Review by Booklist Review
This touching story examines grief from one child's perspective after she loses her beloved Iranian grandfather, Baba Borzorg. The little girl visits his now-empty home with her mother. Objects in different rooms stir up tender memories of her grandfather, which help the little girl process her grief. She recalls her granddad snoring during a nap and remembers jumping on his bed to wake him up. She thinks about the mints he always kept in his pockets. She remembers how her grandfather shared fig cookies with her, even though she didn't care for them. Although the grandfather spoke Farsi and the granddaughter does not, they found special ways to connect and bond. The soft-colored, wispy drawings created from chalk pastel beautifully capture the tenderness of the story. The words, though simple and spare, articulate the feelings of grief and loss while capturing the charm and matter-of-factness of the world through the child's eyes. Hrab's writing, together with Kazemi's illustrations, evoke the loving relationship that the child and her grandfather shared as well as the emptiness she feels now that he is gone. A universally relatable story that articulates a difficult concept for younger audiences, with a heartfelt message about loss and the memories of loved ones.
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
The sadness in this story about a grandfather's death is tempered by the offbeat voice of his granddaughter, who narrates in closely observed prose. Kazemi (The Old Woman) draws her with pale skin, straight black hair, and sharply defined black eyebrows. "I bit my mom on the toe this morning," writes Hrab (Weekend Dad) in a startling opening: "My baba bozorg forgot to wake up yesterday. He lived alone," the child explains, "so no one was there to bite him. I really wish I'd been there." Fragmented thoughts build up a portrait of a beloved grandfather who kept mints in his pockets, liked fig cookies, and "spoke Farsi loudly but English quietly." Facts ("Baba Bozorg was a poet in Iran") mingle with childlike observation as the granddaughter remembers the way he spoke Farsi to her mother, and the way he winked at her when she caught her own name in the flow of conversation. The sour cherry tree of the title was his ("I was your age when he planted it," the girl's mother tells her), and rose hues throughout connect the family's past to a present filled with farewell. Ages 4--8. (Oct.)
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Review by School Library Journal Review
PreS-Gr 1--This book on grief and the passing of a grandparent perfectly encapsulates a child's perspective. The death of Baba Bozorg happened the day before, and now a small girl and her mother go to his house to "take care of a few things." The bed where the child often found him napping is empty, but rumpled, as if he has just left it for a moment. His tea cup is by the samovar, where he enjoyed Ceylon with a splash of rose water and a fig cookie. He always offered a cookie to the narrator; she never liked figs, but took the offering anyway. He didn't speak much English; she spoke little Farsi. But they communicated in other ways, sharing a wink or a smile. She slips into his closet to remember. From there, she spies the sour cherry tree in his front yard, which he planted when the girl's mother was her own age. "Whenever we left Baba Bozorg's house, he would wave at us until I couldn't see him anymore." That's the last line of the book, as wistful as the casual mention that Baba Bozorg was a published poet in Iran, with an illustration of him in a book of his writings. Kazemi's soft pictures have a diffused quality; this is the past, this is the present, it doesn't matter. VERDICT This book gives voice to the hidden aspects of grief, the small token, the remembered word or gesture that defines memories. It's an essential guide to mourning, in its earliest stages, for the young.--Kimberly Olson Fakih, School Library Journal
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Review by Horn Book Review
On a visit to her grandfather's house the day after his death, a young girl recalls their many connections, despite a language barrier. Baba Bozorg spoke Farsi (he had been a poet in Iran); the narrator speaks only English. The girl walks through her grandfather's house, describing him and the time they spent together. She searches the pockets of clothes hanging in his closet because he was a reliable source of mints, but finds nothing. She notices his empty teacup sitting next to his samovar and recalls that he liked fig cookies and always offered one to her. Even though she didn't like them, "I always took one because we didn't share many words." Each object, each room, reminds her of their shared routines. Kazemi's illustrations have a soft, filmy quality that suits a story about memories. Distances between objects are sometimes elongated, sometimes shortened -- a staircase to Baba Bozorg's bedroom looks lonely as the child heads up to face an empty room, but is a warmer, more friendly place when she descends wearing his slippers. The first-person narration, filled with childlike details and tender emotions, reinforces the equally childlike perspective of the delicate art. Maeve Visser Knoth January/February 2022 p.87(c) Copyright 2022. 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
With ample emotional subtext, a young girl recalls everyday details about her beloved grandfather the day after his death. The child bites her mother's toe to wake her up, wishing that she could have done the same for her baba bozorg, her beloved grandfather, who had forgotten to wake up the day before. She kisses a pancake that reminds her of her grandfather's face. Her mother, who had been admonishing her for playing with her food, laughs and kisses the pancake's forehead. Returning to Baba Bozorg's home, the child sees minute remnants of her grandfather: a crumpled-up tissue, smudgy eyeglasses, and mint wrappers in his coat pockets. From these artifacts the narrator transitions to less tangible, but no less vivid, memories of playing together and looks of love that transcend language barriers. Deeply evocative, Hrab's narrative captures a child's understanding of loss with gentle subtlety, and gives space for processing those feelings. Kazemi's chalk pastel art pairs perfectly with the text and title: Pink cherry hues, smoky grays, and hints of green plants appear throughout the book, concluding in an explosion of vivid green that brings a sense of renewal, joy, and remembrance to the heartfelt ending. Though the story is universally relevant, cultural cues and nods to Iranian culture will resonate strongly with readers of Iranian/Persian heritage. (This book was reviewed digitally.) A beautifully poignant celebration of memories of a loved one that live on in those that remain. (Picture book. 4-8) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
