My First Root Children (Floris Books, June 2012) is an abbreviated version of the 1906 classic German tale of Mother Earth and her underground children, who awaken after a long winter to prepare the world for spring—sending the insects above ground, encouraging the flowers to bloom, and more. The board book version manages to retain all of the original artwork, altered slightly in scale, but the text is a loose interpretation. In a contemporary update, it focuses more upon the children’s play and less upon their capacity as workers to usher in the season. Gone also are the staid gender roles of the original, in which girls make spring dresses in their favorite colors and boys deal with the bugs. In this new version, dress-making is a gender-neutral activity and everyone attends to the insects: “Then the children helped the beetles, bumblebees and ladybirds to get ready.” The familiar muted palette—earth tones, if you will—translates nicely to board book format and is a welcome respite from the bright, primary color-saturated standard.

But just like a fall chill, the abrupt ending of this version jars the reader out of illustration-induced warm-weather bliss: “‘Come inside!’ said Mother Earth. ‘It’s nearly winter, and it’s time for bed.’” Sounds like a good place to spend winter in Boston to me…

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The publisher may have grouped these winners together simply because they’re all historical fiction. But their affinities go beyond that: they each contain sustained adventure or intrigue, moments of heroism, and an unusual depth of feeling, all channeled through a singularly relatable, empathetic main character. Can’t you just picture the avid readers, the introspective ten- and eleven-year-old girls eager to experience the wider world, who will gobble these books up? This collection may have been produced to spur sales, but it should also win hearts.

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In our own defense, that plot twist was a doozy; it really did seem like a wrap-up. However, I can’t deny that this whole thing is our own fault; after each story, a concluding missive by “A” tantalizingly warns readers that more mayhem could be on the horizon. From now on we’re taking that to heart, especially since the end of Twisted is so definitive: “Did you really think it was over?…Stick with me, kids. It’s about to get so good…”

Sara Shepard, can you pretty please whisper in the Guide’s ear how many books in this series you plan to write? I’d like to believe, as The Who song goes, “We won’t get fooled again.” However, I’m sure you—and “A”—have some tricks up your sleeve.

While waiting for the inevitable book 10 (titled Gullible, perhaps?), series fans can keep their memories sharp by rereading Wicked through Wanted, newly available in a paperback box set. They can also feel smug about spoilers by watching the TV show, an Entertainment Weekly guilty-pleasure darling.

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My discomfort with this new edition lies not in the decision to change the cover image, but with my worry that the new art does not accurately represent the story to a new generation of readers. If I were unfamiliar with the plot—about newly knighted Alanna’s journey to Tortall’s desert and her capture and acceptance by the Bloody Hawk tribe—I would guess from the new cover that it‘s about a contemporary teenage girl who has a magic pendant and is caught in a love triangle a lá Twilight.

Looking at this edition reminds me of some of my other favorite books that have been reissued with new covers, some of which I’ve grown to appreciate (the 2007 edition of Natalie Babbitt’s The Search for Delicious)

and some of which I have not (any post-Trina Schart Hyman editions of Patricia C. Wrede’s The Enchanted Forest Chronicles).

Which original cover art do you think shouldn’t be tampered with? Which new covers are welcome updates?

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In addition to discussing the inspiration for Thirteen Reasons Why, its impact on readers, and the upcoming film version, the article touches on Jay’s latest project: a collaboration with Carolyn Mackler. Titled The Future of Us, the novel is about two teens in 1996 who somehow access the Facebook profiles they will have 15 years in the future. The book won’t be out until November, but the movie adaptation rights to The Future of Us were recently acquired by Warner Bros.

While I have a hard time feeling any nostalgia for the dial-up internet of the ’90s, I’m intrigued by the premise of The Future of Us. Social media profiles are pretty skewed representations of ourselves—it’ll be interesting to see how accurately they predict the future for these characters.

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Oceanhouse Media’s Five Little Monkeys takes the high road. Less about bells and whistles and more about improving reading skills, this app features unobtrusive monkey noises and other sound effects accompanying static illustrations. Tap objects on the screen and the word for said object appears briefly along with the narrator saying “pajamas!” or “ice pack.” Does that feature “promote reading in young children” (per OM’s website)? I’m no reading specialist, but I wonder why we need to “promote reading” among this book’s audience. Read to your bunny, sure, but work on word recognition? Way to suck the life out of a good storytime. Even if the narrator wasn’t irritatingly chipper (which she is), I found this good-for-you route to be dull — no improvement over or substitute for the old-fashioned book or audio book. And if you choose to turn off the narrator, why not just pick up the book, which is easier for little hands to hold anyway?

Loud Crow Interactive, in my admittedly limited experience with these things, knows how to produce book apps (check out their Peter Rabbit — it’s superb), honoring the original book while adding just the right amount of special-effects pizzazz. With Sandra Boynton’s The Going to Bed Book, I’ll even go so far as to say that Loud Crow’s digital interpretation is superior to the print edition. Blasphemy? I guess that depends on what you feel a book app should be. I’m not suggesting that this app replace the book, because once a child is distracted with rocking the boat, popping bubbles, and wiping steam off the screen (totally cool) they’re not going to pay much attention to Boynton’s verse. Speaking of which, Billy J. Kramer’s soothing, accented narration and the quiet, gentle background music enhance the whole experience. Like Oceanhouse, Loud Crow’s app highlights each word in the text as it’s being read, a harmless if pointless exercise for the board-book set. Here, however, when you slide out an onscreen drawer, instead of hearing and seeing the word drawer, a bunch of pajamas pop out of the drawer and fall all over the screen. Tip the screen side to side and the jammies tumble to the left and the right. Just the kind of surprise this audience likes, and just the kind of thing that apps do best.

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The board book adaptation is a somewhat different story. Because the original encourages many readings, the concept of translating this book into sturdy board format seems a good one. The book suffers no abridgment in its new form and remains its whole, satisfying self. What does suffer in the new format is Na’s multimedia mastery and tiny details in the illustrations. Compared to the picture book’s 10″ x 10″ trim size, the 6″ x 6″ size of the new board book significantly reduces the images and, accordingly, their detail. While you might think that the glossy paper-over-board should make the details pop more than does the matte paper of the original, all of the art is instead much darker, forcing a loss of richness in both texture and depth.

A lap-sized edition would have been a better choice, allowing parent and child to share the book for bedtime read-alouds. It’s difficult to imagine the toddler who needs a copy of The Book of Sleep durable enough for repeated solitary readings, especially when the tiny details that Na renders so beautifully are nearly invisible.

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