What-If Sara

Tregebov, Thea. What-If Sara. Illus. Leanne Franson. Toronto: Second Story Press, 1999.

Sara tries to be helpful, first with her mother's baking and then with her father's tailoring, but she can't seem to help her active imagination and busy fingers from running away on her. Only when things start to go wrong does she have the chance to prove she can rise to the challenge and help out her family. Although not the focus of the book, this story explores some of the realities of living in an immigrant family. When Sara finally does come to the rescue in the present, it is to help her father write out and deliver his bills because he has trouble with English. Even the stories that haunt her imagination - villages holding out against attacking soldiers - seem to echo the reasons a family might need to come to a new country, or the stories parents might tell to a younger generation in a new land. The layers are subtle, ringing true without feeling didactic, and the story that shines through is that of a feisty and capable young girl who uses her imagination to help save the day. The watercolour illustrations bring Sara's imagination to life, separating old world imagining from everyday activities by using a muted colour scheme for the village scenes (except for Sara and her ubiquitous companion cat), and a border of dough or thread to indicated the object into which her active mind has thrown itself.

Mrs. Katz and Tush

Polacco, Patricia. Mrs. Katz and Tush. New York: Bantam, 1992.

Larnel doesn't know much about his neighbour, Mrs. Katz, except that she's lonely. But when Larnel brings her a stray kitten from the basement of their building, the cat becomes a catalyst for an unlikely friendship between the young African-American boy and the older Jewish woman. After a crisis involving a runaway cat, Mrs. Katz invites Larnel for a Passover dinner. The narrative uses the story of Passover, which focuses on seeking freedom from slavery, to underline some of the similarities between Jewish and African-American history. The illustrations are colourful and lively, with great attention paid to the detail and expressiveness of individual faces.

A man called Raven

Van Camp, Richard. A man called Raven. Illus. George Littlechild. San Francisco: Children's Book Press, 1997.

When two boys mistreat a raven, a strange man they've never seen before appears to tell them a story about a man in another time and place. This man also mistreats ravens and as a consequence he is turned into raven, and unable to return to his community of people. Slowly he changes and learns to look out for his people. And sometimes, when the people are forgetting something, he changes back into a man, but never for long. The vivid colours and simple energetic shapes of the pastel and paint illustrations are reminiscent of expressive children's crayon drawings at first, but these bold and expressive images also convey character and facial expressions at a very sophisticated level and make visual reference to traditional styles. The movement and energy of the illustrations are a perfect fit for the magical shape-shifting underlay of story and the sense of wonder and realization that the narrative moves towards at the close. Both the narrative and the images work together to suggest (without much doubt) the real identity of the mysterious visitor as he leaves at the end of the story, but neither tells the reader the information directly. This book uses the traditional figure of Raven to reinforce the importance of respect for nature and for fellow creatures.

Coyote's new suit

King, Thomas. Coyote's new suit. Illus. Johnny Wales. Toronto: Key Porter Kids, 2004.

When Coyote boasts about his beautiful suit, Raven can't resist teasing him and using Coyote's vanity to wreak havoc in the forest. Soon Coyote's quest for the ultimate suit leaves many of his fellow creatures without fur and forces them to the edge of town where humans hang out their discarded clothes on lines just waiting (or so Raven promises) for someone to come claim them. Chaos breaks out when Coyote has a yard sale and the humans, who are busy trying on his collection of animal suits to replace their missing clothes, meet up with a bizarrely dressed crew of forest animals. Watercolour (and pencil?) illustrations play up the humour of the situation, especially the clothing swaps. Thomas King draws on various First Nations characters and storytelling traditions to create this story: The narrative is strong, conversational, funny, irreverent and full of trickster humour; Coyote and Raven, both tricksters, are the primary players in the story; and the long-ago past ("when animals and human beings still talked to each other") blends seamlessly with the present (baseball games, supermarkets, bingo, gold-foil pedal pushers). A playful fun story in which one trickster is out-witted by another and, as the ending suggests, doesn't ever really seem to learn his lesson.

The Wonder in Water

Swanson, Diane. The Wonder in Water. Toronto: Annick Press, 2005.

