I want my hat back

This is perhaps the best picture book I've seen all year. And I don't say that lightly - a LOT of picture books come across my desk. But occasionally there's a gem that reminds me why I love children's literature so much.

The plot is deceptively simple - Bear is looking for his little red pointy hat and talks to many animals in his search - but the text is masterful, pitch-perfect, and laugh out loud funny. This last claim has been laboratory tested, at least on adults: I walked around the office and made my coworkers read the book and watched them all pause for a couple of seconds at the end and then gasp and laugh.

Have I not mentioned the illustrations yet? I would frame this whole book and put it on my wall. The illustrations are simple, nuanced, funny, mostly understated and absolutely stunning. And even the book design is an integral part of the pleasure of this picture book - the text design (font, size and colour) interacts subtly with the storyline in a pleasing way, the pages are beautifully laid out, and the colour scheme is restrained in a way that makes colour use sing with meaning. What's amazing to me, though, is that this is the first picture book where Klassen has moved from being an illustrator (of great talent) to an author-illustrator. This is not an easy transition, and I've seen it go poorly more often than not. So colour me surprised and impressed - there are only a handful of truly great author-illustrators alive today, and I think this book makes Jon Klassen a force to watch out for.

If you have an older preschooler in your life (a mature 3 year old, a 4 - 5, or even 6 year old?) who enjoys animals, great illustrations, and doesn't mind a bit of morbid humour, this is the perfect present. Even though the text is very simple, I suggest it for preschoolers instead of toddlers because the humorous finale does take a bit inferring power to understand. Spoiler - if you are morally against a bit of implied animal-on-animal violence, this is not the book for you.

Oh, and did I mention that Jon Klassen is Canadian? This one's going to win some awards. It's almost not fair that Klassen's recent picture book illustrations for Cat's Night Out won the GG in 2010. If I was on the committee, I'd find it hard not to to give that award to him again.

The Red Tree

Tan, Shaun. The Red Tree. Vancouver, BC: Simply Read Books.

Thought about this book again recently when buying a present for a friend of mine who was graduating from her program in counseling psychology.

I don't say this often but I'll say it now: This man is a genius. I couldn't have been happier when I found out earlier this year that he'd won the Astrid Lindgren Prize (see the article in the Guardian), which is one of the only children's lit award accompanied by truckloads of money. Couldn't have gone to a better person.

The Red Tree is a heart-stopping picture book that deals with depression or difficult times in an accessible, deeply moving, and entirely un-condescending way. It also offers an equally real, visceral, almost experiential vision of what hope can be. And since the arc of the book so firmly rooted in its images, the red tree with its rich and sudden appearance of colour at the end is a mysterious and unexpected gift. And although it seems to appear out of nowhere, a closer look will reveal a small red leaf on every page of the story, even at its bleakest moments.

I love the way illustration and text combine seamlessly to create a otherworldly, dreamlike (and at times almost sinister) vision, and the way the book veers away from intellectual understanding and avoids being prescriptive or didactic. The text is sparse and deceptively simple. The illustrations are rich, sombre, complex, detailed, expressive and textured. The emotional content of the book is palpable and unrelenting, in a way I don't think I have ever quite experienced in a picture book. Some people seem to think this makes it unsuitable for children (it's been challenged in my library), but I can't help thinking it actually mirrors the very profound and all-encompassing way children often experience emotion. It certainly isn't a preschool storytime read-aloud, but it has that amazing quality that will make is riveting to a wide range of ages, from young school age children to adults. Quite simply, this is one of the most stunning picture books I've ever seen, from one of our most talented illustrators (and writers).

One small quibble: I couldn't help taking issue with the line "the world is a deaf machine," for obvious reasons. It's the only thing I don't like about this book. It's too bad he chose that particular metaphor, because it does make me hesitate to cheer as loud as I can for what is otherwise nothing short of masterful, but the book is too amazing for me to pass it up for this reason.

An older one, but a good one. One of my favourites. The kind of book that genuinely moved me in that powerful somewhat pre-verbal way; the kind of book that might make a difference in someone's day or life. See what Shaun Tan has to say about the book. And while you're there, check out the rest of his website. You won't be disappointed.

Press Here!

