It's a Book or It's a Little Book

I'm pretty picky about my board books.  I don't like ones that have text way too long to read to a toddler.  I don't like ones that just crop the artwork instead of shrinking it to fit a smaller page (cropping artwork can lose valuable details that add to the overall effect).  I prefer books designed for, and with stories created for toddlers.  Sure, there are picture books which make great board books.  But usually I love ones that recognize their audience and play to it.  I love Sandra Boynton's Pookie board books - they have an infectious bounce to their rhyming text, and Pookie is a funny, irresistible toddler.  I also love the Bunny Reads Back series of board books by Rosemary Wells.  They take familiar rhymes and interpret them for the youngest listeners, with just a few words of text on each double-page spread.  Sweet, musical and fun.

But even though I may inwardly cringe at them, I continue to read board books on a regular basis.  At our public library, Gloria insists on picking her allotment out of the board book bins.  There usually are not many titles, and the ones that are there are ratty, dirty and falling apart.  But on a visit a few weeks ago, I was pleasantly surprised to see a handful of new board books in the cubes.  One of them was It's a Little Book by Lane Smith.  Now, I do love Lane Smith, but when It's a Book came out in 2010, I was one of the few people who didn't like it very much.  But It's a Little Book was new and unread, so home it went.  And once we read it, I became interested in re-reading It's a Book and comparing the two.

Right from the title page of It's a Book, Smith introduces the three characters in the book with brief sentences - "It's a mouse.", "It's a jackass.", "It's a monkey."  You can also see the central tension of the book from this first scene - while the jackass walks along, laptop under his arm, the monkey is sitting in a comfortable armchair, peering intently at a book.  The board book does not introduce the characters (which makes sense - do you really want to teach your toddler the word "jackass", even if it is in the correct context?!) but the summary on the copyright page calls the jackass character "baby donkey".  To add to the young feel of the board book, the donkey and monkey are indeed babies - wearing diapers.  They are cute and relatable.  While the monkey does carry over his porkpie hat from the original, the donkey does not bring any of his own clothing.

Throughout the text of the picture book, the jackass compares the book to technology in hopes of finding something understandable about the concept of a book.  He keeps questioning the monkey, who is trying to be patient, but is engrossed in his book.  The jackass asks "Can it text? Tweet? Wi-Fi?"  "Does it need a password?"  This is very funny to readers of the book, but it also rings a familiar note for readers who have tried to explain the lure of books to their friends.  After all, there are many non-readers who will be far more familiar with those technological advances.  My favorite question is when the jackass asks "Where's your mouse?", referring to the book.  The money glances upward, and there, on his head, the mouse lifts the monkey's porkpie hat.

In the board book, the questions the baby donkey asks are varied and creative.  These are very appropriate to toddlers who won't know how to use a password (although the donkey does ask if the book is for emailing).  The donkey uses the book as a bill for quacking like a duck, a saddle for riding, a roof for building a house.  In this book the donkey holds the book throughout most of the text.  He's handling it, which is very appropriate for a book for toddlers, who like to physically explore things.  In the picture book, it's the monkey who is mostly trying to read that precious book while being interrupted by the jackass.

I keep referring to the animal in the picture book as a jackass, and that's because that's how he is introduced from the very beginning.  The reason Smith chooses that name is so that it can set up a joke at the end of the story - I won't ruin it here.  I'll simply say that when I first read this book, I felt like it was all a set-up for a cheap joke.  It left me dissatisfied with a book many others loved.  The board book, rightly, doesn't use that joke, which is fine - the joke feels a little mean-spirited.  Instead, the final illustration shows the monkey and donkey sharing the book, enjoying it together.  It's more welcoming - introducing young readers to the world of books and literacy.

I've been very careful in this review to not call It's a Little Book a board book version of It's a Book.  It's not.  On the book cover itself, it's billed as a companion, and I think that's an excellent description.  It's got the same theme and idea, but with the younger characters and change in text, it is much more suited to toddlers.  It's definitely a well-designed, well-conceived addition to the board book market.  I'm still not as enamored of It's a Book, but I love what Lane Smith has done with It's a Little Book.  It's for reading.

