these animals, we can gain a more accurate picture of changing patterns in the sea, and in the air. And that's on top of learning cool things about interesting animals.

Pretty Dead by Francesca Lia Block - review

Pretty Dead by Francesca Lia Block

Reading Francesca Lia Block is like standing in front of your grandma's jewelry box and putting on every necklace and all her rings. Mmm, charm bracelets! And what are these green beads! And yes, please, the big pearls, whether they are real or fake. In fact, I get the distinct impression that writing Francesca Lia Block is a lot like standing in front of grandma's jewelry box and loading it all on. The clothes! The houses! The beautiful boys and the beautiful girls!

Only thing is, unlike many other authors that revel in the aesthetic, Francesca Lia Block doesn't make it seem shallow. She hangs a mirror above the jewelry box and shows us the girl. Sometimes the girl is having fun, trying on the baubles, sometimes she's sad, thinking about grandma and wondering where each piece of precious junk might have come from. But always the girl is looking in the mirror.

Pretty Dead is Francesca Lia Block's take on the vampire novel. The girl this time is Charlotte Emerson, undead a hundred years, rich and beautiful and lonely as a cloud. The vampire thing is kind of a perfect setup for Miss Block - when Charlotte meets a boy that she cares about, and he wants to know about her past, she has an excuse to revisit a century of fashion moments. A Chanel cardigan, an Elsa Schiaparelli frock, velvet bell bottoms, and shoes of every shape and height. Also the bombing of Hiroshima.

Largely skipping past most of the tropes that usually shape the plot of vampire stories (blood consumption, sunlight avoidance), the story revolves around Charlotte's humanity. She remembers it, she mourns it, she seems to be regaining it. She has amazing sex, and she wishes for a child. This is the flip side of Francesca Lia Block's love of adornment - she loves the thing being adorned as well, revels in the heat and aroma of her beautiful people.

I routinely recommend Francesca Lia Block for adult fans of Twilight. I think everybody could use a little dose of the freedom and tenderness found in her books. They always make me want to hang up another wind chime, put on another scarf.

In the belly of an ox: The unexpected photographic adventures of Richard and Cherry Kearton, written and illustrated by Rebecca Bond - review

In the belly of an ox: The unexpected photographic adventures of Richard and Cherry Kearton, written and illustrated by Rebecca Bond

Richard and Cherry Kearton - brothers, cap-wearers, English guys - loved the outdoors, and they loved taking pictures. They published the very first natural history book illustrated with photographs instead of drawings.

Now. How can I put this without sounding boring?

Their work democratized the study of nature in England and abroad. Ok that's boring. But listen: before these guys, natural history books were illustrated with beautiful etchings, color lithographs, et cetera. 

 

Even the least idealized images of birds, beasts, and habitats in even the least intimidating book on natural history (such as the 40-volume, moderately-priced The Naturalist's Library) could not bring the real, observable natural world into a person's hand the way that one of the Kearton's photographs of a nest could. Before the Keartons, it might be said that the habit of observing nature for its own sake was limited to upper-class eccentrics, scientists, and eccentric scientists. The Keartons' photographs showed that the wonders of nature were accessible to anyone, and that even a goose on her nest was in its own way wonderful.

Still boring. Crap, sorry. It's a subject I know a lot about. I helped manage the photo collection at the American Museum of Natural History for a few years. So I get a little excited.

But don't think that I'm giving this book an enthusiastic endorsement only because I find the subject interesting. I just read a new kids' biography of George Eastman, and I had to say meh, even though I think he was fascinating, and even though I was very pleased that the book emphasized his philanthropy. I just found it to be over-story-fied. Not every person's story resolves into exciting little mountain ranges of plot, and trying to force it to do so is doing nobody any favors.

The Kearneys, for example, did not have the most electrifying lives. They were happy boys in the country, then they were somewhat less happy men in the city. The story ramps up slowly, until Richard and Cherry are designing their own blinds so that they can photograph wildlife without scaring off the critters. Cherry hides under a blanket, in a haystack, and in a fake tree. They commission a fake ox from a taxidermist in London, and Cherry hides inside that, too.

When their book comes out, in 1895, it is a success. They spend the rest of their lives traveling and taking pictures.

