Review by New York Times Review
"IT IS THROUGH fantasy that children achieve catharsis," Maurice Sendak said when he accepted the Caldecott Medal for "Where the Wild Things Are" in 1964. "It is the best means they have for taming Wild Things." In four new picture books about imaginary friends, conjured companions of all kinds help children confront the beastly parts of life. In these books, the children's situations change when they meet real-life friends, but reassuringly, their chimerical pals never disappear. The Wild Things in Carter Goodrich's funny and endearing "We Forgot Brock!" are loneliness, parental detachment and silent adult disapproval. Goodrich, who has illustrated New Yorker covers, along with picture books including "Mister Bud Wears the Cone," has created a buoyant tale of friendship. Phillip, an ebullient red-haired boy, revels in the antics of his imaginary playmate, Brock, a pirate clad in polka-dot leggings who is a linchpin of fun. Goodrich renders Brock in black crayon, evoking a child-drawn paper doll. It's no wonder that Phillip has conjured Brock, since Phillip's soul-deadened parents seem to have wandered out of the 1950s. His father wears a tie while watching TV; his mother knits beside him, her coiffure immobile. Neither ever laughs in this bright watercolor world. They acknowledge Brock only grudgingly. When Brock is left behind at a fair, crisis ensues. "WE FORGOT BROCK!" Phillip wails. Back on the Ferris wheel, he's comforted by a little girl, Anne, and her own purple-crayoned mythical playmate. Children facing disapproval of their imaginary worlds will find companionship, and adult readers will long for a sequel in which Phillip's mother ditches the vacuum she wields on the final page and runs off with her own Brock. At the beginning of "Lenny & Lucy," by Philip C. Stead and Erin E. Stead, an over-loaded car chugs across the page, through a forest of tall trees: Peter's family is moving to a new home. "I think this is a terrible idea," Peter declares. "I want to go back." The warmth and large-heartedness on display in the Steads' Caldecott Medal-winning "A Sick Day for Amos McGee" suffuses every page, but with a darker sensibility. Erin Stead's mesmerizing illustrations subtly evoke the fear and pain of a young boy starting his life over. The "dark unfriendly" woods are black and white, while only Peter's sweater and shoes; his dog, Harold; his father's jacket; and various objects (the front door of their new house, a leaf) are colored. To keep the menacing forest at bay, Peter constructs "Lenny, Guardian of the Bridge" out of pillows and blankets; then he builds him a friend named Lucy. The two gentle guardians stand up for the first time when Peter's new neighbor, Millie, appears with binoculars, marshmallows and a stirring expression of trepidation and hope. "Lenny & Lucy" reminds us that it takes a small army of companions, real and imaginary, to face the dark unknown. The imaginary playmate takes canine form in Edward van de Vendel's "The Dog That Nino Didn't Have," translated from Dutch by Laura Watkinson. Anton Van Hertbruggen's beautiful, arresting illustrations depict Nino's loneliness with a striking intensity; his dusky palette of dark greens, rusty reds and mustard yellows, a landscape dotted with A-frame cabins and a wood-paneled station wagon impart a vintage feel. We learn one cause of Nino's melancholy when his traveling father appears in a pilot's uniform, agitated, clutching a phone, surrounded by flamingos. "The dog that he didn't have heard whatever Nino heard. On the phone. With Dad. Who was calling from a country far, far away," van de Vendel writes. On the next page, Nino is alone on his bed with his imaginary dog, who "liked tears. It loved the taste of salty water." One day, Nino's imaginary dog is replaced by a real dog. Yet something is still missing, until Nino realizes he can keep conjuring not only the imaginary dog but an array of animals. Though the translation occasionally sounds clunky ("This dog might not know so much about Dad and the phone") and the all-capitals type-face feels jarring, the book is a perceptive and moving exploration of childhood yearning. On the last page, Nino sleeps, guarded by his imaginary giraffe and bear, his real dog and - closest to him - the dog he did not have. In "Imaginary Fred," the illustrator Oliver Jeffers, whose picture books include the hilarious and exuberant "Stuck" and "The Day the Crayons Quit," teams with Eoin Colfer, author of the "Artemis Fowl" series, to tell a story from the imaginary friend's perspective. Fred is an ambitious imaginary boy: "He tried really hard to be the best imaginary friend he could be." Fred dreams of a companion who won't abandon him for a human counterpart, a situation that causes his dotted body to fade away. Then he meets Sam, his ideal human friend, he believes, until a real-life girl, Sammi, enters the picture. Fortunately, along with Sammi comes the imaginary, violin-playing Frieda. "We need to practice," Frieda demands. "Or we'll never get to Carnegie Hall." Eventually, Fred and Frieda seldom see their human friends, but their bodies never fade, which flummoxes "imaginary scientists" and makes Fred and Frieda "quite famous in the imaginary community." We learn that "a statue was commissioned to be erected in the sky above their imaginary house." Jeffers could illustrate a tax return and make it funny; his charming, willowy pen-and-ink artwork adds his trademark irreverence to this gentle tale about the ever-shifting landscape of friendship. These books celebrate children's vibrant and cathartic imaginary lives. And why should any fiction-reading adult disapprove (are you listening, Brock-ignoring parents of Phillip)? After all, books provide imaginary companions to readers of all ages, whether they're named Paddington, Hermione Granger, Elizabeth Bennet or Sherlock Holmes. These friends nourish and sustain us. They tame our Wild Things, and the imaginary scientists are right: They all deserve statues. MARGO RABB writes for both children and adults. Her most recent book is the young adult novel "Kissing in America."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [November 24, 2015]
Review by Booklist Review
An overloaded station wagon snakes through a dark wood, with a shaggy yellow dog and a boy named Peter peering from its backseat. I think this is a terrible idea, Peter observes. His dad continues to drive until they cross a wooden bridge and come to a stop in front of their new house, which is not nearly as good as their old house. Afraid that something terrible is hiding in the woods, Peter and the dog, Harold, build a large, pudgy man out of pillows and blankets to stand guard outside. This is Lenny, who is joined the next day by Lucy, fashioned from blankets and leaves. Soon, the unusual foursome is greeted by the girl next door, who comes bearing binoculars and marshmallows: the perfect ingredients for friendship. The smudgy grays of the illustrations match Peter's anxiety over the move, while bursts of yellow, green, blue, purple, and red shine like gems of hope amid his worry. A quiet, comforting tale of finding where you belong. HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: Any book by this Caldecott-winning duo (A Sick Day for Amos McGee, 2010) is sure to garner lots of interest. Be prepared for eager readers.--Smith, Julia Copyright 2015 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Peter's new house is surrounded by dark woods, and he spends a long night worrying about what's out there. The next morning he gets to work, making a guardian out of blankets and cushions. Peter names his lumpy guardian Lenny and seats him at the house's wooden bridge, where he can keep the woods "on the other side where they belong." Concerned that Lenny might be lonely, he makes him a companion, Lucy. Readers watch as Lenny and Lucy take on life in Peter's mind, becoming the slow-moving, benevolent grandparents that he needs. (Peter's father is perfectly nice, but preoccupied.) When a brown-skinned girl named Millie appears-she has a plaid skirt, binoculars, and a better attitude toward the woods-Lenny tips his hat and Lucy glows; it's clear that things are looking up. Erin Stead uses faded grays for the alien forest and warm, quiet color for the story's living souls. What stands out is the Steads' (Bear Has a Story to Tell) ability to evoke the wordless intimacy and companionship that every child needs-and will make for themselves, if necessary. Ages 3-7. Agent: Emily van Beek, Folio Literary Management. (Oct.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