It's a Book.  Lane Smith.  Roaring Brook Press, 2010.
It's a Little Book.  Lane Smith.  Roaring Brook Press, 2011.

both books borrowed from Lewis & Clark Library

Really Truly Bingo

Living in Montana at this time of year, I'm longing for summer.  Frances, who spent the first 3 1/2 years of her life in Arizona, keeps asking when it will be summer so she can wear flip-flops.  Sadly, just yesterday we had another three inches of snow, so summer won't be arriving any time soon.  But in Really Truly Bingo, summer is almost palpable.

Bea wants to play with her mom.  Her mother is busy, so she tells Bea to go play outside.  And when Bea replies that there's nothing to do, her mother tells her to use her imagination (something she may regret later!).  So Bea plods outside and waits for inspiration to strike her.  Soon a talking dog named Bingo peeks out of the flowers.  Bingo tells Bea "Let's do something we're not supposed to do."  Uh-oh.  You can see where Bea's imagination might take her.

They begin by making a fort in the melon patch, including digging a hole to rest in.  Bea goes in to get pillows and blankets for the fort.  Her mother absentmindedly asks her if she's found something to do. but doesn't really listen to Bea's answer that she's playing with a talking dog.  The fort is perfect, but Bingo decides he's hungry.  Bea tries to do the right thing - she tells Bingo they shouldn't eat between meals.  But "she couldn't resist the look in his eyes", so a snack is produced.

Things really begin to go downhill when Bingo decides he's so hot that he absolutely must run in the sprinkler, even though Bea has been told not to do so.  They run through the sprinkler, then slide on the grass and through the mud.  It's a perfect summer afternoon!  They even weave daisy chains, bringing back summer memories for all of us.  Then Bea's mother comes out to survey the damage - ruined melon patch, crushed flowers, dirty pillows.  All she can do is blare Bea's full name "Beatrice P. McGonagal"!

It's at this moment when things shift.  In the face of her mother's frustration, Bea turns to reassure Bingo, and the reader sees the scene from the mother's point of view.  Bea's arm is not around the shaggy dog we have seen pictured up to this point, but empty air.  Now it's obvious to young readers that this dog has come out of her own imagination.  While we all know there are no talking dogs in real life, readers have accepted its presence previously in the book because Bea accepted Bingo's presence.  Suddenly we see that all of the plans for doing things they weren't supposed to do came from Bea, not Bingo.

As a parent, I've certainly been where Bea's mother is at the end of this story.  I've been busy, and told Frances and/or Gloria to play by themselves, or just not checked on them as frequently as I ordinarily do because I've gotten caught up in something.  At these times, I remind myself of the motto "You get what you pay for" - if you are too busy to play with the children, you may end up with a mess like the one Bea's created.  Bea has done what her mother told her - she used her imagination to create an activity to occupy the afternoon.  Bea's mother can only shake her head ruefully and go inside after instructing Bea to clean up.

The illustrations were created using a technique cited in the front of the book as gouache resist (the author has a great tutorial on how this happens here).  The end result of this technique is perfectly suited to this subject matter.  The resist makes the paint almost bead up, giving a hazy impression.  You can feel the oppressive heat, the shimmering light through these bright colors.  Kvasnosky has chosen the colors of perfect mid-summer, before the heat dries everything to a crisp.  The melon patch is full of large, ripe melons and the daisies are still jaunty.

Kvasnosky also uses sharp black lines in this technique.  The result is that all of the elements that make up the illustrations are bold and distinct.  These lines make the haziness of the background and colors stand out, giving the background less definition by comparison.  In a way, this technique wasn't just the perfect choice for the book about a hot summer day.  It's also the right choice for a book about imagination in everyday life.  The crisp lines of reality stand out against the haziness of Bea's imagination.  It is a beautifully composed and illustrated book.

I am longing for summer and my own vegetable garden, and this book helps soothe that longing.  Not only does it recreate a summer afternoon, but Kvasnosky also helps recreate the feeling of childhood - its innocence and creativity.

Really Truly Bingo.  Laura McGee Kvasnosky.  Candlewick Press, 2008.

borrowed from Lewis & Clark library

Diego Rivera

I know I have said before how important I think Hispanic literature is for children, and I've brought your attention to several books (including The Cazuela the Farm Maiden Stirred).  I find that there isn't always a lot of attention brought to these books, and I want to make sure I do my part.  That's why I was so excited to see Diego Rivera on my Cybils Non-Fiction Picture Book nomination list.  I had also seen it mentioned previously on some of my regular blogs, but hadn't been able to get my hands on it.  So when it finally landed in my mailbox as part of the Cybils, I was thrilled!!  And then it won the Pura Belpre Award for Illustration in the ALA Youth Media Awards announcements.  And now I can't wait to share it with you!