Rebecca Bond does not try to blow this story up big. Her prose, like her watercolors, is calm and warm as she strolls through the Kearneys' lives up to and including publication of that first book. She bases many of her illustrations on photographs that they took of each other in the field - Cherry rappelling down a cliff, carrying the fake ox, standing in a river. Most satisfyingly, these photographs are reproduced in the back of the book, along with endnotes and a bibliography.

This book contains plenty of information for a brief report, or to get a kid started on his own research - and yet, it is simple (and interesting) enough to be read aloud to a group. I also have every confidence that there will be children who absorb the information about the Kearneys' methods and results, and who go out to try some wildlife photography of their own. Maybe my kids.

All the World by Liz Garton Scanlon, illustrated by Marla Frazee - review

All the World by Liz Garton Scanlon, illustrated by Marla Frazee

One of the things I have always thought was odd about hard-line Waldorf School philosophy - and before you email me, let it be known that I have one marvelous little cousin and one fantastic grown-up niece who are Waldorf products, and I have no problem at all giving the Waldorfers some of the credit for how beautifully they have turned out so far - but as I said, one of the odder dicta of Waldorf founder Rudolf Steiner, and he had a LOT of dicta, guy was just Mr. Ruley Rulemonger, and some schools are all like, "Yes SIR Mr. Steiner sir - we'll build our classrooms with NO CORNERS," and some schools, like my cousin's school in Hawaii, are all kind of like, "Oh yeah, but knitting? Brah, it's hot here like, we don't really need knitwear. How about we teach em all how to juggle?" and that works for them.

But one of the Waldorf things is that there should be no shadows in a child's early life. And hence, there is no black crayon in the crayon box at a Waldorf school.

And I am NO anthroposophist. I am not even a teacher. If that works for them, hey wow. I figure, any school that actually has an educational philosophy (as long as it isn't, like, "Let's ignore stuff that makes us uncomfortable") is way ahead. My kids' school is a Reggio Emilio-inspired school. Do I know what that means? Not super much. But does it mean that teachers have meetings discussing how to implement that philosophy? Yes. Yes it does. And do those meetings give those teachers an additional opportunity to discuss different strategies for working with each student's strengths and weaknesses? Yup. And that is good.

But if you asked, I would say that, since black exists in nature, a kid should have black in her crayon box. Would I fight the Waldorf teachers on it, if my kids went to a Waldorf school? No. But that's what I think. And Marla Frazee, whose work in this book has recently been recognized by The New York Times, notably pulls the black crayon out of the box - to great effect - in All the World.

There is blue sky, there is green farmland. All beautiful. There are adults and children and older folks of all sizes and colors, grouped in all the ways that can make a family. Also, all beautiful. But the rocks on the beach are dark gray. And the pond during a thunderstorm is darker gray. Shadows are black. Wind is black. Also beautiful. The darkness, as night falls around a warmly lit roadside restaurant, is dark. I love this. Without being specific, or even mentioning it in the lovely text, darkness is included in the book's inventory of nonthreatening things to be found in our world.

My homies at School Library Journal called it "Perfection," and yo, we do not hand out that kind of epithet lightly. My kids enjoyed this book as much as my husband and I did. They liked the lilting poetry, and following the various families throughout the book. If you can make it through to the massive music jam at the end without a sniffle, you're a better man than me. I'm giving it to the kindergarten teacher for Christmas.

Kids go! by They Might be Giants, illustrated and animated by Pascal Campion - review

Kids go! by They Might be Giants, illustrated and animated by Pascal Campion

Here is my review:

 

If that didn't have you bouncing a little in your seat, well then I don't think I can help you. If it did, then you'll have to either get the book or buy the animated short on iTunes to see the full version. Go!

The Vermeer Interviews: Conversations with Seven Works of Art by Bob Raczka - review

The Vermeer Interviews: Conversations with Seven Works of Art by Bob Raczka

What a pleasure, to have an excuse to really sit and savor the paintings of Vermeer. And Bob Raczka is such an excellent guide - he recruits the subjects of the paintings themselves to explain Vermeer's tricks and techniques, details and intentions. Since so little is known about the master himself, this slight distancing device allows the speculative conclusions that art historians have drawn about his methods to be voiced without a constant drone of qualifying phrases. "Scholars think," "it is thought that," boring boring. Much better to have a coy model say, "Only Master Vermeer knows for sure."