This book focuses on water in many of its different forms, providing some basic facts about the important role it plays both in human life and in the surrounding environment, and then exploring some of the more extraordinary facts and phenomena related to water. Because the subject is broken into discrete topics (like sweat, puddles, rain, and marshes) the book doesn’t do a great job of talking about the water cycle itself although the connections are mentioned in passing within the text of each section. These mini-chapters also don’t always focus on the topic named: The “sweat” section, for instance, acts more as an introduction with general facts about the importance of water to human survival and the amount of water in the polar ice caps. The strength of the book is in the outrageous and fascinating facts described, such as the turtle that once fell inside a giant hail ball or the phenomenon of rain-delivered slime mold that can move across fields or up telephone poles. The photographs are appealing and informative, the design is attractive and contemporary looking, the tone of the text is conversational and accessible, but the overall organization doesn't appear conducive to an overall understanding of the topic. Where this book shines is its ability to invoke wonder at the natural world. There are no sources for the information which, considering the extraordinary nature of the facts, is a little disapointing but probably not uncommon for books aimed at such a young audience.

** out of 4

Looking at other reviews:

Hazel Rochman's review (Booklist via Amazon.com) seems more positive than mine, but does also focus on the extraordinary facts as the main strength of the book. She also highlights the "chatty" tone of the narrative as a positive feature, especially for read-alouds, whereas I found the tone conversational but a little condescending or overdone in places.

Elaine Fuhr's review for CM was even more positive (giving the book 3 1/2 stars out of four), but she focuses on the same sense of wonder and the "wow" factor produced by this extraordinary collection of facts.

Transformed: How everyday things are made

Slavin, Bill. Transformed: How everyday things are made. Toronto, ON: Kids Can Press, 2005

Award-winning picture-book illustrator Bill Slavin has brought his considerable talents to bear on a well-chosen and engaging topic – the hidden manufacturing process by which familiar objects are created. This over-sized book has everything that makes the new generation of information books for kids both popular and successful: The subject matter is both easy to relate to and fascinating; the pages are well-designed and appealing, the information is broken into small easy-to-read chunks that are clearly arranged, and the illustrations are both informative and humorous. The everyday objects are divided into categories, and each is presented on a separate two-page spread with consistent design elements. The page begins in the top left hand corner with a title and a brief but enthusiastic introduction to the object at hand that doesn’t focus on the manufacturing process but rather provides an amusing and engaging anecdote (often historical) to introduce the reader to the object itself. The page is dominated by an illustration of the stages of production, each of which is described by one or two sentences. These small blocks of text are spread out over the pages but numbered to suggest a clear sequence of reading, which is helpful considering they are not in any obvious visual order. There are also fun facts in sidebars, but not so many as to overwhelm the visual balance of the page or push the reader into information overload. Especially pleasing is the white background of the pages that allows the illustrations to shine, while paring down on the visual clutter that can make information books difficult to read. Slavin’s cartoon-like watercolour illustrations, which feature comically miniature people working on larger than life objects, bring a whimsical sense of humour to the project while managing to effortlessly convey a great deal of technical information (including cross-sections and magnifications). The information is supported by a table of contents, glossary, index and some suggestions for further study, as well as some notes on who helped research the information (but no actual sources). Part of the joy of this book is that the objects themselves are things that will be familiar to most readers, like baseballs or CDs or breakfast cereal, but the information about how they are made is likely to be new to children and adults alike. The information is clear and succinct, but not dumbed-down. The writing and illustrations both convey a sense of wonder and fascination, and will help foster an ongoing interest about the science of everyday objects that will extend far past the pages of the book. In the ever-increasingly popular world of information books for children, this is as good as it gets.

****/4

Looking at other reviews:

Gail Hamilton's review in CM also gives the book a similarily positive review, and focuses on some of the same aspects of the book such of the finessing of the balance between too much and too little information, the effective use of humour in the illustrations, and the additional resources. She uses several examples from the book which I liked since it gave me a better sense of the actual content of the book.

GraceAnne DeCandido's review (Booklist via Amazon.com) is also generally positive but points out some small historical inaccuracies I would not have been able to catch without fact-checking.

Hemp Jewellery

Sadler, Judy Ann. Hemp Jewellery. Illus. June Bradford. Toronto, ON: Kids Can Press, 2005. [From the Kids Can Do It series].