PreS-Gr 2-Peter and his dog Harold are unhappy to find themselves on a journey with their dad through the dark woods on their way to a new home. Peter thinks the move is a terrible idea and if Harold weren't a dog, even he would do something about it. However, the decision has been made and Peter strongly dislikes the ominous looking trees that sit waiting darkly across the wooden bridge by the new house. The woods could be filled with terrible creatures. That first night, Peter and Harold cannot sleep. The next day, Peter takes action by creating a watchman, Lenny, out of pillows and blankets to guard the bridge. This is better, but something is still not quite right. Lenny needs a friend. So Peter and Harold create Lucy and the four become fast friends, making the home by the woods not so bad after all. Then they welcome Millie, who lives next door and likes looking for owls. This timeless story of a boy using his imagination to cope with loss and acclimate to a new environment is sure to draw in readers of all ages. The text is wonderfully imaginative and the mysterious nature of the woods lends feelings of excitement and intrigue. The illustrations perfectly match the mood of the tale, with the backgrounds created in cold grayscale and the characters popping to life with warm oranges, greens, and blues. VERDICT A wonderfully creative story of resilience and friendship.-Amy Shepherd, St. Anne's Episcopal School, Middleton, DE © Copyright 2015. 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
Peter isnt optimistic about moving to a house in the woods with his father and faithful dog. An artfully restrained text never explains why theyve moved, but theres a sense of melancholy in the fathers stance and in the woods bareness. As protection again the unfriendly forest, Peter fashions the eponymous Lenny out of pillows, blankets, and string. Subtly evoking Sendaks Mickey, Peter pushed and pulled and kneaded the wrapped-up pillows like dough; he then leaves Lenny to guard a nearby bridge to keep the dark woods on the other side where they belong. Although this makes Peter feel safer, he worries that Lenny is lonely, so he makes him a companion, Lucy. In the daytime, Lenny and Lucy watch over Peters solitary play, but something is missing. Enter Milliethe girl-next-door who becomes a good friend. In what may seem like a pacing misstep, her introduction is quite abrupt, but perhaps this is meant to signify how we sometimes overlook potential connections with others. Erin Steads art shows Millies mother befriending Peters dad, and cozy neighborliness overcomes the earlier pervasive loneliness (see the subtle shape of a heart in the final illustration). A controlled palette in the illustrations slowly adds color to the initial gray, employing highlights first of gold, then blue, green, and pink, to indicate a progressive sense of hope and comfort. Sublime bookmaking, including foil-stamped, cloth-bound boards, enhances the presentation of this gentle story. megan dowd lambert (c) Copyright 2015. 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
Peter, his dad, and his dog, Harold, move to a narrow house just on the other side of "dark unfriendly woods," across a rickety bridge. Smudgy grays describe this new, murky place, communicating all of Peter's uneasiness and uncertainty. Details as sharp as his edgy fears ("Terrible things hid in the trees") ripple through riveting illustrations, in overwhelming floral wallpapers and spiky tree trunks, all bathed in graphite. Colors (yellows, blues, greens, and purples) appear only in spots, buoys in rough waters. Gripping narration unspools the story with the measured, easy command of a Grimmor a Neil Gaiman. Children might wiggle a bit as they absorb, with grave recognition, the streaming undercurrents of discomfort and loneliness. To combat both these feelings and the things in the woods, Peter builds a pillow man he calls Lenny, Guardian of the Bridge, and, soon after, a friend for him named Lucy. These pillow people, somehow human in both their form (button eyes convey remarkable feeling) and puffy vulnerability, seem swollen with acute worries. They are the Guardians, after all. Subtly, quietly, Lenny and Lucy eventually move a bit, lifting their hats to a neighbor girl named Millie, who comes to Peter bringing binoculars, marshmallows, and the unspoken promise of friendship. Hypnotic artwork and storytelling invite children to linger in the wild woods of worry and emerge intact, enriched, and utterly invigorated by this complex, contemporary fairy tale. (Picture book. 4-8) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
