Review by New York Times Review
Why are we so sure that reading books to kids is a valorous act, far superior to cuing up the nefarious iPad? Yes, story time can be tender, and the iPad a mechanized babysitter. But my kids - in the glassy absorption they display, and their addict's insistence on "another!" whenever the current entertainment concludes - can seem as mindlessly hooked on the narrative technology of the picture book as on the exploits of the PAW Patrol. Four new picture books make inventive use of that sturdy old technology as they tell stories for kids living modern, computer-saturated childhoods. Some of these books are skeptical about the value of our wires and devices, while others embrace the possibilities change may bring. UNPLUGGED (SCHOLASTIC, 32 PP., $17.99; ages 3 to 7), written and illustrated by Steve Antony, is in the former camp; it's a gorgeous piece of propaganda for going outside. Our hero is Blip, a sweet, squareheaded robot with goggly eyes and a cheerful smile. In a suite of grayscale pages featuring cables, monitors and pixelated images on screens, Blip revels in the pleasures her computer brings. She plays counting and singing games, watches jugglers and waterfalls, and falls asleep contented by a charcoal-hued screen saver of the sun going down. Then, Blip trips and falls down the stairs, bouncing out her front door and into a technicolor wonderland where three forest creatures (including dead ringers for Bambi and Thumper, plus a duck) help her explore nature. Antony's use of vivid but gentle color here conveys the full spectrum of joy Blip discovers. As it turns out, her favorite computer pursuits - counting and singing, juggling and exploring - can all be done with friends outdoors. Vibrant scenes that slyly mirror each online activity depicted in the first half of the book reinforce the point. If that point feels slightly simplistic - for most kids, mere exposure to a tree swing does not result in the total renunciation of modern technology - the book is so elegantly illustrated and cleverly conceived, and Blip so charming, that you won't mind. One person who might reject this Luddite message, though, is Charlotte, the protagonist of Shanda McCloskey's DOLL-E 1.0 (LITTLE, BROWN, 42 PP., $18.99; AGES 4 TO 8). Charlotte has electric blue hair, a pet dog named Blutooth and a holster for her drill attached to her desk. She spends her time trying out virtual reality headsets and troubleshooting her parents' computer woes while they watch news reports investigating whether kids are "too techy." Then she's given a doll. For a tinkerer like Charlotte, this "human-shaped pillow" is a disappointing gift, It's useless as a playmate; it can't dance or build things or do anything at all except say the word "mama," a role Charlotte rejects. ("How can 1 be your mama?" she asks. "I'm just a kid.") But then Charlotte realizes any toy that can talk must have a "power supply," and she sets to work, retooling the doll to be the souped-up companion she's dreamed of. "Doll-E 1.0" is McCloskey's debut, and it's a vigorous, witty and valuable addition to the still too-small shelf of books about girls and engineering. Where titles like "Rosie Revere, Engineer" feature characters struggling to find the confidence to experiment and build, Charlotte wears her technical prowess with brisk nonchalance, which allows McCloskey to tell a more complex and surprising story. Charlotte's power is a given. The fact that it stems from her facility with things electrical - literal power - is underscored by McCloskey's animated illustrations. The pages are enlivened with bolts of high-voltage yellow, and they lovingly record the detritus of our electrified lives: There are more cords, wires, outlets, plugs and batteries here than you typically see in the sylvan tableaus of kiddie lit. Before we were so wired, however, we had the subject of Samantha Berger's new picture book, SNAIL MAIL (RUNNING PRESS, 32 PP., $17.99; AGES 3 ?? 6), illustrated by Julia Patton. In this fantastical ode to the United States Postal Service, Berger posits that before email, actual snails were responsible for transporting physical letters to and fro. We meet four intrepid gastropods charged with bringing a love letter from a girl in Santa Monica to a boy in New York. At times the snails heave the letter aloft with great effort, each taking a corner; at others they ride it like a magic carpet, in cahoots with sparrows who carry it across a few states. Patton's layered images evoke the pleasures of paper. We see fragments of maps, envelopes and graph paper, postcards and stamps. Gauzy American landscapes - a red-rock desert, a rainbowed glade - are threaded with a dashed red line that tracks the snails' progress. And when the letter is delivered, the recipient isn't the only one who swoons; we see in a subtle cloud of hearts that two of our slimy couriers have fallen in love. The passion of the snails is nowhere mentioned in the text. The tale is hidden in the illustrations, a secret second story line for readers to discover on their eighth or 11th or umpteenth time through. "Doll-E 1.0" contains one, too; keep your eye on that dog. Further evidence that the best picture books are glorious mechanisms, well designed