Review by New York Times Review
ONE OF THE harder lessons of parenthood is that children often have terrible taste. You play Bjork, but they prefer the soundtrack to "My Little Pony." You show them "My Neighbor Totoro," but they'd rather watch "Turbo." Or maybe it's just my kids. We can't help impressing upon our progeny our own values and politics, but it's harder by far to inculcate in your kids your sense of aesthetics. We may wish they would ratify our own coolness, but the truth is that no baby alive needs to wear a Sonic Youth onesie. It's more likely to be Raffi than the Rolling Stones who teaches them to love art. To create a book that will satisfy both children and adults is a tall order. Still, I'm skeptical of the current vogue in picture books for self-awareness: stories about the act of storytelling, texts conscious of themselves as texts. A dose of irony is right for the times in which we live, but it can feel too much like a bid for the attention of the people who pay for books instead of the kid they're going to read to. The Portuguese writer Isabel Minhós Martins's "Don't Cross the Line!" is undoubtedly cool. In the story - such as it is - a loudmouthed general orders one of his underlings to keep people from crossing the book's gutter. The narrative tension relies on understanding that in languages that read left to right it's the right-hand page that draws our attention. But it's not essential to grasp that this is how books function. Bernardo P. Carvalho's cleverly rendered characters (two boys and a soccer ball, a ghost, an alien, an astronaut) fill the facing page, and are wholly charming. The poor soldier, outnumbered, stands down; the crowd rushes across the page, and his commander is displeased, then deposed. It's gratifying to see the petty tyrant tossed from his horse, though I suspected the book's meta-cleverness was meaningless to my 7- and 4-year-old sons. It is enchanting to study the illustrations; it's less a reading experience than a looking one. To that end, I found myself wishing the soldiers didn't carry guns. There are some things kids never need to see. Bob Shea's "The Happiest Book Ever!" is similarly interested in visual stimulus more than storytelling. Its pages feature a cartoon face, the embodiment of the book itself; the book is its own narrator, and its only aim is to be as happy as the title promises. Thus, it urges the reader to applaud, to give the volume a shake, to tell it jokes. The more the reader does this, the happier the pages become, as measured by the way the blank space fills with various funny illustrations (and one stubbornly unhappy frog that it's the reader's mission to cheer up). But of course, the book doesn't need the child reader's participation: It needs the parents'. It's one of those works a grown-up must understand before diving into; it's imperative to nail the narrator's hectoring tone, to make the kid you're reading to understand that call and response is in order. If you perfect your delivery, it's a book that will be a big hit. A self-referential twist is fine but works best when leavened with something - humor, magic, warmth. Jon Stone's now decades-old "The Monster at the End of This Book," illustrated by Michael Smollin, is a meta-storybook that is also a very funny story. It's about "Sesame Street's" Grover and his fear of the titular monster, who is revealed, of course, to be him. Authored by the show's first head writer, it's the rare television tie-in that's also a great book. Stone's story works because kids understand monsters, and fear, and because Grover's increasing panic as the pages turn is so silly. Maggie Tokuda-Hall's "Also an Octopus; Or, A Little Bit of Nothing" is concerned with the nature of storytelling itself - far more abstract than fuzzy monsters. "Every story starts the same way," Tokuda-Hall tells us, "with nothing." Fair enough. The payoff for an adult reading a child's book is in the child's reaction. Tokuda-Hall's tale of an octopus (quite darling, in the illustrator Benji Davies's rendering) building a spaceship out of waffles made my kids laugh hysterically. There's no sweeter sound; I wanted to take the shortest route possible to that moment of joy, and would have happily skipped the crash course on narrative that frames it. LeUyen Pham seems to me a writer and illustrator who is mindful of the younger members of her audience. Her illustrations are cartoonish and cute, even if they didn't appeal to me the way that Bernardo P. Carvalho's did. He created a book that wouldn't be out of place in a museum gift shop, while Pham takes a more traditional approach. But this book isn't trying to meet my aesthetic requirements; my younger kid was entranced from the get-go. The story of "The Bear Who Wasn't There" is, as you might guess, about the missing bear. There's an ark's worth of animals - a wiseacre duck, a misbehaving mouse - and they're either helpful or not on the quest to locate the bear. The story underscores the artifice of a book, with creatures pulling down the pages, running from one to the next, and even the author herself making an appearance, in cartoon form. It sounds ponderous but is hilarious. There's some wordplay that made my kids laugh so hard we had to stop for four minutes and savor it. A book that can appeal to readers big and small in equal measure seems miraculous to me. Crockett Johnson's "Harold and the Purple Crayon" shows how a meta-text, a book about the power of the page, can manage this. When you're 3, the thrill is in how Harold can turn a simple circle into a lifesaving hot-air balloon. When you're 30, introducing Harold to a child you love, the thrill is in seeing how smart a book it actually is. Tricky narrative strategies may feel very of-the-moment, but Johnson's book is 61 years old. The essential question to ask yourself is simply this: When you bring a book into your home, whom is it for? RUMAAN ALAM is the author of the novel "Rich and Pretty."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [November 13, 2016]
Review by Booklist Review