In France, Herve Tullet is know as the King of Preschool. Press Here (Chronicle Books, 2011) is his latest picture book - and what a hoot! At first the series of coloured circles and written instructions (press the yellow dot, shake the book, clap twice, etc.), might not seem like much, but add kids to the mix and watch the magic happen. I could keep describing, but wouldn't you rather watch kids play? CLICK HERE for the video trailer!

And see Herve Tullet in action here - great stuff: "There will be three people. I will be in the middle in my book. And there will be a child. And there will be someone who knows how to read the book. And I hope everybody could play with the book. The child could play, and the adult could play too."

Book reviews for the Early Childhood Educator

My latest book review column is out in the Early Childhood Educator journal. Unfortunately current content for the journal isn't available online, but you now see older articles including one of my earlier book review columns called: Let Children Take the Lead with Wordless Books.

This month's theme is Aboriginal childcare, and my column features some of my favorite Aboriginal pictures books including:



Zoe and the Fawn, written by Catherine Jameson (Shuswap/Okanagan/Syilx), illustrated by Julie Flett (Métis)






The Little Hummingbird by Michael Nicoll Yahgulanaas (Haida)





Lii Yiiboo Nayaapiwak Lii Swer: L'alfabet Di Michif = Owls See Clearly at Night : a Michif Alphabet. by Julie Flett (Métis)







Learn the Colours with Northwest Coast Native Art (and other titles in the board book series), created by Native Northwest Educational Resources





Shi-shi-etko by Nicola I. Campbell (Interior Salish/Métis), Illustrated by Kim LaFave






I also talk about the BC Aboriginal Child Care Society and some of their excellent lending resources. If you're in British Columbia, check them out. They have lots of valuable resources developed for Aboriginal child care centers, including ECE curriculum boxes which can be borrowed for use in circle time or other activities. Their "Moe the Mouse" speech and language development program is a fabulous resource developed by two speech-language pathologists for the BC Aboriginal Child Care Society. Rather than singling out children who have difficulty making certain speech sounds, and focusing on repetitive “corrective” or “teaching” exercises, this program uses an appealing mouse character to present fun speech and language activities to an entire circle time group, with a focus on aboriginal content. Children who need extra help get a fun supportive low-pressure atmosphere to practice their sounds, and everyone has lots of fun. We recently had the training at our library, and my colleagues who use this in their outreach programming report that the kids love Moe!

Check out the journal article for more information on these books and resources.

Just when you need some rocket-powered unicorns to make it through the day...

An Awesome Book by Dallas Clayton

And it really is! This self-published gem came to my attention last year at the BCLA conference, courtesy of a fellow children's librarian. The story is all about dreaming big, and it's perfectly lovely, but the illustrations are what blow the roof off my popsicle stand.

The spread of pink rocket-powered unicorns (variously wearing basketball jerseys, scuba gear, or riding mini-skateboards) is worth the price of admission alone:


You can see the entire book online here, but this is a book worth holding in your hands. I think it could have ended about half way through (the rhyming verse gets a little long-winded and didactic near the end), but it still steals my heart every time I lay eyes on it. Check this one out for sure. And if you just want to look at rocket-powered unicorns all day, you can even buy the poster here. And while you're shopping, check out the cause that your purchases support. Very cool all around.

Mrs. Chicken and the Hungry Crocodile

Pay, Won-Ldy and Margaret Lippert. Mrs. Chicken and the Hungry Crocodile. Illus. by Julie Paschkis. Henry Holt and Co., 2003.

When vain Mrs. Chicken strays a little too close to the river while trying to look at her reflection, she gets snapped up by a hungry crocodile. Held captive on an island in the river, she uses her wits to convince the crocodile that they are sisters. And sisters don't eat sisters for dinner. Talking animals, great dialogue, hatching babies, trickery, sharp teeth, and a gullible predator - this book has it all. The illustrations are stunning - simple stylized images in a limited range of bold colours - and the pages are beautifully designed with plenty of white (or black) space.

I've been doing a bunch of kindergarten outreach, and this retelling of a folktale from Liberia is one of my all-time favourite read-alouds for this age group. I'm not exactly sure why, but it's one of those magic stories that slowly makes the room go quiet. There's nothing quite like a room full of rapt five-year olds to make you appreciate a book even more than you did before. The story is plenty funny, with room for fun voices and many laughs, but it doesn’t depend on obnoxious or ridiculous humour to entertain; it’s just masterful storytelling. The text is complex and has enough tension to keep 5, 6 or 7 year olds interested, but is also accessible enough to read to a family storytime group with a mix of toddlers, preschoolers, and school-age children.