After a brief introduction to the materials and core techniques, this basic and somewhat formulaic how-to book presents several individual projects that can be made using hemp twine and beads. Each project begins with a list of required materials and a photo of a kid modelling the finished project, and then provides step-by-step instructions. Each of the steps are numbered, the instructions are effective and succinct, and the ink-and-watercolour illustrations of each individual step make it easy to follow along. The text and visual components work well together in a functional sense – they allow the reader to learn the techniques and construct the featured projects – but there is little inspiration to be found in this book either in enthusiasm for the topic or in the visual appeal. The cover, with photos on a mauve and turquoise background decorated with geometric patterns, manages to look both overly juvenile and outdated (circa early 1990s?). And the subject matter itself seems dated as well - are kids still making hemp jewellery, or did this fad mostly die about ten years ago? If someone wants to make hemp necklaces or bracelets, this book is a useful and functional resource that will give them the basic information they need to get started. The book will do little, however, to introduce readers to a new subject or inspire them to learn a new skill.

* out of 4 (or ** being generous)

Looking at other reviews: Other people seemd to review this particular book much more positively than I did. I did notice, however, that many reviewers spent most of their space describing the book and very little actually evaluating it.

Carolyn Phelan (Booklist review via Amazon.com) and I agree about how easy the instructions are to follow, but we seem to have different ideas about what makes a book "attractive." (Although I do admit that my issues are mostly with the cover - the step-by-step illustrations are clear and attractive in the tradition of knot-tying instructional guides, which is an aesthetic I happen to enjoy). She also notes the lack of discussion about the social implications and views of the material itself, which I hadn't noticed.

Grace Sheppard's review in CM is positive for the most part, but ends on this intersting note: "Despite the possibility of macramé flashback for some readers, this book will be heavily used by crafters at school and public libraries." Who is she thinking will be having the macrame flashbacks? The elementary school kids? I think flashback is the operative word here, but for me this meant an trip back to early university days when hemp jewellery was all the rage in the twenty-something crowd at festivals and markets. I may be dangerously out of touch with the elementary crowd, but I really don't think this particular craft has the currency and appeal of, say, a how-to book about drawing manga.

Thieves: Ten stories of surprising heists, comical capers and daring escapades

Schroeder, Andreas. Thieves: Ten stories of surprising heists, comical capers and daring escapades. Annick Press, 2005.

From the theft of the Mona Lisa to the story of an 18th century French cleric who stole and ate 15 files per week to prevent innocent people from being executed, this book offers up gripping stories of real-lives thieves from the past 150 years. The stories are dramatized in suspenseful prose that splits the difference between storytelling and journalism, offering both the historical facts and the unanswered questions for consideration. The book starts with an introduction that briefly highlights some of the stranger stories of theft in history and gives a sense of the breadth of professional thievery, and ends with the sources for this and the ten central stories. With ten years of experience reporting on famous hoaxes and scams for a national radio program, Schroeder is the perfect candidate to author a book on this topic, and he pulls it off well.

Considered in the context of the buzz about information books as excellent resources for enticing reluctant readers or supporting those learning a new language, this book does not entirely fit the model. The book is entirely text-based and so, other than the factual origins of the stories, this book resembles many fiction books. The fact that it is divided into ten short sections may make it less intimidating to read than a novel, but generally it does not have the initial appeal of many informational books based on their highly visual format, small accessible blocks of text, and appealing graphic layout. This may be partly since the book appears to be aimed at an older audience, probably up to grade nine or ten. The appeal of this book is not the format but the content: It will appeal not to those who feel novels are too hard but to those who prefer learning about exciting real-life stories. Even so, the cover does little to sell the book, with a painted bank robbery scene reminiscent of older adventure novels which somehow falls short of retro-cool. This is a shame since the content is well-written and the high-action subject matter will have great appeal to many readers.

***1/2 out of 4

Looking at other reviews: Ann G. Brouse's review in Library School Journal (via Amazon.com) agrees about the suspense and excitement of the stories, but she chooses to focus more on describing the content of several chapters which makes sense since this is the strength of the book.

Roots and Wings

York, Stacey. Roots and Wings: Affirming culture in early childhood programs. St. Paul, Minnesota: Redleaf Press, 2003.

