Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Former Irish Children's Laureate Parkinson retells seven stories of Gaelic origin in engaging, lucid prose. Magic and dreamlike imagery intersect with practical lessons and warnings about the powers and dangers of human emotion. In "The Children of Lir," the jealous wife of a widowed king transforms her husband's children into swans; in "Land Under Wave," a man's kindness to an "ugly bedraggled old hag" results in her turning into a beautiful woman. Though they marry, their bond comes with one proviso: "Do not remind me three times about how terrible I looked when you first met me." (Guess what he does.) The layers of meaning attached to the stories are echoed in Whelan's vivid watercolor paintings, which feature quiltlike emerald fields, monsters with fangs and wings, and heroines and heroes dressed in patterned robes, capes, and gowns. Ages 7-9. (Sept.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
Gr 4-8-Some of the best children's collections of Irish folklore, such as Seamus McManus's Hibernian Nights, Virginia Haviland's Favorite Fairy Tales Told in Ireland, and Malachy Doyle's Tales from Old Ireland, are out of print, which makes it especially disappointing that this effort by Irish Children's Laureate Parkinson has so little to recommend it. The richness of description and musicality of language that distinguish so many Irish folktales are missing here. The narratives flow unevenly. "Butterfly Girl" rambles for 13 pages, detailing magical transformations and a rebirth, only to end with the princess married-rather creepily for a second time-to the bigamous chieftain who'd abducted her decades before. After spending so much time on that tale, it's surprising that Parkinson offers a mere scrap of the many wonderful stories about Fionn Mac Cumhaill. Whelan's brightly painted illustrations are an attractive distraction from the text, but they are inexplicably populated with random fairies who seem to be spectators of the action, rather than figures in the stories. Batt Burns's The King with Horse's Ears and Other Irish Folktales (Sterling, 2009) or Kathleen Krull's A Pot O' Gold (Hyperion, 2004) are both better additions to folklore collections.-Miriam Lang Budin, Chappaqua Library, NY (c) Copyright 2013. 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 Kirkus Book Review
Pretty pictures aren't enough to compensate for indifferent storytelling in this slender gathering of tales from a former Irish Children's Laureate. Readers familiar with the lore should recognize the standard-issue versions of the "Children of Lir" and the tale of Labraid Lorc (here "Labhra" Lorc), a legendary king with horse's ears. In addition to these, Parkinson presents four tales of beautiful princesses transformed into various animals (and, in one, an ugly hag), plus a cursory account of C Chulainn's exploits up to his wedding. The patchy prose alternates between flights of lyrical description (of, usually, one princess or another) and plain exposition with occasional awkward phrasing: "Gentle Etain got to hear that poor Ailill was very unhappy." One entry, "The Enchanted Deer," feels more like a fragment than a full story. There are no source or introductory notes, and rather than being at the front where it would be more immediately helpful, the pronunciation guide is tacked on at the end. The stylized illustrations add lyrical notes of their own with jewel-rich hues and delicately drawn figures, but they sometimes fight with the text. Whelan portrays an "old woman" gathering rushes in the "Land Under Wave" as quite young-looking. Anemic despite the art and no match in scope or style for Marie Heaney's Names Upon the Harp, illustrated by P.J. Lynch (2000). (Folk tales. 10-13)]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