A new review at CM

I'm still here. Really! I've just been laying low as I started an excellent new job as a children's librarian. I hope to resurface soon.

My latest review is up at CM Magazine for Colors! ¡Colores! It's a quiet but truly beautiful bilingual picture book that reads like poetry - in a good way. And that's something I don't say lightly. And the watercolor illustrations - simple, exquisite, whimsical, wow! Check it out.

Also in the latest edition of CM, one of the most unusual takes on a color concept book I've come across: The Black Book of Colors. This picture book describes colors by texture, taste, smell and sound, with both text and braille. The illustrations are rendered entirely in black with raised black lines. I'm intrigued. Can't wait to get that one in my hot little hands.

Smash! Crash!

Scieszka, Jon. Smash!Crash! Illus. by David Shannon, Loren Long and David Gordon. Simon & Schuster, 2008.

I've been stashing this book in the bottom of my storytime box with the same way one might hide a stash of tiny bills in their shoe during a serious game of monopoly. And yesterday, on an antsy rainy day, when over half of the kids brought their pet trucks to storytime, I knew its time had come. Our library has an entire section of picture books called "Things that Go" - planes, trains, race cars, garbage trucks, etc. - and the things circulate like crazy. But it's often hard to find one that will hold up as a read-aloud story. Some are pure poetry, in the tradition of Donald Crews' Freight Train, but most follow the plot of "let's go visit the fire station" or "gosh, there are some really big trucks out there." So when Smash! Crash! showed up on the new books truck, I nabbed it right away. This is the first in Jon Scieszka's Trucktown series, and it features the two best friends Jack Truck and Dump Truck Dan who like to, yes you guessed it, smash and crash. This habit tends to get them into trouble but, when Rosie the Wrecking Crane needs help, who better to call on than our two trouble-making friends?

Within seconds everyone was listening intently, and crowding onto the mats up front. Even the pet trucks were still. It's a great read-aloud with the possibility for fun voices, repeating lines, loads of action, charismatic truck characters (who presumably will each take centre stage in later installments of the series), energetic illustrations and, best of all, it's actually got a story to it. There was a minor riot to manage as kids rushed for the book after the last song, and at least one hold placed on the spot when no other truck book on the shelf would do. When I walked by the story room an hour and a half later, a handful of kids were playing a rousing (yet oddly respectful) game of "smash and crash," and the kid who had signed out the book was still carrying it possessively under one arm.

I had a little moment when it seemed like the only two obviously girl trucks were playing pirates while all the other trucks were doing real-world jobs, but the appearance of a very tough Rosie the Wrecking Crane put those reservations to rest.

This series is a book marketer's dream: content (trucks! construction! smashing!) that sells itself, a series of high-energy recurring characters (and animated truck characters at that), a children's author who is practically a household name (Jon "rhymes with Fresca" Scieszka), and a team of illustrators who are no light-weights either. In a time when children's books are not exempt from the machinations of brand recognition, this series has what it needs to succeed. But it's nice to see a series that draws on the creativity established children's writers and artists rather than using TV programs for instant branding to sell books with minimal content.

As a girl with a pickup truck of her own, I'm thinking this book will go far. Perhaps too far for my own taste, actually, with a 52-book series already planned, and TV and other media spinoffs in the unspecified future (see the Publishers Weekly article here)... So I'm planning to enjoy it now while Trucktown is a book series and not yet an empire.

Another book from the Serendipity Conference...

Einarson, Earl. The Moccasins. Illus. by Julie Flett. Theytus Books Ltd., 2005.