In the first few chapters of this book, York looks at the increasingly diverse nature of classrooms in North America and looks at the nature of prejudice and racism. She relates the different stages of the process of forming prejudices to the developmental tasks children undertake at different ages. The book is presented in textbook format, with an general overview of the research in each area and descriptions of particularily relevant or interesting studies. It covers the topics of prejudice, racism, culturally responsive care, bilingual and multicultural education, culture and communtiy while providing suggestions for the creation of culturally relevant and anti-bias classrooms and activities. I like the language of "anti-bias" as a way of talking about respect and positive interactions across difference.

Chapter 8: A Culturally relevant, Anit-bias Classroom suggests materials for each of the different areas of a preschool classroom. In the "book/quiet area" there are some general guidelines and specific title suggestions for books that contribute to each of a variety of goals including: books that connect children to their home culture; culturally relevant concept books; books that teach cultural practices and holidays; bilingual/dialects; main character is a child of color; diversity; cross-cultural and cross-racial friendships; bias and standing up for oneself and others. I also liked the questions suggested for use in evaluation of children's books, including some which focused entirely on the illustration style which is sometimes overlooked. I appreciated the explicitness of some of the questions and examples. For example: "Are people of color used as animals or objects (like Native Americans in alphabet books and counting books?)" Even though this seems obviously objectionable, I think it's much more useful to articulate exactly why it's problematic rather than assuming people will just know.

The Grammar of Fantasy

Rodari, Gianni. The grammar of fantasy: An introduction to the art of inventing stories. New York: Teachers and Writers Collaborative, 1996. [Original published in Italian, 1976. Translated and with an introduction by Jack Zipes].

"There is always one child who will ask a question and it will be exactly like this: "What do you have to do to invent a story?" This question deserves an honest answer."

I would love this book for the title, even if were not such a precise description of the contents. What a treat for me that it is so exactly about what it promises - the practical linguistic process of creating new stories and hands-on ways to use these ideas when working with children. Or: the honest answer to the child's question about how to invent a new story. And the answer is honest, drawing from the author's own experience as a prolific and celebrated writer of children's literature, as well as his experience helping facilitate the nuts-and-bolts of imagination with young students over many years.

The book is a collection of transcripts of short talks by the author done for teachers at the schools in Reggio Emilia, a small town in Italy with a huge influence on current ideas about early childhood education North America. Most of the 41 chapters are only a few pages long, and focus on a specific technique or function of language or part of the story-making or story-telling process. Writing in 1976, he has a very grounded understanding of the fractured fairy tale and the very specific dynamics of how and when to approach this process of deconstructing and re-imagining familiar fairy tales with children. On this topic, I especially liked: Chapter 12 - Popular Folk Tales as Raw Material; Chapter 13 - Making Mistakes in the Story; and Chapter 14 - Little Red Riding Hood in a Helicopter. Teachers will love the very specific pragmatic details about how to bring projects of the imagination into the classroom, but those with a more philosophical interest in the nature of language, story and imagination will also be satisfied with the depth of understanding and the quality of the writing itself. This is much more than an activity book - it is a grappling with pedagogy, with linguistic theory, with the writing process, with the role of story, and with the process of creation. It is a call for compassionate education and, above all, it is a championing of imagination both as a human right and as a practical process that can be supported in very concrete ways. Real examples of stories created by preschool and school age children are recorded and thoughtfully considered, but the techniques could easily be used by writers on any age.

I can only assume from the prices on Amazon.com that the book is out of print, and I find that tragic. So let's hope the libraries have been doing a good job along the way. Because this is a book worth reading.

Grandfather's Journey

Say, Allan. Grandfather's Journey. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 1993.

In spare but nuanced prose, Allan Say tells the story of his grandfather's journey from Japan to American where he settles in California, but eventually longs for his home country and returns, only to find that he then misses California. The watercolour illustrations have a purposefully static and posed quality to them, as if to emulate photo portraits in an old album, but somehow still manage to provide a sense of narrative and movement to the book as a whole.

I love the story but I'm not sure what to think about the part of the narrative that says: "He met many people along the way. He shook hands with black men and white men, with yellow men and red men." The book was written in 1993 so I assume this is not done un-selfconciously, but even if it is meant to capture the voice of another generation - does it work? Is it appropriate? I haven't quite finished thinking about that one. But the story is moving and well told, with beautiful illustrations. A Caldecott Medal book.

