Review by Booklist Review
PreS^-Gr. 2. A blustery wind blows a baby bird to Angela Bowling, and oh, how she loves it. Her devotion is shown through the extravagant meals she feeds the newly named Augustus. When her "loveykins" is young, it gets creamed carrots, but the baby food quickly gives way to chocolate eclairs, Black Forest cake, and boxes of chocolates. Soon Augustus is so big, he has to move to a shed. Eventually, he bursts from the roof, a full-grown bird--very full-grown. Now that Augustus is able to fly away and feed himself, it's a diet of beetles and dead squirrels. Sometimes Augustus brings Angela a dead mouse, but she doesn't eat it. This is pretty much a one-joke story, but Blake pulls it off with his usual British flair. The deadpan humor is broadened by the pen-and-watercolor artwork: Angela is a typical staid British matron, which makes Augustus' transformation from baby to vulturelike bird particularly horrifying to her (and funny to readers). Children slightly older than preschoolers will probably laugh the loudest. --Ilene Cooper
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
"This little loveykins needs someone to look after him," announces Angela Bowling when she finds a baby bird on the ground after a windstorm. The delightfully daft woman takes splendid care of the bird, whom she names Augustus: she bundles him in a scarf, shawl and sweater to keep him warm, places him in an ornate basket and feeds him such delicacies as chocolate eclairs, Black Forest cake and "boxes of chocolates with assorted fillings." Angela even purchases a fancy baby carriage topped with a fringed parasol, in which she takes her preposterously pampered pet for daily strolls. Blake's images of Angela fretting and fawning over her beloved bird are hilarious, revealing a range of exaggerated expressions on the face of the wide-eyed critter, who seems to know exactly how ludicrous he looks. When her loveykins outgrows his basket, the woman purchases a garden shed to house him. One morning, as she brings Augustus his breakfast tray, Angela finds that the wind has blown down the shed, and she faints at the sight of her pet-now a full-grown eagle-spreading his enormous wings. Though he flies away and switches his diet from bonbons to beetles, Augustus "every so often" returns to visit Angela (now obsessed with caring for her cactus collection), repaying her kindness with such gifts as a dead mouse. Appealingly offbeat, this droll tale is classic Blake. Ages 4-8. (Mar.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
K-Gr 2-While strolling in the park, Angela Bowling comes upon a baby bird flung from its nest by a blustery wind. She carries the foundling home, swaddles him in sweaters and blankets, and plies him with gourmet treats. The woman proudly plunks him in a stroller and walks him in the park. When the bird outgrows the stroller, she builds a garden shed to house him and delivers trays of goodies there. When the shed is blown over on another blustery night, the now full-grown bird of prey, no longer encased in blankets, happily discovers what he is meant to do: fly, explore, and nibble at dead squirrels. Angela recovers from the shock, rebuilds the garden shed, and grows cactuses, bestowing on them the same affection and care with which she previously smothered the little creature. While the story is told with Blake's characteristic lighthearted charm and the illustrations are rife with comic detail, the issue of love that stifles rather than saves is handled with sensitivity. Loveykins covers Angela gently with a blanket before flying away, and returns with the occasional dead mouse. He is grateful, but he cannot stay, and Angela's choice of a more suitable outlet reveals her own recognition of that situation.-Grace Oliff, Ann Blanche Smith School, Hillsdale, NJ (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Horn Book Review
In an odd story, Angela Bowling adopts a baby bird whom she names Augustus and smothers with loving kindness. Wrapped in blankets and filled with chocolates, Augustus soon grows so big he needs to move to a shed in the garden. He eventually flies off on his own, leaving Angela to start a cactus collection. But when he visits, Augustus brings her a dead mouse, perhaps, or a few beetles. Only Blake's signature illustrations recommend this effort. From HORN BOOK Fall 2003, (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
Engaging with eccentricity is rarely a smooth road, which is why a pairing of quirky and endearing often rings hollow. But in the hands of a master like Blake, this relationship between an unconventional woman and a young bird, unmediated by any softening agents, feels real and good and weird. Angela Bowling discovers a gawky little bird blown from its nest in the great woods. She decides to raise the creature, bestowing the name of Augustus upon it, bringing him home with her, swaddling him in sweaters and scarves, spooning milk into his beak, and, when he is old enough, serving forth creamed carrots, Éclairs, and whole boxes of chocolates. Augustus bulges in his wrappings. The two go abroad in the world, Augustus in a fancy new stroller, instinctively eyeing the occasional bug crossing his path, greeting curious characters in the neighborhood. There comes a point when Augustus becomes too big to stay in the basket Angela has made his home, so she stows him in the garden shed. "Once again there came a night of dreadful weather, and big winds blew through the great woods." The wind blew down Augustus's shed, too; freed of his wraps, Augustus spreads his big wings and flies the coop. He marvels in his freedom, learns to savor the remains of a dead squirrel, returns now and then to bring Angela "a dead mouse, perhaps, or a few beetles." Cross-species gestures of love, delightfully queer, dissonant then assonant. Add Blake's idiosyncratic watercolors, which inspire affection and sympathy, and you have the rare eccentric/endearment nexus that emits its own strange, wonderful light. (Picture book. 4-8) Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
