The Horn Book » Review of the Week

Review of Water in the Park

Elissa Gershowitz — Mon, 06 May 2013 14:20:48 +0000

Water in the Park: A Book About Water &  the Times of the Day
by Emily Jenkins;  illus. by Stephanie Graegin
Primary    Schwartz & Wade/Random    40 pp.
5/13    978-0-375-87002-6    $16.99
Library ed. 978-0-375-97002-3    $19.99
On a warm day, just before six a.m., a city park starts to stir: turtles laze on rocks by the pond, and dogs arrive, owners in tow, for an early-morning swim. Next, a few kids and their caretakers show up; at eight, the sprinklers are turned on, and by mid-morning the playground is mobbed. And so the day goes: small children come and go per naptime schedule, grownups take their lunch breaks on park benches, and the ice-cream truck arrives, along with another surge of delighted kids. By five o’clock, people start to trickle home. Six o’clock sees the sprinklers turned off, and by seven, the dogs have returned for an evening swim — until a much-welcomed rainstorm at eight causes the heat to break and sends everyone inside for the night. Jenkins’s introductory author’s note (on the copyright page) sets her story in Brooklyn’s Prospect Park, where she was inspired, because of “many ninety-eight-degree days,” to think about the various ways the park’s water was used. It’s a very narrow jumping-off point, but one that nearly every city kid will appreciate. (The author’s note also acknowledges Jenkins’s debt of gratitude to Charlotte Zolotow and H. A. Rey’s The Park Book and Alvin Tresselt and Roger Duvoisin’s White Snow, Bright Snow.) Graegin’s pencil-and-ink-wash illustrations (digitally colored and assembled) beautifully reflect the changing light, the shifting population, and the various activities throughout the day; some of the pictures play up the quiet expanse of nature, while others are jam-packed with people enjoying the outdoors. The constant, in both text and illustrations, is water — pond, drinking, sprinkler, puddle — and a subtle message about urban community.

For more on Water in the Park, read “Five questions for Emily Jenkins.”

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Review of Ask the Passengers

Jennifer M. Brabander — Wed, 01 May 2013 14:00:17 +0000

Ask the Passengers
by A. S. King
High School Little, Brown 295 pp.
10/12 978-0-316-19468-6 $17.99
Astrid would be the quintessential Q-for-Questioning girl in her high school’s LGBTQ support group if her small-town, small-minded school had such a thing — and the gay question is only one of many weighing her down. When her humanities teacher explains that learning the Socratic method “will be a time of asking questions and not rushing to answer them…a time of thinking and not knowing,” Astrid muses, “Perfect for me…I am the not knowing queen.” Socrates himself starts making periodic appearances, visible only to Astrid (who calls him Frank). Frequently driven outside by her nuthouse of a family, Astrid reclines on a picnic table and watches airplanes. She sends her questions and her love (because “it feels good to love a thing and not expect anything back”) to the passengers; each time, readers get a glimpse of a passenger’s own struggle with the question Astrid has asked — plus his or her satisfying epiphany, reached after experiencing a sudden sensation of love. As in Printz Honor recipient King’s previous novels, including Everybody Sees the Ants (rev. 1/12), these moments not only add humor to the book’s societal critique but also provide vivid images that heighten the story’s emotion. Astrid ultimately decides not to live a lie, as her closeted best friend Kristina has done for years, but wonders whether she can handle people’s reactions; she can (evident when she introduces girlfriend Dee to her family), and the book ends with Astrid’s skyward message to a young lesbian being flown to “gay conversion camp”: “Stay strong.” It’s a fine conclusion to a furiously smart and funny coming-out-and-of-age novel.

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Review of The Dark

Cynthia K. Ritter — Wed, 24 Apr 2013 14:00:10 +0000

The Dark
by Lemony Snicket;  illus. by Jon Klassen
Preschool, Primary Little, Brown 40 pp.
4/13 978-0-316-18748-0 $16.99
Leave it to Lemony Snicket to craft a story personifying “the dark” — an idea all too real and frightening for children afraid of what lurks in the shadows. But they will find a kindred spirit in Laszlo, a scared boy living with the dark in a big house. Though the dark occasionally resides in the house’s hidden places and outside every night, “mostly it spent its time in the basement.” When the comforting glow of Laszlo’s bedroom nightlight goes out one night, the dark comes to visit and speaks to Laszlo: “I want to show you something.” So Laszlo, with his trusty flashlight in hand, follows the dark’s voice downstairs. Though the mood is ominous as the dark lures Laszlo into its basement room, a page of narration about the dark’s function serves to break the tension before the bright, satisfying, and funny resolution. With his command of language, tone, and pacing, Snicket creates the perfect antidote to a universal fear. Klassen’s spare gouache and digital illustrations in a quiet black, brown, and white palette (contrasted with Laszlo’s light blue footy pajamas and the yellow light bulb) are well suited for a book about the unseen. Using simple black lines and color contrasts to provide atmosphere and depth, Klassen captures the essence of Snicket’s story. If you’re reading this one at night, be sure to have your trusty flashlight handy — just in case.