"I received Jesus into my heart when it was godzilla"

I've already given away my favorite part of the NPR interview with Guillermo Del Toro, the director of Pan's Labyrinth, but I still think the rest is worth listening to. It's a discussion of the origins of the movie, the role of fantasy and fairy tales, their relationship to religion, and the idea of monsters. He talks about the movie as a parable of disobedience and choice, and explores the relationship between violence and fragility: "Our lives actually gain more sense when we believe in pain and mortality. I believe it makes us better to connect with the dark side of life - I believe so." He also talks about his experiences of violence growing up in Mexico, about being exorcised by his Catholic grandmother for using his imagination, and about vampires. Very cool.

Ruby's Wish

Bridges, Shirin Yim. Ruby's Wish. Illus. Sophie Blackall. San Francisco: Chronicle, 2002.

For a book with such a moving, true and important story behind it, Ruby's Wish certainly had ample opportunity to become a didactic, historical lesson-imparting artifact. And, even had it failed artistically, the story of the first women in China to go to university would certainly still have been interesting. But between the careful use of details in the narrative that quickly sketch a believable and feisty character, and the exquisite gouache paintings, this book becomes something truly remarkable. The illustrations manage to find that delicate balance between expressiveness and restraint; even the use of the colour red to tie the images together is done with a fine sense of balance - dominating some images while only highlighting small pieces of others. And the final page breaks a pattern, both visually and linguistically, revealing that the story is told and written by the granddaughter of Ruby, and showing a double picture frame with an illustration of Ruby as a child in one side and what appears to be a grainy photo of the author's grandmother on the other. Beautiful, moving, and a winner of the Ezra Jack Keats Book Award among others. The story culminates on Chinese New Year (without this being the entire focus of the story) which make it a great choice for this week.

Pan's Labyrinth

I don't watch scary movies. Period. I got scared in Buffy the Vampire Slayer and I am aware that it's not a scary movie. So this movie was scary. I had my hood down over my face for much of it, but I couldn't ever fully look away. I'm not particularly suggesting it as a movie for kids or writing a review, so I won't bother with the plot or details (more info and a small taste of the soundtrack here). I mention it here while we're on the theme of fairy tales because this is one of the most powerful calling up of the fairy tale world that I've experienced in a long time. It reminds me that to re-imagine and re-make fairy tales is not always a light endeavour a la Jon Scieszka.

This was an exceedingly violent, gory, political, creepy and sinister movie. The violence was difficult for me, but maybe it was important or even integral to the story. All I know is that something about the power of fairy tales felt intact. When the fairies first appear, they are creepy many-jointed things that resemble possessed metal stick bugs. Not until the child Ofelia points to a picture book fairy, do the creatures reshape themselves in that familiar image. And everyone seems to agree that is what we have done to fairy tales over times - taken the creepy or violent or too-scary-for-children out to make them potable. So it is interesting to note my own reaction to this violent but gripping movie: I walked out of the theatre unable to speak for several minutes, but the longer I walked the calmer I became until I felt oddly cleansed by the whole thing. If feels odd to write that - and I'd choose another word if I could think of one - but cleansed is all that comes to mind. Scary as it was to watch (at least for me), I suppose something about the internal logic of fairy tales and underworlds, the easy split of good and evil, the sense of a plot more powerful that the characters themselves - something about all that is immensely satisfying or reassuring, not despite the violence but in a way that is more inextricably linked. This certainly isn't a new idea, but it was a visceral experience of it. And a bit of a surprise for me.

It also reminded me of a passage from The Grammar of Fantasy that's been haunting me today where Gianni Rodari talks about the right time to deconstruct of fairy tales with children: "This must happen sooner or later, but certainly not before the wolf, the monster, and the witch have fulfilled their deep functions, but it also must not happen too late." But are we ever really finished with the wolf? How do we know?

Thanks to Dana and Adam for going with me. I wouldn't have wanted to go in alone.

The Day of Ahmed's Secret

Parry, Florence. The Day of Ahmed's Secret. Illus. Ted Lewin. HarperTrophy, 1995.

Ahmed has a secret, and he's bursting to tell everybody he meets on the streets and marketplaces of Cairo. But first he must finish his daily rounds as a butagaz boy, delivering butane gas by donkey cart all through the city. The suspense of the secret is maintained as the reader navigates through the gorgeous and photo-realistic watercolour illustrations of Ahmed's daily encounters, until the last page: "Today I learned to write my name." The name is written in Arabic script, but the joy and wonder at being able to write one's own name bridges language and culture to celebrate this important milestone in many children's lives. A gorgeous, believable book with a story that transcends cultural differences without aiming to erase them.