Do you know what it takes to create a story? This picture book walks readers through the process by introducing key story elements, like a main character, a desire, an obstacle, and an ending; but don't be fooled into thinking this is some dull composition guide. It is, in fact, brimming with ridiculous whimsy and glitter and waffles. The narrator directly addresses the reader in an instructive tone that is undermined by silly examples and comical artwork. Saturated pages form colorful backdrops to the printlike illustrations, where the figures interact with the narrator, as well as with one another. After cycling through a couple of potential main characters (girl, adorable bunny), the narrator settles on a ukulele-playing octopus who happens to want an awesome shining purple spaceship. Unfortunately, octopuses aren't very good at building spaceships. As complications pile up, the narrator offers more prompts until, almost magically, the story's resolution begins to take shape. Funny and engaging, this book has an interactive quality that will inspire kids to imagine a story of their own.--Smith, Julia Copyright 2016 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Debut author Tokuda-Hall offers a capricious crash course in the elements and boundless possibilities of story. "Every story starts the same way... with nothing," explains an unseen narrator. "And every story needs a character. Any character you can imagine!" The narrator promptly conjures a ukulele-playing octopus who, for a story to materialize, "needs to want something." Tokuda-Hall subtly introduces concepts like conflict and emotional stakes as the octopus unsuccessfully attempts to build a spaceship from soda cans, umbrellas, glitter, and waffles ("I'm not really qualified to build a spaceship," quips the bewildered protagonist). Eventually, the octopus's ukulele-strumming attracts friends and rocket scientists, who help propel the story to a resolution. What happens next, the author tells readers, is "up to you! When one story ends, it's just making room for another story to begin." Davies's (Grandad's Island) freewheeling digital art keeps pace with the encouraging narration, and the concluding image-of a rocket scientist water-skiing atop a rhino while wearing a colander on her head-cements the idea that, when it comes to storytelling, anything is possible. Ages 3-7. Author's agent: Jennifer Laughran, Andrea Brown Literary. Illustrator's agent: Vicki Willden-Lebrecht, Bright Literary. (Oct.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
PreS-Gr 3-"Every story starts the same way, with nothing." So begins this picture book, which doubles as an encouraging exercise in story development. Moving on from nothing, the narrator says that every story needs a character, and after presenting a couple of possibilities (a little girl, a bunny), it settles on an octopus who plays the ukulele. From there, the narrator explores the concept of plot: "But in order for it to be a story, and not just an octopus, that octopus needs to want something." This particular octopus wants a spaceship, a complicated desire that sets the stage for plenty of comedy and the introduction of more characters (including the girl, the bunny, and some rocket scientists). The bubbly, appealing art has punchy humor and works as an ongoing conversation with the narration, bringing the fumbling but exciting progress of crafting a new story to life. As the book ends, the visuals move the plot in a multitude of new directions, but the text leaves everything open-ended, concluding with encouragement for readers to take it from there. The final page shows one of the rocket scientists wielding a wrench and sporting a colander on her head as she rides a water-skiing rhinoceros off the right-hand page into whatever new plot readers can dream up for her. VERDICT This entertaining read-aloud will jump-start imaginations and create opportunities for thinking about existing tales as well as for making new ones.-Julie Roach, Cambridge Public Library, MA © Copyright 2016. 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
This lighthearted storytelling primer explains that every story begins "with nothing" before introducing a character who desires something and must somehow "earn it." A tale then develops about a ukelele-playing octopus and a spaceship, but the resolution is left up to budding storytellers (a.k.a. readers). The rich-hued digital illustrations and the characters' speech-bubble text echo the yarn's zany tone. (c) Copyright 2017. 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
Debut author Tokuda-Hall and veteran illustrator Davies deconstruct the art of storytelling in this insightful, playful primer.What does every story need? A character, first of all. In this story, readers meet a ukulele-playing octopus. The octopus must desire something for it to be a story, suggests the narrator. And whats better than wanting a totally awesome shining purple spaceship capable of intergalactic travel? The octopus must earn the spaceship, thoughby building it out of stuff like glue, soda cans, and waffles. Its hard to build a spaceship, and even if the octopus receives help from an adorable bunny, it may not quite end up working out. By now, the octopus is starting to give up. Mixing deadpan humor with whimsical, endearing characters, Tokuda-Hall spins a reader-friendly metanarrative out of a wickedly absurd premise. Filled with numerous shades of purple, yellow, and blue, Davies inspired digital artwork springs from the page, like bursts of an overactive imagination. Exaggerated facial expressions also incite laughs, including a spread of the octopus in a despondent swoon. Yet this story wraps up a little too neatly, throwing in a contrived, feel-good resolution. Incapable of building a spaceship, the discouraged octopus plays the ukulele, attracting a racially diverse crowd of music-loving rocket scientists. Too easy? Perhaps, but maybe thats the point. A perceptive how-to for beginner storytellers. (Picture book. 3-7) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