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Review of Eleanor & Park

Cynthia K. Ritter — Wed, 17 Apr 2013 14:00:39 +0000

Eleanor & Park
by Rainbow Rowell
High School    St. Martin’s Griffin    328 pp.
2/13    978-1-250-01257-9    $18.99
e-book ed. 978-1-250-03121-1    $9.99
It’s the start of a new school year in 1986 Omaha when sophomores Eleanor and Park meet for the first time on the bus. They are an unusual pair: she’s the new girl in town, an ostracized, bullied “big girl” with bright red curly hair, freckles, and an odd wardrobe; he’s a skinny half-Korean townie who mostly wears black and tries to stay out of the spotlight. But as they sit together on the school bus every day, an intimacy gradually develops between them. At first they don’t talk; then she reads his comics with him; he makes her mixtapes of his favorite rock bands; they hold hands; and eventually they are looking for ways to spend every waking hour together. Their slowly evolving but intense relationship is chaste first love, authentic in its awkwardness — full of insecurities, miscommunications, and sexual awakenings — and life-changing for them both. When Eleanor’s unstable home life (replete with abusive stepfather) ultimately tears the young lovers apart, the novel ends realistically: uncertain, yet still hopeful. Rowell presents her teen protagonists’ intelligent observations, extreme inner desires, and irrational feelings through compelling alternating narrations. She imbues the novel with rich character development, a spot-on depiction of the 1980s, and powerful descriptive passages (“Holding Eleanor’s hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive”). It’s an honest, heart-wrenching portrayal of imperfect but unforgettable love.

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Review of Deadly!: The Truth About the Most  Dangerous Creatures on Earth

Danielle J. Ford — Wed, 10 Apr 2013 14:00:07 +0000

Deadly!:
The Truth About the Most  Dangerous Creatures on Earth
by Nicola Davies; illus. by Neal Layton
Primary, Intermediate Candlewick 64 pp.
3/13 978-0-7636-6231-8 $14.99
Readers with a taste for the grisly realism of nature will revel in the latest Davies and Layton collaboration, featuring the ways in which animals cause lasting harm or death to other animals, including humans. No punches are pulled here — this is gory-but-fascinating information about predators and defenders and the adaptations that assist in their survival. Davies commendably balances spectacle and science, providing accounts that are rich with factual detail (how big cats kill their prey with teeth, muscles, speed, and sight; why some ants explode themselves for the sake of their colonies) and admiration for the diversity and realities of life. Davies also alerts readers to the ways in which animals such as spiders, snakes, and tigers inadvertently (and sometimes even deliberately) hurt humans. The book ends with an upbeat perspective on how all these seemingly bad ends have positive outcomes for both humans and the environment. Layton’s cartoon illustrations skillfully lighten the tone, as animals in the throes of death or dismemberment often provide humorous asides and jokes.

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Review of Follow Follow: A Book of Reverso Poems

Roger Sutton — Wed, 03 Apr 2013 14:00:04 +0000

Follow Follow:
A Book of Reverso Poems
by Marilyn Singer;  illus. by Josée Masse
Primary Dial 32 pp.
2/13 978-0-8037-3769-3 $16.99 g
“It’s not easy,” warns Singer in a note about the “reverso,” a verse form she created and first used in Mirror Mirror (rev. 3/10); and the first poem (“Fairy Tales”) in this companion collection gently alludes to the craft involved, “how hard it was to write.” The poems here again subvert traditional tales by offering two points of view on the story: what goes down on the left-hand of the page goes up on the right, with line breaks and punctuation revised for strategic effect. Thus the dilemma of the Little Mermaid: “For love, / give up your voice. / Don’t / think twice” advises the first verse, while the second ends with a warning, “Think twice! / Don’t / give up your voice / for love.” The poems require (and reward) close attention; the twelve referenced tales also include “Puss in Boots,” “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” and “The Twelve Dancing Princesses,” with notes on each appended. Once again, the acrylic illustrations mirror the poems’ structure. On the left, a princess sleeps on a gentle cloud-leafed bed; on the right, a sensible girl massages her back wrought achy by that pesky pea tucked far below.

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Review of Miss Moore Thought Otherwise

Roger Sutton — Wed, 27 Mar 2013 14:30:11 +0000

Miss Moore Thought Otherwise:
How Anne Carroll Moore Created Libraries for Children
by Jan Pinborough;  illus. by Debby Atwell
Primary Houghton 40 pp.
3/13 978-0-547-47105-1 $16.99
Nowadays, Anne Carroll Moore is remembered as the fiercest of the library ladies whose influence on children’s library service and publishing was both inspirational and — sometimes — intractable. But this easygoing picture-book biography forgoes coverage of the more formidable aspects of Moore’s personality, giving us instead a simple narrative of Moore’s Maine childhood and early love of books on through to her career at the New York Public Library, where she created the innovative Central Children’s Room for the library’s new main building in 1911. With sun-dappled acrylic paintings of, first, rural Maine and, later, triumphantly, the light-filled interiors of the new Children’s Room, the tone here is one of uncomplicated optimism, reflecting Moore’s practical idealism. A bird’s-eye view of Miss Moore setting off on her “retirement” travels spreading the gospel of children’s librarianship across the land clearly places this apostle in the company of her (fictional) Maine sister, Miss Rumphius. “More about Miss Moore” and a list of sources are appended.