In his conversation with the woman in Young Woman with a Water Pitcher, the interviewer asks why she is opening the window - is it to investigate a noise? to water a flower box? The young woman replies, "... it doesn't really matter why I'm opening the window. What matters is that you are asking the question. It means that Master Vermeer has succeeded in making you curious, and he would be tickled to know it." This is a lovely little capsule definition of what makes a painting successful, and a reminder that when reading a work of art, it is as important to step back as it is to get in close.

The design is terrific. The interviews are given a background of old, stained, slightly crinkled paper, and the subdued design palette is made up of rich browns, golds, and navy blue.

As a former art history student, who has spent hours upon hours sitting in front of works of art soaking in every detail - necessary labor if you have to write a five-page paper - I can say that there is no better way to introduce kids to the pleasures of interrogating art on their own than this book, one of Bob Raczka's best.

Looking like me by Walter Dean Myers, illustrated by Christopher Myers - review

Looking like me by Walter Dean Myers, illustrated by Christopher Myers

I looked in the mirror
and what did I see?
A real handsome dude
looking just like me.

There's nothing like starting out on a strong, affirming foot. Let's just put it out there, son - I am a good looking guy. And things are just going to get better from there. My sister comes along and tells me I am a brother. My teacher calls me a writer. I look in the mirror and call myself a talker. Fist bumps all around.

This big bold boy-centric anthem is illustrated with strong, bright-colored collage images - wild animals, city buildings, and images from non-Western culture underlay graphic silhouettes of young men in motion, implying the threads of civilized and wild culture that weave together to make a boy. Extra fist bump to my boy Christopher for using a picture of the gorilla diorama at the American Museum of Natural History. That silverback gets around.

This is exactly the read-aloud for the strongest, most confident read-aloud-er you know. My friend Kate, for example. You need the rhythm and flow of a Nikki Giovanni or a Jacqueline Woodson to read this book aloud. But you need nothing but fifteen minutes and an open mind to read it to yourself.

One cautious note: I held out my fist for a bump with a little boy not too long ago, and, not hip to the procedure, the kid hauled off and punched my fist as hard as he could. Didn't hurt me much, but ne nearly broke his fingers on my rings. So, if you're going to do the fist bumps along with Walter Dean and Christopher, make sure everybody knows - a real man is gentle.

The Secret Plan by Julia Sarcone-Roach - review

The Secret Plan by Julia Sarcone-Roach

Milo the little elephant has great things going on with the kids next door, three kittens named Henry, Hildy, and Harriet. They make tin-can telephones. They build a house of cards, they play forts, and they dig for treasure. But JUST when they're about to uncover the chest full of loot, something intervenes. Something parental. Curses! Just when things are getting good, it's always lunch, or dinner, or even worse - BEDTIME.

They try everything to get around it. But hiding and sneaking aren't enough. They have to come up with a special secret plan. A plan that involves the fuzzy green monster feet from Milo's Halloween costume, and the cozy attic way upstairs.

This plot is VERY appealing to little kids. It has enough tension to keep them on the edge of their seats, but no actual consequences, as befitting a picture book. The details are adorable. The illustrations slyly extend the text, adding extra humor.

The design, especially the text layout, conspires with the other elements to give us tiptoeing, frustration, and being startled. It's almost concrete poetry.

The art, in its swishiness, somehow reminds me of Good Night, Gorilla. The sweetness, and the bedtime-circumvention plot, is like that too. And when I compare a book to Good Night, Gorilla, that is some of the highest praise I know.

Never Smile at a Monkey: And 17 Other Important Things to Remember by Steve Jenkins - review

Never Smile at a Monkey: And 17 Other Important Things to Remember by Steve Jenkins

Funny, alarming, great to look at - everything you expect from Steve Jenkins. My kids sat and made a list of Places Not to Go based on the habitats of the bad-tempered, venomous, sharp-featured, combative, paranoid, and/or fiercely territorial beasts of this book.

I mean, for example: why the hell is there a 2-inch-long caterpillar that can KILL a human? Where's the evolutionary advantage in that? On the other hand, the plots of many an action-adventure movie could be enhanced by the insertion of, for example, box jellyfish. Or a Humboldt squid. Do your reading, folks!

The cover bears special mention - confrontational and modern looking, it puts me in mind of the work of, oh, who was that woman with the red Helvetica statements against the black and white photographic images? Hm. Barbara Kruger.

