Review by New York Times Review
Screams. Tears. Meltdowns. New picture books let bad behavior fly, with a bit of advice. when I was A kid, picture books lumped bad behavior into one catchall, gurgling vat. Like a chemical waste plant, it was kept securely out of sight and never dredged. Judy forever patted the bunny. She never yanked its tail. Sal never threw her blueberries in a rage. The girl who rescues Corduroy from an extended limbo in Home Décor and Bedding never screams, "Don't look at me!" or slams a door. In Dr. Seuss there is subversion, but it's the work of Grinches, cats, kangaroos and Things. Even the reigning king of kids breaking bad - Max in "Where the Wild Things Are" - is offstage when he commits the scorched-earth yelling at his mother that lands him alone in his room, starving. Today, children have the advantage of a spate of new books that don hazmat suits and deep-dive with blinding headlamps into that strange, muddy tank of disagreeable behavior, taking an unflinching look at what's drifting in the depths: the screams, the tears, the zigzag moods, the mental short-circuiting - everything that makes the childless scowl in airplanes and shame parents by asking: "How did you ever leave the house?" My 2-year-old, Winter's, worst conduct thus far has been mistaking Avalon, her 1year-old sister, for a toadstool. Granted, there have been several telenovela falls on the floor in protest of shoe removal, and an incident where Winter started running, without a word, then returned to inform me she'd "stormed off." But reading some of these books aloud to her felt akin to handing her "The Anarchist Cookbook." Would they lead to knowledge and enchantment or unleash her inner Jabez Dawes? Yet we plunged in. THE BEWITCHING THE OUTLAW (Groundwood, 32 pp., $17.95; ages 4 to 8), a debut picture book written and illustrated by Nancy Vo, uses spare drawings resembling silent-era film reels to narrate a frontier town's terror at the hands of an outlaw known by "his trail of misdeeds." ("What are misdeeds?" is a question you'd better have a good answer to.) The desperado appears as a wizened, gun-toting shadow slung across railroad tracks and in the scared whispers of shopkeepers and children. When the outlaw vanishes, then returns years later as a humble stranger quietly performing acts of repentance, a confrontation ensues, illuminating the murky fog of real-world forgiveness. Vo's gorgeous black-and white drawings repeat and invert, revealing a stark world of night and day and night. The ground, painted over a collage of old newspaper clippings, appears strewn with illegible print. The shops sell strange potions. ("What's laudanum?" was a question that thankfully went unasked.) The most magical part of the book, illustrating Vo's innate sense of story, is the separate tale of a child's naughty behavior that is followed by connection and kindness. This narrative unfolds exclusively in the illustrations, going unmentioned by the text, revealing how the most wondrous acts can go unnoticed, unless you look closer. IN PEOPLE DON'T BITE PEOPLE (Atheneum, 40 pp., $17.99; ages 2 to 6), Written by Lisa Wheeler and illustrated by Molly Idle, that Class-? preschool felony is faced head-on with the snappy verve of a 1950s toothpaste jingle: "It's good to bite a carrot. It's good to bite a steak. It's bad to bite your sister! She's not a piece of cake." The drawings are bright and no-nonsense, quickly removing, like ripping off a Band-Aid, the stigma of biting. The message is outlined and repeated in tick-tack-toe squares with plenty of illustrations and humor, straightforward, with a hint of Mary Poppins's intolerance for nonsense. "IT'S my birthday. So Boo! I hate all of you!" a little girl says in I hate everyone (POW!, 32 pp., $17.99; ages 2 to 6), Written by Naomi Danis and illustrated by Cinta Arribas. We are dropped into her mind during her birthday party, where the situation goes pear-shaped. "Take off the silly hats. Stop smiling. Stop laughing," she says. And: "You said it was my party. Goo goo. Go away." In bright pink, red and purple paintings, amid the text - squeezed in all caps - the big clueless beaming adults, all of whom recall the figures of Fernando Botero, go about their business, oblivious or unconcerned by the little girl blurting: "I hate you! Don't sing!" The book reads like a version of Whitman's barbaric yawp. It's wildly alive with the girl's unchecked bursts of word and emotion. The way she grasps at and simultaneously rejects love, wanting to be both acknowledged and left alone, is universal and timeless. The book exposes the slipperiness of what we so much believe to be true coupled with the shortcomings of the English language - German comes off better with words like fernweh (wanting to be anywhere but where you are) and fuchsteufelswild (gutting rage). It ends with the exhausted admission, "Somehow even while I am busy hating you... I love you." Tolstoy was after this realization, too, and it took him 1,000 pages. ANOTHER GIRL'S UNTETHERED imagination is unleashed in the superb out, out, AWAY FROM HERE (Flying Eye, 32 pp., $16.95; ages 3 to 6), written by Rachel Woodworth and illustrated by Sang Miao. Her bad mood is a slow burn. She scowls as she brushes her teeth and cries as her parents ignore her, fussing over a baby. The illustrations are vivid and misshapen, with bleeding Gauguin reds and a hint of Rousseau's overstuffed jungles. Things reach a boiling point after the girl's parents are seen in silhouette screaming at each other - to Miao's credit she doesn't temper the terror of the moment - and our heroine, unable to take it anymore, runs through a wooden door and takes refuge in her imagination. She is befriended by a fox, its fur the identical red of her hair, and wanders a forest in which fish have wings and mountains rise "for climbing and