The Name Jar

Choi, Yangsook. The Name Jar. Toronto: Random House Canada, 2001.

It's Unhei's first day of school in a new country. When noone can pronounce her Korean name properly, she decides to adopt an American name. Her classmates all contribute suggestions to the name jar on her desk and wait for her to choose one. But with the help of a name stamp given to Unhei by her grandmother, and the friendship of a boy in her new school, Unhei's given name becomes her chosen name as well. The bright and somewhat stylized paintings deftly capture the various aspects of Unhei's life - school, home, and the Korean market. The end-papers are a beautiful collage of English names written on paper scraps intermingled with red Korean names stamped on the deep yellow background.

Nadia's Hands

English, Karen. Nadia's Hands. Illus. Jonathan Weiner. Honesday, Pennsylvania: Caroline House, 1999.

Nadia is excited to be chosen as the flower girl for her Aunt Laila's wedding, but she worries about the Henna used to decorate her hands which will not wash off in time for school on Monday morning. The mehndi designs on her hands are an important part of a traditional Pakistani wedding, and they make her Grandma and her aunts happy, but when Nadia looks down at her hands all she can think is that they don't look like her hands anymore. And they certainly don't look like anyone else's hands in her class. The richly textured illustrations in oil pastel take the reader through the preparations and ceremony of a traditional Pakistani wedding, and follow Nadia's journey from fear and worry to acceptance and pride. The mehndi designs are mirrored in the accent decorations on the white pages facing the main illustrations.

Me and Mr. Mah

Spalding, Andrea. Me and Mr. Mah. Illus. Janet Wilson. Victoria, BC: Orca Book Publishers, 1999.

Following his parents separation, Ian leaves farm life behind and moves into the city with his mother. Their new moonscape of a yard doesn't look anything like the farm, and Ian misses his father intensely. But on the other side of the fence is a lush green world of sunflowers and Chinese vegetables tended by Mr. Mah. Through a common love of gardening, the two neighbours become friends and exchange stories about farming days in rice paddies and prairie fields. Each has a precious box of memories from a time and place now gone, but the two friends also create new memories together as they explore the city (which, from the images of Chinatown and the Chinese cemetery by the ocean, appears to be Victoria, BC). The watercolour paintings are lush and appear saturated with sunlight. On most pages one full-page illustration bleeds over into a smaller painting on the facing page, leaving plenty of white space for the text. In one spread, however, the two figures sit in the centre foreground while one side shows a remembered scene from a rice paddy and the other a prairie field. The gutter is the divide between scenes, but the rich ochre colour scheme ties the two fields together and underscores the connection between the two characters in relation to their former lives and losses. A beautiful and touching story about loss, change, loneliness, and friendship across both age and culture.

Cinderella

McClintock, Barbara. Cinderella. New York: Scholastic, 2005.

Barbara McClintock's re-telling of Cinderella has a very classic feel, both in the text (which is based on the 17th century French version by Charles Perrault) and in the illustrations. Using pen, ink and watercolour, Clintock has created finely detailed drawings overlaid with transparent colour in a style reminiscent of old hand-coloured etchings. Based on Versailles and the Paris Opera, the ballroom scenes are ornate and the fashion decadent and fanciful. A finely-wrought, traditional, and gentle re-telling of a standard by an award-winning author-illustrator.

The Frog Prince, Continued

Scieszka, John. The Frog Prince, Continued. Illust. Steve Johnson. New York: Viking, 1991.

Ever wonder what really happens after "happily ever after?" Because this is Jon Scieszka, you can guess this story isn't going to play by the book. For the princess and the transformed Frog Prince, the aftermath of ever-after isn't pretty: The prince's frog-like habits annoy the princess to no end, he complains that she never wants to go out to the pond anymore, and generally the two drive each other crazy. The Frog Prince eventually decides to set out into the forest in search of a spell-wielding witch who will transform him back into a frog. But he finds more than bargained for in the forest, and is soon wishing he could return home. Steve Johnson's textured, angular but always humorous paintings are a perfect match for the dry wit of the narrative. The illustrations get darker and darker as the Frog Prince travels deeper into the forest, but they always provide a wealth of detail and visual clues to help the reader to figure out the references to other fairy tales.