My cousin sends this image - I'm guessing it's from a zoo in Japan.

Actually, my experience with monkeys indicates that they will poop on you if displeased, but I'm sure biting is another option.

Any Which Wall by Laurel Snyder, illustrations by LeUyen Pham - review

Any Which Wall by Laurel Snyder, illustrations by LeUyen Pham

When you recruit a team of siblings whose job it will be to solve your mystery, survive the adventure you send them on, or adjust to the magic that you are willy-nilly injecting into their ordinary everyday lives, you have three choices.

1. You can establish verisimilitude by making them sniping, squabbling siblings who insult each other and barely endure each other's company, like the Grace family in Tony DiTerlizzi's Spiderwick stories or the Willoughbys at the beginning of The Willoughbys
   
2. You can make them react believably to danger and uncertainty by banding tightly together, viz the Baudelaire siblings, who are as supportive and encouraging of each other as the events surrounding them are... unfortunate.
3. Or you can take the middle path. Think the Aldens. Or the Casson kids. Heck, think of the March girls or the Pevenseys. They don't always agree, and sometimes a fit is pitched, but as far as I'm concerned, there's your verisimilitude. No hair-pulling required.

What I'm saying is: brave, considerate, honest and smart does not equal BORING. Laurel Snyder's Any Which Wall is a Penderwick-y book, a Nesbitty book, an avowedly Eager-y book, featuring four children who discover a wall that works magic, and who must figure out how to use it and what it can do. Once they've got that sorted, the next step for each kid is to decide - what to wish for. What's YOUR heart's desire? Hard to say? Try making that decision when you're six.

But while each child makes this decision based on his or her own interests (Henry wants pirates, Roy chooses American history, little Emma wants a castle, while big girl Susan just wants to see her best friend again), their adventures give each kid the opportunity to exercise underused muscles: independence, honesty, logic, compassion. I've often heard it said that kids practice known skills at home, but they learn new things on vacation. Well, my husband implies that he read this somewhere, every time he tries to justify taking a few days off and blowing town together.

The writing is clear and pleasant - Laurel Snyder has a particular gift for describing place (when the kids visit New York City, and the subway emerges from the tunnel to cross the East River, her description of the graffiti-ed buildings seen from above made me nostalgic for a daily commute I haven't taken for almost ten years), and her dialogue is natural and unaffected.

LeUyen Pham I have to guess was just a shiny shiny gift from Laurel's editor. Nobody draws regular kids, with their quirks of gesture and occasional annoyed expression, like Ms. Pham. Between the two of them, they've created four children as real as the kids playing LEGO in the dining room at this very minute.

Going Bovine by Libba Bray - review

Going Bovine by Libba Bray

I sort of think I am not literate enough to review this book. It's a picaresque! There's an unreliable narrator! A running reference to Don Quixote! The entire thing may well be an hallucination... dun dun DUNN! Maybe it says something about me - but also I think it says something about Libba Bray - that after I finished it, the best parallel I could think of was that episode of Buffy when she's really in a mental hospital in LA, and all that Sunnydale vampire stuff, and her friends, and the personal growth, and the vampire sex - was all a pathetic delusion.

Our hero is a slacker stoner boy in a Texas burb, alienated from his family, alienated from his peers, oh hell just alienated in general. And in the typical arc, things get worse and worse until... something weird happens. He is diagnosed with bovine spongiform encephalopathy.

I'd like to take a moment here to review some of the weird things that have happened to underachievers in books I've read recently.

• The kid in Unwind - parents schedule him for medical dismemberment
• Nathan Abercrombie - becomes undead after having been doused with Mad Scientist Juice
• Emerson Watts (Airhead) - her brain is transplanted into a supermodel's body
• Cameron Smith (this kid) - mad cow disease

Is it me? or are the stakes rising? and getting more... medical? Just an observation. Back to Cameron.

Don't think that just because Cameron's stuck in the hospital, this is a sad, heavy, disease-y book. It's pretty damn funny, in fact. Cam gets out of the hospital and hits the road, accompanied by his pal, Gonzo, a dwarf. They go to Mardi Gras, shit gets blowed up, sandwiches are consumed, they pick up a yard gnome whose first helpful act is to rob a drug dealer. Like that.