This book is not your traditional biography, and Duncan Tonatiuh shows a deft, sure hand while describing Rivera's life.  He chooses to focus almost exclusively on Rivera's artistic life in this book, so there is no mention of (or place for) his equally famous wife, Frida Kahlo.  It's an interesting counterpoint to Me, Frida, which I reviewed here last year.  However, Tonatiuh find a way to include detail about Rivera's interests and life without overwhelming the reader.  The text is brief and clear.  Young readers will have no problem following the line of thought.  One of the things I admire most about Tonatiuh's writing  is the way he defines artistic styles within his text.  The definitions are concise, natural and contextual.  For instance, "There he learned the classical way to paint, which means his finished paintings looked very realistic, almost like photographs." (p. 2)  The tone keeps this accessible, so readers won't stumble over unfamiliar terms.

But what makes this book feel very fresh and intriguing is indicated in the subtitle: His World and Ours.  After the biographical part of the book, Tonatiuh asks readers to imagine what Rivera would find culturally significant and inspiring in today's society.  This question requires those readers to not only look critically at our society, but to apply what they have learned previously about Diego Rivera as well.  What interested him in his own society?  This takes passively learned knowledge to the next level.  It also makes the book applicable to any grade child or almost any classroom.  It's just as useful in a social studies unit as an art classroom or a history lesson on Mexico.  This book is incredibly flexible.

Then Tonatiuh takes this concept up another notch.  He compares our society to Rivera's paintings in side-by-side comparisons, cleverly positioning contemporary people to seem like those from the past.  After all, as he notes, "Diego's murals teach us about the past.  But they also show a better future for common people." (p. 28)  This is a textually strong book, and it also has great informative back matter.  It includes a well-written glossary, an author's note with expanded biographical information, bibliography, and a list of places you can see Rivera's work, both in and outside of the United States.

I haven't really talked about the illustrations so far in the review, but rest assured that the Belpre Award for Illustration is well deserved here (he also won a Honor in 2011).  Tonatiuh does an amazing job of echoing Rivera's style without abandoning his own artistic leanings.  His faces are perfectly rounded, with sharp lips and sloping noses.  As you can see from the cover image above, Diego Rivera is perfectly recognizable in the foreground, even though it is done in Tonatiuh's own style.  In the author's note, he describes how both he and Rivera were inspired by ancient Pre-Columbian and Mayan art.  It is fascinating to see how well Rivera's style melds with Tonatiuh's own.  A final piece of back matter that I found very useful is the Inspirations piece.  There is a list of page numbers for the illustrations in the book, along with the murals or paintings that Rivera did that inspired Tonatiuh's illustrations.  He includes the size of the murals, yet another way of emphasizing the enormity of Rivera's imagination and work.

His artistic style for this book is unusual and thoughtful.  On the back of the title page, it is noted "The artwork in this book was hand-drawn, then collaged digitally."  This is a fascinating combination, especially in light of the historic influences on both of their work.  For instance, on a set of book shelves, most books are hand-drawn.  But then there are also a few, scattered about, that are clearly "real" books.  These help add depth and texture to the illustrations.  Sometimes the collaged parts are immediately visible in framing elements; sometimes they are more subtle, such as the hair of one of the figures.  The collaged elements also help draw a connection between ancient and modern society.

All in all, this book cannot be missed.  Its unique combination of artistic styles and its ability to bring a historical figure into today's society is phenomenal.  It is also a valuable book for schools and classrooms.  Do yourself a favor and investigate this one.

Diego Rivera: His World and Ours.  Duncan Tonatiuh.  Abrams Books for Young Readers, 2011.

given by publisher for review in conjunction with Cybils.



Juniper Berry

I am not a scary book reader.  I'm not fond of horror - I just don't want to imagine those scenes.  I have a big imagination, so if I read something scary, I tend to remember it and think about it again at the most inopportune moments.  Like when it's dark, late at night, and I hear a strange noise (gulp!).  That's part of why this book is so refreshing - it is creepy and scary, but it's nothing middle schoolers can't handle.  In fact, some of the creepiness comes from how ordinary Juniper's life seems from the outside.