Joseph had a little overcoat

Taback, Simms. Joseph had a little overcoat. New York: Viking, 1999.

"Joseph had a little overcoat. It was old and worn. So he made a jacket out of it and went to the fair..." So begins this re-telling of a story in an old Yiddish song, in which an overcoat becomes a jacket becomes a vest becomes a scarf, until eventually even the button is lost and Joseph truly has nothing. But when he makes a story out of this experience, he proves you really can make something from nothing. Simms Taback's lively painted illustrations have a bright folk art feel at times, but also use well-integrated elements of photographic collage which gives them a more modern feel. It is the simple but brilliant use of die-cuts, however, that most clearly tie the illustrations to the narrative by re-framing the fabric of one item into the next smaller one - a scarf into a necktie, for instance. This playful and well-executed use of the die-cut technique not only adds continuity, but also provides a gentle sense of visual suspense. The combination of appealing and engaging illustrations with a short and patterned text make this an excellent candidate for story time. A Caldecott Medal book.

A re-illustration of an earlier version by the same author/illustrator. Song lyrics and notation provided at the end.

Two of everything

Hong, Lily Toy. Two of everything. Morton Grove, IL: Albert Whitman & Company, 1993.

In this re-telling of a classic and humorous Chinese tale, Mr. Haktak digs up an unusual brass pot in his garden. When he brings the pot home to his wife, they discover it magically makes two of anything they put inside. Their plans for great riches are complicated when first Mrs. Haktak and then her husband fall into the pot. What will this couple do with two of everything, including themselves? The airbrushed paintings, with their muted colours and thick even outlines, provide expressive but stylized illustrations for this gently comic and endearing story.

The Enormous Potato

Davis, Aubrey. The Enormous Potato. Illus. Dusan Petricic. Toronto: Kids Can Press, 1997.

The judiciously economic language used to re-tell this traditional story is perfectly balanced with the lush full-spread watercolour and pencil illustrations, and the two work together beautifully to tell this cumulative tale of a potato so big it takes an entire family, and assorted animals, to pull it out of the ground. Bright, whimsical and expressive paintings combined with a short but repeating text make this a perfect book for story time. A simple but gorgeously crafted story.

The Horned Toad Prince

Hopkins, Jackie Mims. The Horned Toad Prince. Atlanta, Georgia: Peachtree Publishers, 2000.

When a spunky cow-girl loses her new sombrero down a well, a certain horned toad is more than happy to help her out - for a price. Set in the wild dusty prairie of the American southwest, this story features lasso-loving Reba Jo as the unlikely heroine of a revised Frog Prince tale. In keeping with the locale, the text is sprinkled with Spanish words and phrases in a way that doesn't distract but adds to the strength of the story. The story is illustrated by detailed but stylized (pencil crayon or pastel?) drawings with cartoon-like expressiveness and a playful sense of perspective. Other than the change in setting and character, the plot is remarkably true to the original until the end, when the prince shows he's got a little spunk of his own.

Golden Goose

Reid, Barbara. Golden Goose. Markham, ON: Scholastic Canada, 2000.

This re-telling of the Golden Goose fairy tale preserves the magic of the original, while providing a more modern setting for the tale and adding a lovely tom-boyish twist to the princess. The narrative is strong and thoroughly enjoyable but, once again, the illustrations steal the show. Reid's plasticine renditions of the scenes in the story overflow with the small details of life and humour; her carefully wrought faces have an uncanny ability to express personality and emotion; and the golden goose is enchantingly golden and shiny. That being said, however, the illustrations do not crowd out the story but work well with the text to create a entertaining and pleasing finished product.

Knuffle Bunny

Willems, Mo. Knuffle Bunny. New York: Hyperion, 2004.

Using bright cartoon drawings super-imposed over sepia-tone photographs of Brooklyn, Mo Willems tells the story of Trixie and her father's epic trip to the laundromat where beloved knuffle bunny is accidentally left behind. The contrast of the exuberent and very contemporary drawings with the static old-fashioned photographs makes for a compelling book artistically, while the story itself is both charming and familiar. But not only is this the lost-and-found story of a precious stuffed friend, it is also a story about the challenges of communication and of Trixie's very first words. Yet another Caldecott Honor for the creator of the Don't Let the Pigeon... books.