Time and space warp - at one point, Louisiana is "a thousand miles" away from Texas. Cameron's guide, a punk-rock angel named Dulcie (Hola, Miguel!), provides insight and teaches Cameron to live in the moment.

There is sex. There certainly are erections. I am a bit tired of reading about erections, personally. They're not as funny as some writers seem to think they are, although I do concede that they're a little funny. There's dope-smoking, although after Cameron gets his diagnosis, he does stop self-medicating.

It's the kind of book that you could read over and over and still be getting stuff out of. That's bad grammar. I trust you to get past it, just as Libba Bray trusts her teenage readers to handle the entirely grown-up themes she's laying down for them. I do love a book that respects the child.

Imogene's Last Stand by Candace Fleming, illustrated by Nancy Carpenter - review

Imogene's Last Stand by Candace Fleming, illustrated by Nancy Carpenter

That Imogene, she's going to grow up Geek Like Me. She loves history and she loves her country, and when she discovers that her local historical society is sitting forlorn and neglected, she takes it over. She cleans and fixes, catalogs and displays the fun, odd, sometimes boring items that one usually finds in one's local historical society. Fossils, old firearms, busts of Lincoln. Skinny little Imogene has completed her masters thesis in Museum Studies, and she's not even out of grade school.

Imagine her distress when she discovers that her beloved little museum is due to be demolished so that a shoelace factory can be built!

Well, any kid who can conserve an entire historic house and all of its contents can surely find a way to alert her community of the important cultural resource that is at stake, right? Imogene embarks on a campaign to save the historical society, utilizing all the best community activism strategies. She first contacts her local elected official, the mayor, who tells her to get lost. Then she raises community awareness by canvassing, leafletting, bannering, holding a rally, and, as a last resort, staging a one-girl sit-in. All the while, she trumpets her favorite lines by great American heroes, from Teddy Roosevelt ("Balderdash") to the Vietnam War protesters ("Heck no, we won't go!").

Unfortunately, all her efforts come to naught. Despite the public attention garnered by her passive resistance on demolition day, the mayor declares that he will let the bulldozers roll as soon as Imogene leaves the porch of the historical society. Here is where this book falls apart.

It is only through the intervention of the local (adult) historian, as well as the President of the United States, who arrives in a limo with a plaque declaring the house to be historically significant (a dead white male "slept here") (yes, HIM), that the society is saved.

Granted, the historian had been activated by Imogene upon discovery of a seemingly important document in the house, but I must protest. The deus ex machina celebrity savior device completely undermines the message this book seems to be set up to convey. Candace Fleming carefully maps out all the steps in a community activism campaign, and what is more, demonstrates that these steps can be undertaken by a child. It's beautiful! But then she allows the campaign to fail. Imogene has not managed to activate her community. The town is pleased to observe the spectacle, but will not join Imogene in her protest. Consumers, but not actors.

Instead of showing kids that they themselves, through hard work, perseverence and peaceful dissent, can effect change in their communities, the book is saying that if you really want to get something done, you're going to have to call in a grownup, and the most highly-ranked grownup you can find.

A rare misstep from Ms. Fleming, who has previously brought us such charmers as Muncha! Muncha! Muncha! and the get-out-your-hankies Boxes for Katje. Also, I love Nancy Carpenter, but I think this is also not her best work. Imogene lacks the personality of Ms. Carpenter's children in Apples to Oregon and 17 Things I'm Not Allowed to Do Anymore, although the interiors in this book show her typical attention to detail and skill with volume.

Guess Again! by Mac Barnett, illustrated by Adam Rex - review

Guess Again! by Mac Barnett, illustrated by Adam Rex

 

He steals carrots from the neighbor's yard.
His hair is soft, his teeth are hard.
His floppy ears are long and funny.
Can you guess who? That's right! My

[turn the page]

Grandpa Ned.

This book will KILL at a kindergarten storytime. That's a fact, Jack. Take it to the bank, Frank. Goofy is as goofy does.

And speaking of what goofy does, let me address something. There are a batch of reviews on Amazon written by parents of two-year-olds, and in those reviews, those parents are a bit up in arms about the way that this book misled their children. "It seems somewhat odd that we parents spend so much time teaching our kids to think logically, do puzzles, problem solve, etc. out comes this book that sort of throws them off by giving them the completely unexpected," reads one.

