Review by New York Times Review
A FEW YEARS after the fact, my youngest daughter asked, "How'd you get milk to come out of your boobs?" My first answer was a stilted, "Uhh." I was embarrassed to have such a loose grip on my own biology. "I don't really know." She proposed a miniature cow inside my rib cage. She waded fearlessly into the unknown. When everything is strange and new, minor mysteries (popcorn, tuning forks) carry the same weight as the nonminor mysteries (biology, birth, death and the sometimes lonely in-between). Three new books rely on the supple child mind to help us see the familiar as something wholly new and surprising. Like the farsighted reader who requires distance to see clearly, these books make room for mystery in order to understand the wondrously complex and totally basic bond between children and their parents. W. G. Sebald once said, "The astonishing monsters that we know ... leave us with a suspicion that even the most fantastical beasts might not be mere inventions." The fantastical beasts in "The Menino," by the Argentine author and illustrator Isol, are newborn humans. In this telling of the strange story of what happens when a child comes into existence, the Menino (Portuguese for "child") seems to enter our world like an alien on a surprise visit to planet Earth, bringing with it bizarre customs and characteristics. "The Menino arrives naked and yelling, as if to make sure everyone notices." The Menino has "two little windows up high," complete with curtains; a pump in his mouth to sip and suck milk "prepared by the woman of the house"; and between the windows and the pump "two little holes that are tunnels.... The Menino checks them frequently and is personally responsible for keeping them open. That's because the Menino loves to breathe." Human biology is made fresh and magnificent again. The shocking perfection of our bodies and our mode of growing these bodies is celebrated. "Everything is useful in the Menino." Isol's jangly, hand-wrought illustrations are expert companions to both the humor and the poetry of her book. Her images are layered and slipped slightly off their undercolor as if a small creature has given them a good shaking. Expected patterns are disrupted, as when a new baby arrives. "The Menino illuminates the middle of the night when he turns himself on.... The Menino sets his alarms just in case. Night is a thief that steals all the colors." Naturally, questions arise. "Where does he come from? Where was he before?" And: "Why does he move as though he were swimming through the air?" Isol answers these questions truthfully, if magically. "The Menino has been on a long voyage and needs to sleep." A reader might find his or her own questions cropping up. Why do we know so little about what it will be like to parent? Why is the experience of parenting often couched in clichés or made to sound simplistic when it is, by any measure, the most essential and astonishingly bizarre human relationship? In "Is Mommy?" Victoria Chang and Marla Frazee raise similar questions even more directly. It is a simple book that asks a very unsimple question. After a series of childish inquires are posed - "Is Mommy pretty ... or ugly?" "Is Mommy fun ... or boring?" - each question is met with a resounding, shrieking, childish answer. "UGLY!" "BORING!" The surprise comes when the book's giggling protagonists manage to convince a reader that these critical shout-outs are not complaints but instead confirmations of the truest love. One of my daughters in a tender moment of snuggling whispered: "I love you, Mommy. You're so chubby and your beard is so soft." I managed to mumble my thanks. "Is Mommy?" lobs an attack on perfectionism. When parenting blogs and social media edit out hot tempers, hangovers, the tedium of groceries, fearful obsessions with death and eroding body confidence to suggest that parenting is all butterfly cupcakes, quilting projects completed in time for birthdays and endless nonwageearning hours spent biking to swimming holes or exploring museums, it can be difficult to remember that the only essential qualities required for parenting are kindness and courage. Chang and Frazee's playful book reminds a reader that children love well and without reservation; especially when it comes to their "short, ugly, mean, boring, old, messy" mommies. Then what of a place where parents are loved, yes, but barely visible? What happens when the working world of adults and governments invades the space of childhood? In Guojing's dreamy, wordless debut, "The Only Child," a resilient, apple-cheeked young heroine braves such an environment. After dozing off on a city bus, she wakes in an unknown forest. The book's charcoal palette doubles as both a muted gray of factory smoke and a silvery fantasyland up in the clouds, a place close to the moon populated by flying deer, enormous whales and an irresistibly plump seal pup creature. The dark current flowing underneath such lush imagery is the loneliness of childhood under China's one-child policy. Guojing explains in an author's note how her parents were sometimes forced to leave her home alone or else rely on her, at the age of 6, to make her own way to her grandmother's house via bus and city street. The lonely child is led to bravery through her imagination, a path sometimes obstructed in our own culture by parental perimeters or stifling ideas of safety. This book asks what happens when a child is left alone to encounter the world with all its dangers, all its wonders. As Guojing's palette suggests, both the light and the dark, the worlds above and below push against magnitudes sublime and unknown: the sea, endless silence, the eyes of animals, even the worrying love of parents. Our tiny heroine, with the help of a constant stag, uses imagination to trample fears and feelings of isolation first in the fantasy cloudland and later in the world of the factory. The real magic of each of these books is how they resist the urge to solve mysteries with pat assurances. Rather, they point out that mystery exists, that mystery is without end. They might even invite the mysterious in, so that reading them, child and parent alike can wonder at its sometimes fearful, sometimes stunningly gorgeous depths. SAMANTHA HUNT is the author of the novels "The Seas" and "The Invention of Everything Else." Her new novel, "Mr. Splitfoot," will be published in January.