Juniper Berry is 11 years old, and she has famous parents.  They are both famous actors, and when she was young, they were able to leave their work behind when they came home.  The Berrys had Juniper as the focus of their lives.  Lately, though, her parents are distracted, acting like she's not even in the room.  The nicest thing they say to her is "Go away."  The Berrys worry about not being famous enough, they panic over the roles being offered to others, they fret over their performances and their lines.  Juniper knows something is not right.  But their eyes tell her the truth - they are flat, empty, and emotionless.

Since Juniper's parents became so famous, Juniper has become more and more isolated.  She was already homeschooled, locked behind the gates of the home where fans flock all day.  So when she sees a boy wandering the woods behind their house, she runs to meet him.  Giles lives nearby, and he is worried about his parents as well.  They are famous in the music world, and suddenly things are not right with his family either.  The biggest giveaway is their eyes.  Giles has followed them in the dead of night to a specific tree on the Berrys' property.  And Juniper has noticed something about that particular tree, too - a raven who perches there constantly - the only one in the area.
Kozlowsky does an amazing job of ratcheting up the tension and suspense without making the book too frightening.  There are a couple of really yucky scenes, but most of the terror in this book comes from fear, not gore.  Kozlowsky has created a combination of adrenaline ride and thoughtful commentary on today's society.  I believe the ideas behind the book will stick in readers' heads much longer than the fear.

This is the author's first novel, and one of his gifts is description.  And the descriptions he creates are unusual, yet give you an immediate picture.  He describes Mrs. Berry this way "Her torso was also long and seemed to bend like warm rubber..." (p. 11).  And Juniper longs to touch Giles' wet hair, and when she does, it feels like "thick strands of yarn, or, Juniper preferred, waterlogged caterpillars." (p. 29).  Both descriptions are quirky but strong - you can see Mrs. Berry bending, you can feel Giles' hair as Juniper does.  These descriptions really heighten the tone of this novel, making it feel creepier and creepier.

You may have already guessed that Juniper and Giles' parents are in trouble, and maybe even that it has something to do with the fact that they are all famous.  I don't want to give away too much and spoil your experience of this novel, but I'll say that Kozlowsky does an excellent job of looking at the price of fame in a way that young readers will understand.  Juniper's parents are seen constantly evaluating their fame.  "'Juniper, dear, you go to all those websites, those gossip pages, posting boards.  Have they been mentioning me?'" (p.11)  Both Juniper's father and mother worry their best days are behind them.  They feel old, not attractive, not successful, even though people are constantly hounding them (even Juniper's tutor scours the house for the latest Berry gossip).  But it is never enough for them.

One of the things I find most interesting about this book is the parent-child dynamic.  In most teen books and many books for middle schoolers, the parents are absent in order to allow the younger characters to act without parental influence.  But in this book, Juniper's parents are present, physically there in front of her.  And yet she is still absolutely alone, horribly neglected.  Her biggest desire is to have her parents back with her, to continue to make that connection with them.  Where many books show characters who aren't connected to their parents  (separating from families as part of the coming of age process), Juniper and Giles both desperately need their parents.  Juniper particularly is a typical 11 year old - sometimes brave and strong enough to act decisively on her own, more often still longing for her parents' touch.  It is a sad consequence of her parents' actions.

I hope readers will take the message her to heart - all of the parents have enormous aspirations, and gave up things to gain shortcuts to fame and stardom.  While they do work at their crafts, it comes much more easily now.  I think Kozlowsky does a great job of couching this message in an adventure.  Students will read on to see what happens to Juniper and Giles, but I hope they will take away the idea that things that come so easily might not be reality.  I think that idea gives the terror substance - what would the reader do to achieve their own dreams?  Read it, think about it, and let me know.  I hope this story of terror and temptation doesn't come true for you.

Juniper Berry.  M.P. Kozlowsky.  Walden Pond Press: HarperCollins, 2011.

borrowed from Lewis & Clark Library

Alice in April

I've been reading my way through the Alice series for about 18 months now.  They aren't the only thing I'm reading, as you can tell from my other entries.  But every time I pick up a book from this series, I gulp them down in a very short amount of time.  As I read, I fold down the corners of pages I want to go back to.  When I'm done reading, there are usually many dog-eared pages throughout.  There are so many ideas about growing up that really resonate with me, both remembering life as a young teenager and looking at Alice as an adult.  That's why I'm always so pleased to share these with you - if just one teen reads this series because of my writing, I'll feel like I did my part!