Dom DeLuise's Hansel & Gretel

DeLuise, Dom. Dom DeLuise's Hansel & Gretel. Illus. Christopher Santoro. New York: Simon and Schuster, 1997.

Before I tell you how much I disliked this book, allow me to digress for a moment: I know that part of the tradition of fairy and folk tales, of oral tradition in general, is the re-telling and re-shaping of stories over time. That change is part of vitality. That there are re-worked and even fractured fairy tales that break open the story to allow for new and exciting narrative possibilities while leaving the magic of storytelling intact (David Wiesner's brilliant telling of The Three Pigs, for instance). There are also, however, some re-tellings of old stories that leave the story not broken open but simply broken, that substitute clever for compelling, that take the didactic element so far that the balance between story and telling is completely lost in favour of a thinly-disguised agenda. For me, Dom Deluise's Hansel & Gretel is such a book.

In this re-telling, Hansel and Gretel live in a poor but health-concious family. They long for sugar treats, but instead pie a la mode they are offered healthy fruit choices for dessert. After their mother dies, they are left in the woods when their father re-marries a cranky widow who hates children. The inevitable candy house in the forest is inhabited by Miss Glut Annie Stout, a glutonous and terrifying women who imprisons them and forces them to bake for her. Eventually they escape, and gratefully return to their father's home (he has since ditched the evil step-mother) where they live heathily and happily ever after.

This is an excellent example of a book that aligns fairly well with my own values - I am deathly against the over-sugaring of children and can't eat sugar myself - and yet manages to offend every fibre of my being. But perhaps this is not quite fair since I do have issues with how the "childhood obesity" campaigns play themselves out in North America, and this book represents some of the worst of those problems. Let me just say that I am not in favour of childhood obesity, but that I worry about how current publicity only ends up feeding the stigmatization of fatness (and I'm fairly sure that eating disorders haven't disappeared - they're just not the flavour of the month any more) instead of truly changing our approach to health and excercise. Here is an excellent example of a villain who is evil (and grossly fat) because of her bad and unhealthy behaviour around food, while a loving family is measured by the the health of the foods eaten: "He took excellent care of his children for many years, and every night they all wished each other not sweet dreams but golden dreams (fewer calories). They were a family again. A loving, fat-free, healthy family who lived happily ever after."

In an effort to be clever and witty, the writing adopts a self-conciously sarcastic tone which undercuts the power of the narrative, tries to cater to both children and adult audiences while appealing to neither, and often ends up falling flat:

""Home? Ha, Ha. Never! You'll live here and help me make puddings, cakes, and pies." The children trembled. It was clear that Miss Glut Annie Stout was (a) completely unaware of how unhealthy all that fat and sugar is! and (b) not very nice. . . not very nice, indeed!" So the children worked as hard as they could helping Glut Annie Stout while she cooked and cooked . . . and cooked."

To give the illustrator credit, the bright cartoon-like illustrations are much more convincing as a diatribe against sugar and junk food: The frenetic, sugary, sticky spreads of life inside the candy house - in which oversized cakes and sundaes and plates of greasy breakfast food tower over the small figures - create a visceral reaction that was enough to put me off sweets for quite a while.

While some teachers or parents might be tempted to use this book to teach about healthy eating habits and the dangers of sugar and junk food, I just don't think it's worth it. Not only is the story un-compelling and somewhat condescending, the message focuses much more on calories and cholesterol than it does on healthy eating. And do we want to suggest that parents don't really love their children if they feed them junk food?

The Three Billy Goats Gruff

Finch, Mary. The Three Billy Goats Gruff. Illus. Roberta Arenson. New York: Barefoot Books, 2001.

There is nothing fractured or post-modern about this re-telling of The Three Billy Goats Gruff, and that is part of what I love about this book. The narrative voice is straight-forward but strong, with just enough venacular ("And he picked up his hooves and kicked the troll into the middle of next week!") to invoke a sense of story-telling. The loose, bright, expressive collage illustrations are reminiscent of Eric Carle, with slightly more detail and texture added to the coloured paper (with pastel, paint and crayon) before it is cut up. A simple but pleasing and completely charming book. Also available in Spanish.