There is no lack of picture books about unconditional love (Mama Do You Love Me? and Love you Forever jump to mind) but, done well, it isn't something I get tired of seeing. How often, though, do we get stories of unconditional love set in a foster family? Luckily this is not only a book the world needs, it is also a charming, well-written and generally appealing book. The Moccasins tells the story of a child whose foster mother gives him a gift of moccasins to help him feel proud of his Aboriginal background. Much in the way children are able to grant special powers to toys (the Velveteen Rabbit) or blankets (Linus), the moccasins make physically tangible the love, pride and comfort that the boy's mother offers him with this gift. And somehow Einarson, with the help of illustrator Julie Flett, is able to transfer some of the magic into this book so that the object of the book itself seems immensely comforting. The text is simple and straightforward, with very few linguistic tricks, but it is unexpectedly moving. The love and care pictured in this particular family might not reflect the experience of every child growing up in a foster family (or any kind of family for that matter), but that is doesn't mean this is any less of an essential book. The fact that it is based on the author's own experience might be part of what makes it moving - or perhaps it's just a good story.

And Julie Flett. Wow. I tell you, this is a woman to watch out for. Her computer-aided collages combine a spare playful contemporary aesthetic with the kind of emotional expressiveness that makes children's books sing. I like like like. Check out her next book, Zoe and the Fawn to see more of the magic she can make. In The Moccasins, I found the first illustration particularly moving in its ability to convey almost viscerally the sense of comfort and safety suggested by the text: When I was young, my foster brothers and I slept together in one room. My bed was on the far end. I always waited until I heard them sleeping before I would fall asleep. I felt warm and loved.

I wish this book was the standard 32 pages rather than 16 - the text would survive being spread out a little and, more importantly, it would give the book room for more illustrations. As is stands, the book features only six pages of primary illustration, plus secondary illustrations on the pages with text. It seems unnecessarily short to me, but maybe that's just because I was enjoying it. This shorter length, combined with the soft cover and the small size (6"x8"?), might make the book seem less serious as a picture book than it really is. And that's unfortunate because this story deserves all the attention it can get.

I finally got my copy of this book (thanks Mom!), because at the conference the entire stack of them disappeared within minutes of Earl Einarson's and Julie Flett's talks. No great surprise there. I'm hoping Earl Einarson's got some more stories in him...

This one's for you Mom....

With Passover on the horizon, our thoughts naturally turn to gefilte fish. And how, you may ask, do we introduce children to this profound and central icon of our cultural identity? Look no further...

Thanks to MotherReader for introducing me to this book as part of the 2008 Weird-Ass Picture Book Awards.

Horowitz, Dave. Five Little Gefiltes. Putnam, 2007.

I Miss You Every Day

Taback, Simms. I Miss You Every Day. New York: Viking, 2007.

When the sun is shining bright / or when it's wet and gray / I think about you all the time / I miss you every day.

From the creator of the Caldecott-winning Joseph had a Little Overcoat, comes a story for anyone who has ever missed someone so much that they dreamed of making themselves into a human pretzel and stowing away in a friend’s suitcase. In this case, our protagonist decides to mails herself from New York to California to join a friend who has moved away:

I’m going to jump inside a nice big box / I don’t care what you say / I’ll write your address on the front / I miss you every day.

The simple rhyming sequences, most of which end with the haunting repetition of “I miss you every day,” create a playful sing-song veneer while leaving room for the reader/listener to fill the book with as much emotion as they want. The story doesn't attempt either to force an intensity of emotion or to avoid it, but works with a light touch and delivers a satisfying ending that reunites and reassures.

Taback’s visual style combines the emotional honesty of the kid-art aesthetic with the masterful design of an award-winning children’s illustrator. The pictures are bold, stylized, colourful and rich with detail (including a lot of environmental print in the form of everything from signs to candy wrappers to postcards to famous picture book covers). Street signs, addresses, and cityscapes give the book a grounded sense of place from which to explore distance and separation - in this case the story arcs from New York to California - but rather than narrowing the audience, this specificity of place serves to make the distance seem more tangible in a way that strengthens a feeling of universal appeal.

This book speaks well to the experience of separation, as distinct from the experience of loss. It might not be the best book to comfort a child for whom a possible reunion is not in the picture, but the emotional content will still resonate for many. If it came in a thin postcard-sized gift version, I can think of several friends who would mail it to their out-of-town sweethearts.

Warning: If you are missing someone very much, don't try reading this book out loud at storytime. I Miss You Every Day is one of those deceptively simple books that just might undo you at exactly the wrong time. For this same reason, it will also be a powerful tool for echoing and affirming the very strong emotions kids carry with them.