Alice in April begins right before Alice turns 13.  One of the most dated plot points in this novel (this was published almost 20 years ago, in 1993) involves Alice's Aunt Sally.  Since Alice's mother died before Alice was even in Kindergarten, Aunt Sally is the closest thing Alice has to a mother.  Sally advises Alice that as she turns 13, she will need to become the Woman of the House (capital letters intended), to support her older brother and father.  Sally reminds Alice that Alice's mother was a homemaker.  When Alice questions what a homemaker is, Sally "said a homemaker just makes a better home." (p.29).  She also gives Alice a laundry list of tasks she needs to begin, including all of the mending.  Eventually Alice's father discovers Alice's worries about being the Woman of the House, and reassures her that he does all the mending, and that no one needs to start spring cleaning just yet.

It is difficult for Alice to remember her mother, so she relies on other people's stories and memories of her.  Often in the past Alice has told her father she remembers something about her mother, and it turns out she's really confusing her mother with her Aunt Sally, who helped care for Alice after her mother died.  This is always painful for her father, and of course it's painful for Alice, too.  She is constantly reminded that she is the one person who has no idea what her mother was like.  That sort of mistaken memory is mentioned in every book - sometimes matter of factly, sometimes sadly.  As readers, we have grown accustomed to this, and accept that Alice will not ever remember anything about her mother.  So in Alice in April it is such a surprise, and such a gift, when Alice does finally remember something involving her mother.  "The more I thought about that scene, the clearer it became.  Yes, it was definitely my mother, and I remembered hugging her legs as we sat on those steps...." (p. 51).  In the memory, a young Alice tells her mother that she will never marry, and stay with her mother forever.  Her mother replies that Alice will find someone kind to love her.  It's a little bit of throwaway wisdom that I'm sure Alice's mother never thought would become a treasured memory.

Alice has thought and talked about her mother's death in all of the books so far.  This series is realistic in depicting Alice's grief.  While her family moves on with their lives, they all feel their mother's absence.  But in all of the previous novels, Alice has looked at her mother's death from her own sense of loss and perspective.  In this story, Alice goes to get a physical, and has a shocking moment of recognition: "It was weird, but I suddenly thought about Mom just then - wondering if she'd been sitting in a doctor's office in a paper robe like this the day she found out she had leukemia." (p. 41).  Alice is growing up, and this is just one way Naylor demonstrates that.  It is only for a split second (just seven lines of text) that Alice puts herself in her mother's place.  But it is poignant and heartbreaking and all too real.  You really see her mother, sitting on the table.  She has always been a shadowy character, since we can only know what Alice knows, but here she comes into sharp, tearful focus.

This isn't the only heartbreaking loss in Alice in April.  Alice spends some time with Denise, who we originally met in Reluctantly Alice, two books ago.  Denise began as a bully, but eventually she and Alice have become tentative friends.  Alice knows that Denise's life at home isn't good.  Denise shows up unannounced at Alice's house one night, and stays the night because she doesn't want to go home.  When Alice's father can't reach Denise's family, he notifies the police that Denise is safe with them, but no one ever comes looking for Denise.  Alice can tell Denise is hit on a regular basis, but doesn't question it.  Denise shrugs it off, and seems to accept it.  She tells Alice that her mother "won't change.  That's the problem - no matter what I do, I can't win. (p.69).  Alice shows empathy and compassion for Denise, and supports her as best as she can.  But sadly, it isn't enough.  Readers will be as shocked as Alice is to find out that Denise has committed suicide.  I felt the impact of this act as I read - I hadn't seen it coming, as bad as Denise's life was.  The school is told about Denise's death in an assembly, but Alice is in total shock.  "He went on talking, but I didn't hear.  I found myself crawling down through the seats in the bleachers, pushing aside people's feet to make room." (p. 155).  For many students today, this is unfortunately something they've heard about either locally or on the news, but to see Alice experience it is still emotional and visceral.  It leaves readers shaken.

Denise's death happens at the end of the book, and Alice definitely isn't okay by the final scene.  She is contemplative, wondering what she could have done differently.  In the end, she realizes "...all we can do is be the best friends to each other that we can and hope it's enough." (p.159).  Growing up is never easy, and Naylor's willingness to share this struggle is just one of the things I love about this series.