for the repeat reading young kids enjoy. The love story at the heart of BLUE RIDER (GROUNDWOOD, 32 PP., $17.99; AGES 3 TO 8), a sumptuous wordless tale written and illustrated by Geraldo Valerio, is between a young girl and a book. We find the girl living in an apartment in a cool blue city full of orderly rectangles and people bustling on the street, many lost in their headphones or screens. From the start, the use of color is so sophisticated you can almost hear it, as when the acidic blue "O" of a baby's mouth suggests a penetrating wail. On the sidewalk the girl spies a book. Back in her room, one image - a blue horse with a rainbow mane and a yellow tail, leaping over a field of marigolds under a sparkling starry sky - is so arresting it transforms the girl's vision. Suddenly her room and her city are alight with the bold colors of the horse's mane, and she's cast into a kaleidoscopic reverie: a field of bright blooms, a butterfly's wing, a dazzling abstract rectangular steed. We leave the girl beaming. An afternoon without technology - or, rather, with an old technology - has turned on a light switch in her mind. JULIA TURNER is the editor in chief of Slate.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [May 20, 2018]
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Four snails carry a letter "made by a Girl who loved a Boy" from Santa Monica to New York City in this appropriately leisurely paced tale about the pleasures of taking one's time. After Colonel McHale Snail issues the directive to "Go!," the snails inch ahead, chanting the Snail Mail Promise: "Neither rain, nor snow, nor heat, nor hail will stop a snail from bringing the mail." In measured prose that seems to mimic the letter carriers' pace, Berger (Monster's New Undies) tracks the snails across various terrain: "And even though their progress was very slow... there was something special about slowing down... to look around... and notice... what an amazing place the country was." Patton (The Very Very Very Long Dog) works mainly in light, wispy tones-as though the scenes are filtered through a thin layer of snail slime-which makes some of the snails difficult to decipher. Exceptions include a spread revealing a double rainbow, sunset, and lime-green meadow, and another featuring postcardlike images of some iconic sites (Mount Rushmore, Yellowstone). Readers are rewarded when the couriers finally hand the Boy the letter (though some may be disappointed that its contents aren't shared), after which the snails receive their own letter containing four gold medals "for good service." Ages 4-8. Author's agent: Brenda Bowen, Sanford J. Greenburger Associates. Illustrator's agent: Alli Brydon, Bright USA. (May) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
PreS-Gr 1-Four brave mail snails are tasked with the delivery of a very special letter and prove on their journey that moving slowly has its own virtues. The missive, written by a girl to her boy crush, is handwritten and sealed with a kiss. To complete their mission, the snails must journey through deserts and forests, and rain, wind, and snow, but they are determined. The digital illustrations evoke a scrapbook and postcard filled cross-country journey, with four well outfitted, detailed, and sometimes goofy snail mail carriers. The text, especially the Snail Mail Motto, will remind readers that some important things take a while to complete and that it's worth taking time to appreciate the beauty around them. This delightfully silly interpretation of snail mail will also appeal to adults wishing for the slower pace and handmade charm of pen and paper correspondence. VERDICT A secondary purchase for schools and libraries, suitable for storytime or one-on-one sharing.-Laken Hottle, Providence Community Library © Copyright 2018. 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
The Snail Mail Promise: "Neither rain, nor snow, nor heat, nor hail will stop a snail from bringing the mail."After asserting that before "e-mail and sending, clicking and texting," letters were sent by Snail Mail, the text introduces four snail mail carriers: Dale Snail, Gail Snail, Col. McHale Snail, and Umbrto. The tongue-in-cheek text goes on to say that people agreed that certain types of mail were made more special by Snail Mail. When a girl in Santa Monica who loves a boy in New York makes him a card, the snails are determined to deliver the letter. They creep into position under the letter and begin their slow, arduous journey. The art shows irresistible snails with eyeballs on stalks protruding above their clothed soft parts, shells exposed to the weather. There is a nod to cinematic conventions as the snail trail, represented by dashes in red ink, winds from the deserts of the West through the country's heartland and into urban New York. Engaging watercolors offer varied landscapes and postcardlike views of famous landmarks. Another scene shows the snails briefly hitching a ride with sparrows. Both children have sweet, brownish faces. The absurdity of the premiseand repeated promiseis humorously upheld throughout. Art and text take a literal definition and do a great job of runninger, creepingwith it. (Picture book. 3-7) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