YES. Humor is what separates bigger kids from little kids, and subversion of expectations is one of the fundaments of humor. You ever notice how little kids can't make up jokes? Until small children develop a basic vocabulary of expectations and consequences, they don't really understand humor. Although - don't email me - they are certainly funny people. And laugh at funny things. It's just that they're busy populating their cause-and-effect encyclopedia, and when you get in the way of that, they don't. like it. I remember being extremely pissed off at Pippi Longstocking (and ooh, that's a nice edition of Pippi, illustrated by Lauren Child? Match made in heaven!) when I was very small, because what Pippi did just DIDN'T MAKE SENSE.

But once they are well on their way to getting a firm grasp on what you can expect from the universe, you get a little leeway. Bark, Georgeis my favorite example of a funny book for a three-year-old. It's the first book of subverted expectations that a little kid will "get". The vet asks puppy George to bark, and George says "Quack." And the three year old's face goes "OH MY GOD. YOU GUYS! Did you see that? That's MESSED. UP! Dogs don't say 'quack,' they're supposed to say 'woof'! And he says 'quack' because there's a duck down his throat! How did that duck get down there! HUMOR!!! Wow my mind is totally blown right now. Read it again."

I paraphrase, of course. But little kids are like Mork, I swear. Mork would NOT GET Guess Again!. But a six-year old, and certainly a seven year old? Will. Should. And what's more, I think it's good for 'em. I think that the unexpected is good exercise for the brain.

I was talking this out with my husband and our friend Rebecca the other night, and Rebecca remembered this article in the New York Times, "How Nonsense Sharpens the Intellect", about studies that have shown that exposure to the unexpected triggers heightened brain activity, in particular, better pattern recognition. Look at that! See, I was pretty much just coasting along, developing a theory out of thin air, and professional research psychologists back me right up! Woo!

(Oh crap did I forget to compliment the art? I love the art. It's Adam Rex, people. Composition, color, watercolor technique, expression... Adam Rex can paint an argyle sweater and give it personality and depth.)

Really, Really BIG questions by Dr. Stephen Law - review

Really, Really BIG questions about life, the universe, and everything by Dr. Stephen Law, illustrated by Nishant Choksi (and gentlemen, when the illustrations are as important to the book as these illustrations are, you PUT the illustrator's NAME on the COVER. Respect!)

I would like to organize my thoughts about this book. To do it justice. Because the book is certainly well-organized. It takes major philosophical questions - both the eternal ones, like "How can I tell right from wrong?" and the excruciatingly current ones, like "Did someone design the universe?" - breaks them down gently, and then finds accessible, often amusing analogies to go about finding the answers.

Many questions are left unanswered. Most, even, I'd say.

"How can we decide who is right about eating animals? We all agree it's wrong to kill and eat humans. But many of us think it's okay to eat other animals. And if it is okay, what's the difference between humans and other animals that makes it okay? Can you think of such a difference?"

That is the end of the segment on "Should we eat animals?" The author builds a solid platform of known vs. unknown logical quantities, and tops his structure with a challenge to the reader, all the while using friendly, down-to-earth language and a tone that never feels lecture-y.

There are a couple of areas that possibly - hmm - skirt the edge of oversimplifying. A discussion of observation and evidence avoids use of the word "experience," even though experience is an important tool that we use to collect data about and forge expectations of our world. I think this omission is intentional - because so many fallacious arguments are based on experience. But it would be churlish of anyone to deny this book based on such minor elisions.

Dr. Law has something of a cottage industry in teaching philosophy to non-philosophers. He is the editor of the journal Think, (somewhat pompously subtitled "Philosophy for everyone") and is the author of three well-received books about philosophy for older children. He even wrote the DK Eyewitness Philosophy book. Really Really Big Questions is his attempt to reach the youngest readers yet.

The design integrates the text blocks, headlines, and the funny, bold, retro-contempo style cartoons in a very up-to-date way, with lots of white space and big eroded type. Well, not "white" space. Every high-tooth page is full-bleed in a different bright color. A little hard to read? Eh, a little.

Extra points for a diverse cast of characters: boys, girls, grownups, kids, white, brown, green, gray (lots of aliens - and also robots!). And in case you got a little glimmer of recognition from that subtitle ("life, the universe, and everything"), there's an excellent piece of logic from Douglas Adams on page 15. Extra points for quoting Douglas Adams.