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Review of Poison

Robin Smith — Wed, 20 Mar 2013 14:30:58 +0000

Poison
by Bridget Zinn
Middle School Hyperion 280 pp.
3/13 978-1-4231-3993-5 $16.99 g
Sixteen-year-old Kyra is a girl with more than her share of secrets. Living in the world of witches, dwarves, potion masters, shape shifters, and the like, she is reluctant to trust anyone, even her best friend and the future queen, Ariana. Readers learn early on that Kyra has attempted to murder Ariana, and we spend the rest of the book trying to figure out why Kyra shot a deadly potion at her…and why, when she has never missed a target, she missed that one. Twists and turns, including dramatic cliffhanger chapter endings, quick getaways, disguises, tricked-out witches, a princess-seeking pig, and one especially clever and handsome boy make this a fine rollicking adventure from start to finish. The author’s use of thoroughly modern language in a magical setting adds to the charm. The characters are complicated and act in flawed human ways, making mistakes in judgment that make the plot twists all the more realistic. Kyra and Ariana are strong girls in the Vesper Holly tradition—not giving in to sexist social requirements and, thank goodness, never fighting over Fred, the love interest. Zinn has crafted a marvelous tale, more Harry Potter than Twilight. Readers will be sad that, due to her untimely death, Zinn’s promising debut novel will be her last.

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Review of Never Say Die

Roger Sutton — Wed, 13 Mar 2013 14:30:31 +0000

Never Say Die
by Will Hobbs
Intermediate, Middle School    Harper/HarperCollins    212 pp.
2/13    978-0-06-170878-7    $16.99
Library ed. 978-0-06-170879-4    $17.89
e-book ed. 978-0-06-222384-5    $9.99
Set in the Yukon Territory hard by the Beaufort Sea, Hobbs’s latest turbocharged wilderness survival story has heavy weather, savage river waters, treacherous trails, and, as chief antagonist, a “grolar bear.” Just as exciting (and real) as the Turkish war dog of Hobbs’s Go Big or Go Home (rev. 5/08), the polar bear–grizzly hybrid attacks our hero Nick in the first chapter and returns in the last for a spectacular confrontation. In between, Nick and his adult half-brother Ryan travel by bush plane, raft (until it smashes into a wall of ice), and foot through isolated Ivvavik National Park, where photojournalist Ryan is on assignment to document how caribou numbers and migration have been affected by climate change, which has also led to dangerous (and exciting) thunderstorms, floods, and the grolar bear itself, the result of newly overlapping habitats. While you might want half-Inuit Nick, who never met his now-dead white explorer father, and Ryan, product of yet another of the father’s brief relationships, to display some complexity to match their challenging environment, they are mostly there as the reader’s stand-ins, allowing him (or her!) to know what it’s like to face the bear. And the lightning. And the mosquitoes. Hobbs doesn’t resist information-packing (“Nick, have you ever heard the theory that climate change might be a factor in the decline of caribou herds in the Arctic?”), but he’s brisk about it and knows how to get out of the…LOOK OUT!

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Review of My Brother’s Book

Joanna Rudge Long — Wed, 06 Mar 2013 15:00:28 +0000

My Brother’s Book
by Maurice Sendak;  illus. by the author
di Capua/HarperCollins 32 pp.
2/13 978-0-06-223489-6 $18.95 g
If, as Wordsworth wrote, “poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquillity,” Sendak’s vision of a Dante-esque search for his beloved brother Jack (1924–1995) is poetry in both word and art—though tranquility is only achieved with reunion in the sleep of death. In an eloquent introduction, Shakespeare scholar Stephen Greenblatt links this posthumous book to A Winter’s Tale, “absorbed, redistributed, and transformed into something rich and strange” and also notes the familiar Sendakian relationship between love and menace. Indeed. “Guy’s” dreamlike quest is riddled with such opposites: light and dark, heaven and the underworld, fire and ice, winter and spring. The visual imagery in the postcard-sized art is haunting, with nude adult figures recalling William Blake’s ardent seekers after truth; the sleeping babes in the wood; and multiple moons (now faceless, unlike in We Are All in the Dumps with Jack and Guy, rev. 1/94) plus stars and suns. Some of Sendak’s most poignant themes take on even more resonance and universality. Holocaust references, while still present, are not explicit. Eating, or being eaten by, a powerful figure now involves a bear—not Shakespeare’s, exactly, but a polar bear that is intrinsic to the brothers’ transfiguration. As the ultimate not-for-little-children Sendak, this profoundly personal book about loss and healing should find its audience among thoughtful adults (and perhaps some teenagers).

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