Alice in April.  Phyllis Reynolds Naylor.  Atheneum Books for Young Readers, 1993.

borrowed from Lewis & Clark library

Press Here

We had an unexpected snowstorm here this week.  Well, I did read the newspaper the day before the storm, and noted that there would be "light snow showers".  So it isn't the fact that it did snow that was surprising, it's the fact that those light snow showers dumped more than four inches of snow on the ground that was surprising.  My girls and I aren't huge play outdoors in the cold kind of people - our time outdoors in the snow is mostly limited to going to and from the car.  So when it's winter our small condo can feel even smaller.  That's why a book like Press Here is so invaluable.  I am not exaggerating when I  say that this book is magic.

Tullet starts with a large yellow dot and an instruction - "Press here and turn the page".  Immediately you can tell this is no ordinary "interactive" book, where children are instructed by the text or prompted by a parent to make noises, shout louder, or answer the narrator's question.  This is also not in the style of the electronically interactive book, full of bells and whistles that aren't directly related to the text and story.  No, instead the child is truly interacting with the physical book.  A word of advice here - this really isn't a storytime book for more than a couple of readers.  Otherwise you will have mass chaos, shoving and pushing as everyone wants to follow the instructions!  Each page includes an instruction from the narrator ("shake the book one more time", "press hard on all the dots.  Really hard.") and here's the magic part - it really looks like you've done something!  When you turn the page after pressing that first yellow dot, you see that there are now two yellow dots.  Later in the book, you tilt the page to the left, and when you turn the page, all of the dots have moved to the left side of the page.  This technique is so clever!

There are two things that make this book so perfect for preschoolers.  One of these is the unique way Tullet incorporates basic concepts into this book.  There are dots of all colors in this book, and children are sometimes instructed only to touch specific colors: "Try pressing down really hard on ALL the yellow dots."  So children learn their colors.  They are also expected to follow directions like pressing lightly, tapping a certain number of times, and moving the book in a certain direction (up, left, down).  It incorporates all of these concepts in short, easy to interpret instructions.  The tone is friendly and conspiratorial "Now tilt the page to the left...just to see what happens."  Preschoolers scramble to interact with this book.

Another thing that attracts preschoolers to this book is control.  We all know that preschoolers do not have much control and power in this world.  They are dictated to and directed all day long, whether at school or at home.  This book is so seductive because they can control the way the book turns out.  Dots grow when they clap their hands; the dots shift from side to side when readers tilt the book.  Instead of being told the story, they are the story.  And what's amazing, at least in my house, is that this power is exciting through multiple readings.  When I first brought this home from the library, I thought this book was a one-trick pony - that once my girls had experienced it, that would be it.  But this book is not so easily cast aside.  Both Frances and Gloria continue to return to it repeatedly, with shrieks and scuffles each time.

The text is very brief - no more than two lines of text per page - in a handwritten font.  The pages are mostly white, with the dots in primary colors.  Teachers of older children could use this book as an art lesson, as the dots mix colors, turning orange and green.  They could also look at how the dots focus readers' attention and keep the book from feeling too plain, even though it is composed of dots.  The book is simple, but has a huge impact.  It is simple but powerful too.  I'll be buying one of these for my daughters' preschool.  I recommend you buy one too.  You'll be pressing here along with your chosen child.  Enjoy!

Press Here.  Hervé Tullet.  Chronicle Books, 2011

borrowed from Lewis & Clark Library

Lost & Found

I haven't written any reviews of young adult books lately.  But that doesn't mean I haven't been reading young adult books.  It just means that with the Cybils and the reading I focused on for awards season, I've written way more picture book and nonfiction reviews.  But I had this really special book I've been longing to share with all of you.

I was first introduced to Shaun Tan, an Australian author and artist, when The Arrival was published here in the United States in 2007.  It is an amazing graphic novel about relationships, immigration and family.  So I was looking forward to reading Lost & Found, an omnibus of three short stories that had been previously published.  This is just as classic in its themes, art and emotions.  What I want to stress to you is that this book resonates for adults just as much as it connects with teens.  Teens may be more comfortable than most adults with the graphic style.  But Tan does not often use the comic book panel style, so adults may be willing to give Tan's work a try.  Then they'll be sucked in by the feelings behind these stories.