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [October 11, 2015]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* Guojing grew up under China's one-child policy among a very lonely generation of children, and that sense of loneliness beautifully suffuses her spare, wordless debut. A chubby-cheeked, slightly cartoonish little girl entertains herself at home alone after her parents leave for work, but soon toys and TV can't keep her from feeling lonesome, so she intrepidly decides to take the bus to her grandma's house. Guojing's sepia-toned panels illustrate the stark beauty of the snowy streets the girl walks down: they're packed with people, while smokestacks loom in the background behind electrical lines stretched overhead. The city scenes are a sharp contrast to the dim, quiet wood where the little girl ends up she's fallen asleep on the bus and misses her stop. Alone again and far from her grandma's, she sits down and weeps, but emerging from between the trees is a majestic reindeer, who escorts her on a dreamy adventure in the clouds before bringing her back home to her worried family. Each arresting, softly penciled panel is surprisingly luminous in spite of its monochromatic palette, and in those gentle scenes, Guojing evokes a wide range of feeling, especially the lonesomeness of the little girl, who never quite seems at ease alone. Reminiscent of Raymond Briggs' classic, The Snowman (1978), this is quiet, moving, playful, and bittersweet all at once.--Hunter, Sarah Copyright 2015 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
In an author's note, newcomer Guojing explains that this wordless graphic novel grew out of memories of "isolation and loneliness," growing up under China's one-child policy. The Only Child of her story is an adorable dumpling in overalls who discovers herself alone on a bus after falling asleep. She sets off to find her grandmother's house and is approached in a wintry forest by a stag, who flies with her into a realm beyond the clouds. There they discover an irresistible creature-part baby seal, part polar bear cub-and the three share a marvelous adventure until the animal's parent comes to fetch it and the child is left alone again. She is never deserted by the loyal stag, though, who returns her safely to her own world. The low-key, all-gray charcoal palette carries whiffs of winter chill and poverty, but the physical sensations Guojing suggests visually-the fluffy softness of the clouds, the warmth of the stag's closeness-provide the comfort of a soft quilt. Fine draftsmanship, deft pacing, and striking imaginative power distinguish this debut. Ages 5-9. Agent: Isabel Atherton, Creative Authors. (Dec.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
Gr 1-4-A tender picture book with graphic novel elements about a young girl's escape from loneliness through her imagination. Left home alone one day, a cherubic toddler-size child quickly becomes bored and decides to visit her grandmother. Dressing for the snowy day, she boards a city bus with good intentions. However, she eventually grows drowsy, falls asleep, and doesn't wake up until the bus is at its last stop. This is where the story gets magical. The last stop is at the edge of a strange wooded area filled with magical creatures. Much like Lewis Caroll's Alice, the girl wanders through the woods in hopes of eventually finding her way back home. Although this is a wordless picture book, there is no lack of story. Illustrated with pencil in softly shaded tones of gray and white, the girl's subtle expressions are captured simply but acutely. The style is cartoony; however, the black-and-white palette gives it a sophisticated tone. With the exception of several dramatic spreads, most pages are organized into graphic novel-style panels. The apparent age of the protagonist may deter some older readers. Luckily, the heartwarming and enchanting story, paired with such beautiful artwork is reason enough to purchase this title. VERDICT Part picture book, part graphic novel, this book is a solid addition that will spark discussion and inspire budding artists.-Jaclyn Anderson, Madison County Library System, MS © 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
A lost child enters a dreamscape where kind, wise creatures entertain her, then eventually lead her home. Though it's a familiar scenario for wordless picture books, a preceding biographical author's note explains the emotions behind this fantasy: lonesomeness due to China's one-child policy. Guojing's dark, finely rendered pencil sketches in varying graphic panels are atmospheric and emotive. (c) Copyright 2016. 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
Left alone when her mother leaves for work, a child amuses herself with television, dolls, and a toy deer before boarding a bus for her grandmother's house. The ensuing experience, in which she falls asleep, misses her stop, and runs scared into the woods, is pulled directly from the author's childhood in China. In this wordless, 112-page graphic novel, her constantly-in-motion protagonist is rescued by a mysterious stag that leads her up a ladder of clouds into a puffy paradise. The animal is a perfect playmate. Humorous close-ups reveal a hands-on exploration of the animal's muzzle, toothy smiles, and affectionate nuzzling before the afternoon's excitement. Guojing's telling is skillfully paced. Early on, a sequence of 12 nearly square panels on a page conveys the child's sense of confinement, loneliness, and boredom. Varying in size and shape, digitally manipulated graphite compositions create a soft, quiet atmosphere within which a gamut of effects are achieved: brilliant, snowy light, the etched faces of shivering street vendors, nuanced cloudscapes, and the pure black of a whale's interior after the duo and a new friend are swallowed, Jonah-style. Majestic settings, tender interactions, and pure silliness lead readers to pore closely over these images, pulled along by shifting perspectives, ethereal beauty, and delight in the joy born of friendship. Rare is the book containing great emotional depth that truly resonates across a span of ages: this is one such. (author's note) (Picture book. 5 up) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