Shi-shi-etko

Campbell, Nicola. Shi-shi-etko. Illus. Kim LaFave. Toronto: Groundwood Books, 2005.

"One, two, three, four mornings left until I go to school." So begins the story of Shi-shi-etko, a young aboriginal girl who is soon to be taken from her family and sent to a residential school. In her last four days with her family, Shi-shi-etko gathers together memories of her home to hold with her until she can return the following summer.

This gentle but profoundly moving story introduces one of the most abhorrent chapters of Canadian history - the story of the forceful and legally sanctified removal of aboriginal children from their families and communities. At the Serendipity conference yesterday, it was fascinating to hear Nicola Campbell speak about trying to find a balance that would allow her to honour the harsh realities of this part of our history and share it with children without simply traumatizing them. It can't have been an easy task, but somehow she has managed to write this book with equal respect for the hearts of the children who will hear this story and the realities of the children who lived this story.

In the way that intense sadness can charge the everyday things around us with incredible sharpness and beauty, the weight of what is about to be lost fills this story with a sense of beauty and connection and quiet focused attention that only makes the impending departure more heartbreaking. The illustrations by Kim LaFave are digitally created, some borrowing from photographs taken by the author, but they have a rich painterly feel that matches Campbell's story. Like the text, the illustrations illuminate the beauty of each plant, place and person that is a part of the coming loss. The images manage to convey joy, wonder and a sense of belonging at the same time as they hold great grief.

Shi-shi-etko is not a textbook that will explain the details or legacy of residential school system to children; instead it is a beautifully told and very human story that offers readers a connected point of entry into a much larger story.

We also got a sneak preview of Nicola's next book, Shinchi's Canoe, which tells the story of Shi-shi-etko's younger brother Shinchi, and takes place primarly at the residential school itself. Another beautifully told story, due out this July.

New CM Review: That Stripy Cat

My new review of That Stripy Cat is up at CM Magazine, an online journal that reviews Canadian children's books and materials.

It's an appealing book - with energetic illustrations, an irresistible feline hero, interesting subject matter, and good read-aloud potential - but something about the way the text and illustrations are put together doesn't quite work for me. Find out more...

What's the most beautiful thing you know about horses?

Van Camp, Richard. What's the most beautiful thing you know about horses? Illus. George Littlechild. Children's Book Press, 2003.

My new favourite picture book of the week! (I'd heard about it but hadn't read it until I was putting together a display of Canadian authors for National Aboriginal Day.)

On a cold cold day in Fort Smith, Northwest Territories, Richard Van Camp (I would say narrator but I really want to believe that the author did do this) passes the time by calling everyone he knows and asking them to tell him the most beautiful thing they know about horses. The answers are by turns funny, touching, quirky, impossible, and lyrical but they always have the ring of true dialogue. George Littlechild's stunning illustrations use vibrant colours, bold blocky shapes and expressive lines that speak to the act of drawing and creating. The images manage to be both direct and stylized, childlike and sophisticated. This is a charming, moving and gently surprising book. Unmissable.

The People Could Fly

Hamilton, Virginia. The People Could Fly. Illus. Leo and Diane Dillon. New York: Knopf, 2004.

Recommended by a classmate who remembered the original story from a collection of the same name, this stand-alone illustrated version of The People Could Fly is truly an extraordinary picture book. A powerful re-telling of a mythic tale set in the days of slavery, this story begins in Africa with people who could fly but who lose their wings when they are forced onto a slave ship. When conditions become horrific on the plantation, an old man remembers the words that magically allow his people to fly again. First a woman with a baby who is beaten by the whip-wielding Driver, then a young man who collapses in the heat, and eventually the whole group of people who once had the power to fly are released by the man's magic words and escape into the sky far from the reaches of the Overseer and the plantation. Those others who could not fly are left behind, but pass the strange and miraculous story on through the generations. The paintings that illustrate the story are beautiful without shying away from the brutal history of slavery. And even amidst such explicit suffering, the story ends on a note of hope and wonder. Excerpts from the author's letter and notes, from the original collection of stories published in 1985, give additional and very interesting background information about the story and the folklore tradition from which it comes.

The unflinching but accessible language, combined with the the power of the story and the telling, make this a book that is possible to read to a younger audience but still very compelling to an older one. A winner of the Coretta Scott King Award.

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.

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.

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.