I want to describe Tan's artistic style before I start describing the stories.  Because this is a graphic novel and because I don't have a way to present pages from the book for you to look at, you'll need to be able to envision his style.  Tan has a genius way of combining a realistic world with elements that are out of the ordinary.  There are mostly familiar things, so if you scan the illustration, you might not notice anything different.  But then, looking at the details, you see things that don't fit.  On a beach full of sunbathers with umbrellas, everything looks normal and peaceful.  Then you see the large, red...thing hunched over in the middle of the beach-goers.  The thing is industrial, almost like an enormous red pot-bellied stove, but it's not quite that either.  It has legs, a tail, a spiky head.  He takes a familiar scene and gives it an edge, something that makes you just a little uncomfortable.  You can look at that red thing (or many other elements in this book) several times and never quite figure out what it is or how it works.

Tan also uses collage and text to great effect in his work.  Text is present in several ways.  Each story has its own, individual typeface. "The Red Tree"'s typeface is more of a typewriter style, while "The Lost Thing" looks like it was neatly copied into a composition notebook.  And "The Rabbits" is done in a mostly capitals typeface which looks angry and unstable, fitting its theme.  But there is also text everywhere you look.  Many of the backgrounds of the illustrations are made up of ads, newsprint, signs and other forms of text.  And the collages lend a lush, inscrutable look to the illustrations - because Tan has painted over text and sketches and other illustrations, you can almost (but not quite) see what's going on behind the larger illustrations.

The first story is "The Red Tree".  It opens with a girl peering down at a red maple leaf swirling in the water.  She is floating in a paper boat.  You can clearly see that she is unhappy - the paper the boat is constructed from has words like "nothing", "worse", and "darkness" on it.  She looks hopeless.  And as the story takes shape, her isolation becomes overwhelming.  She is shown walking, hunched down, with the shadow from an enormous fish covering her.  She tries to ascend a ladder to a paper house - clearly there is no real way in.  Words surround her.  I've never seen depression expressed like this, and I believe many teens and adults will connect with its raw emotion.  And just when the girl seems to have given up all hope, she returns home at the end of the day.  And there, waiting for her, is that red leaf on her floor, growing into a lush tree.  It's magical, and a powerful expression of hope.  The girl, who has been mostly looking down throughout the story, suddenly looks up at the tree and her  face lights up.

"The Lost Thing" is the story of a boy who sees that large red thing I referenced earlier.  He sees that no one notices it and that no one comes to get this enormous...thing.  All of the adults around him just look right past it, or hurry past it on their way to other things.  Visually, this story is very industrial.  There are factories, steam pipes, gadgets and workers everywhere.  Even the backgrounds of this story are filled with work plans, diagrams and text on hydraulics.  When the boy can't find anyone to care for this thing, he and the Lost Thing go on a journey to find a place where the Lost Thing should go.  In the end, the boy states that he, too, has gotten too busy to notice the Lost Things which are clearly still around.  He has shed the majority of the trappings of childhood, but holds onto this one story to remind him of what he has lost.

Finally, there's the story "The Rabbits".  This is a story written by John Marsden, another Australian author, but illustrated by Tan.  These are the most unsettling, threatening illustrations in the book.  The story begins with rabbits  who come to the unseen narrator's land.   As rabbits do, they multiply, beginning to overtake the land.  The rabbits speak differently, build their own houses, and remake the narrator's land the way the rabbits want it, without regard for the people who were there first.  They fight wars against the narrator's people, they destroy the landscape, and most terrifyingly, the rabbits steal their children.  This story is shocking and heartbreaking.  Tan's illustrations suit the stark text perfectly.  The rabbits are oddly shaped, yet have human characteristics, including canes, top hats and spectacles.  They definitely give off an evil feel, yet you can see prosperity and innovation in the way they create.  The rabbits are in contrast to the landscape, with rich colors and empty spaces.  This is another story where both adults and teens will come away with questions and issues to think through.

All of these stories contain so much to think about and connect with.  I strongly urge you to find this book and take time with it.  It will be well worth your while.  There are no easy answers here, and I know that's why many readers will embrace it.

Lost & Found.  Shaun Tan.  Arthur A. Levine: Scholastic, 2011.

borrowed from Lewis & Clark Library