conquering." These mountains merge with the world that she fled - becoming "homework" and "messy rooms" and "uneaten carrots" - allowing her to overcome them and return home, relieved and happy. As it turned out, I learned more from these books than Winter did. Of course, she's still a little young to fully understand most of them: As a brand-new scientist exploring her world, she tends to look at all human behavior with uniform acceptance and curiosity. Biting, anger, tantrums - they're just curious little flowers strewn on her sidewalk, which she picks up, examines, then moves on. I, on the other hand, realized I needed to loosen the lid on my futile hope that she is always my happy little girl. Which led me to another eureka moment: Many adult Americans would do well to meander into the children's section of their local bookstore and take a look at books on bad behavior, to reacquaint themselves with the full emotional spectrum of being a person - for their sake and for others'. Because if " I hate you but I want you to love me" doesn't remind you of anyone, then stop reading. It's my party. Go away. ? maris ha PESSLS new novel is "Neverworld Wake."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [June 17, 2018]
Review by Booklist Review
This eerie picture book spins a fablelike yarn about a feared outlaw who terrorizes a small town, disappears for a while, and then comes back to make amends. Once he's recognized, the outlaw is not exactly welcomed back, and a few townspeople begin to harass him. One small boy comes to his defense, observing, Leave him alone! He's trying. The black-and-white illustrations with occasional hints of muted blues and yellows complement the spare text, which generally moves the action forward through one-line sentences or no words at all. No details, such as the location of the town or the names of any characters, are provided, but no details are needed to reinforce the message on the final page: And maybe that was what mattered in the end. Perhaps a little too bleak for preschool or kindergarten, this affecting story will quiet audiences, prompt a few questions, and probably start some interesting conversations.--McBroom, Kathleen Copyright 2018 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by School Library Journal Review
K-Gr 3-In this beautiful, somber tale of making amends, rumors of an outlaw scare an unnamed Wild West-era town. Passengers worry that the criminal will plunder their trains. Shopkeepers close early. Children get dire warnings about being good or else. After seasons pass and the troublemaker seems to have vanished, a kindhearted stranger appears and sets about fixing things around town. It's the outlaw, but has he changed for good? Nobody knows. Vo's evocative mixed-media images are the highlight of this book, with a note explaining that they incorporate newspaper clippings and fabric patterns from the 1850s and 60s. These are superimposed upon ink and watercolor paintings, with most of the artwork in black, gray, and white and the odd muted color found in the townspeople's clothes. The story is striking too, the lonely, mysterious stranger motif reminiscent of Shaun Tan's The Arrival. Vo's ending puts faith in a child's sense of justice and redemption. VERDICT Thoughtful readers are the audience for this stunning book, which will generate questions and conversation once the gorgeously created work is done.-Henrietta Verma, Credo Reference, Jackson Heights, NY © 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 Horn Book Review
Vo provides readers with a picture-book Western that upends many of the genres gunslinging shootout- and revenge-?narrative tropes. A small (unnamed) frontier town is threatened by an ?Outlaw known by his trail of misdeeds; much to the townspeoples relief, he then vanishes and over time is forgotten. Many seasons pass, and a stranger arrives who quietly begins rebuilding the now-battered townmaking a new water trough, mending a roof, repairing a train platform. Then someone recognizes him as the Outlaw, and he is set upon by an angry mob. A young thief (who weve seen in the illustrations being protected and rehabilitated by the Outlaw) steps forward in support of the man (Leave him alone! Hes trying), convincing some townsfolk, but not others. Nonetheless, the Outlaw is permitted to stay and make amends, and as Vo states on a final double-page spread, maybe that was what mattered in the end. The ink and largely grayscale watercolor illustrations, along with an intriguing newspaper transfer technique, pair well with the spare, contemplative text. patrick gall (c) Copyright 2018. 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
A picture book about making amends. In an unspoken time and place, but most likely the Old West, an Outlaw has terrorized a small town with a series of unspoken transgressions. When readers join the story, however, the Outlaw has disappeared, and the town has resumed its sleepy life. After a time, a stranger rides into town and begins a series of charitable acts. As the stranger repairs the town's train platform, he's recognized as the Outlaw. While some shun him, others acknowledge that he's atoning for his past misdeeds by helping the community. His past crimes are never addressed, however. The attempted message of redemption through selfless acts is noble, but the story is too superficial to support the abstract moral. Vo's artwork, a mixture of ink, watercolor, and newsprint transfer, is attractive but works against the story; the tone of the art is cool and rigid, while the words tell of a hot town and a population whose emotions are fiery. The seeming whiteness of the community also hampers the storytelling, as the Old West was far from this monochromatic vision.Keep this pony in the stable, y'all. (Picture book. 4-8) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
