When her family goes off to work in the morning, leaving her home alone, Sally the dog starts daydreaming about what jobs she might like to do. Teaching, zookeeping, archaeology, paleontology and farming all cross her mind; until her people arrive home and she realises that she already has a brilliant job – looking after her family.
Huneck's coloured woodcut illustrations give the book a distinctly retro feel, that brought back memories of psychedelic 70s children’s cartoon Crystal Tipps and Alistair. Whilst the story itself has a sweet sentiment, and the woodcuts are clearly accomplished, Sally's static expressions (inevitable by the nature of this medium) are sometimes mildly disturbing.
Unusually for a picture flat, The Magic Rabbit is illustrated almost entirely in black and white, with only occasional details being accented in yellow. But far from feeling drab, the use of monochrome actually adds to the magic of this atmospheric tale. There is more than a touch of the Sally Gardner about LeBlanc Cate's style, particularly in the boggle-eyed facial expressions and elaborately detailed spreads.
The opening spread pictures the two main characters - the magician Ray and his assistant, Bunny – in their urban apartment, which is brimming with books, trinkets and magical accessories. You could easily spend several minutes just contemplating this one scene, but for the promise of an intriguing story ahead.
As well as being business partners, Ray and Bunny are the best of friends, and go everywhere together, until one day Bunny gets scared by a dog during their act, and runs off into the busy street. As Bunny finds himself lost in the city crowds, he misses Ray terribly, and it's only when he starts nibbling on some discarded popcorn, that he spots a some magic stars and follows their trail all the way back to his own magic hat, and a delighted Ray. A charming little story about the everyday magic of friendship, brought beautifully to life by its skilfully evocative illustrations, The Magic Rabbit is an impressive début.
Following on from Santa’s Snow Cat and The Lighthouse Cat, this established author/illustrator team return with another fantastical feline story, this time featuring that winning ingredient, chocolate.
Mortimer’s lavish illustrations bring to mouthwatering life the exotic creations of the chocolate shop owner, whose cat acquires a taste for chocolate mice and takes it upon himself to deposit them all around the town. Soon business is booming and everyone is smiling, including the previously downcast chocolatier.
There’s no doubt that chocolate can lift the spirits, but it should be pointed out that it can actually be poisonous to cats, so please don’t try this at home!
Unlike many author/illustrator teams, who often work in isolation, Karen and Jim appreciate the benefits of having a constant “sounding board” for their work, which they describe as their “baby”. Their first book, Letterbox Lil (OUP) was a labour of love, born out of long held ambitions to illustrate and write respectively. “We sent it off to lots of publishers, without having much of a clue about how to get published” says Karen “we just kept persevering until someone noticed us”. Although Letterbox Lil did eventually get published, its rhyming nature was a stumbling block to foreign translations, which is partly what led them to doing something different for their next venture.
The idea for book two came from a drawing Karen had done in her capacity as a toy designer, from which Jim came up with the story of Who Are You Stripy Horse? (Egmont). The 'long forgotten shop' in which Stripy Horse wakes up and finds himself was inspired by a real life antiques market with which Jim was fascinated as a child. “There was this cavernous second hand shop called Sid Plummers in Shepton Mallet” he recalls with glee “full of amazing bits and pieces”. When I mention a certain likeness to Bagpuss's shop, they both admit to a love of Oliver Postgate, but deny any direct link between the saggy old cloth cat and Stripy Horse.
According to Jim, the first Stripy Horse story is all about identity: “The main motivation was for Stripy Horse to find out what he was for, so I put him with a bunch of distinctive characters who all have a specific job” he says. Most of these characters are directly based on the various bric a brac objects Jim has collected over the years. Once the elaborate cast of characters had sprung out of Jim's imagination, it was Karen's challenge to visualise them, and a process of conferring between the two began. “We don't always agree” says Karen “but then you'll wake up and realise that the other person has a point”.
Like many illustrators of her generation, Karen cites Quentin Blake as a major influence, and though her own style is quite different, she aspires to inject the same sense of “silliness, warmth and heart” into her drawings. Jim's literary heroes – among whom are Roald Dahl and Spike Milligan – seem to match this humorously anarchic bent perfectly.
Having done two Stripy Horse books (and with a third planned for next year), Karen and Jim are now moving onto something different, with the publication of Oh No, Monster Tomato! (Egmont) this autumn. In the tradition of classic fairy tales such as The Enormous Turnip and Jack and the Beanstalk, Oh No, Monster Tomato! was inspired by Jim's love of growing vegetables, and tomatoes in particular. “I'd heard of this festival in Spain called La Tomatina where everyone throws tomatoes” says Jim “and the idea came to me.” But instead of Valencia, the setting for this food incident is the made up town of Grislygust, where everyone is fiercely and hilariously competitive about their veg growing.
I am charmed to discover that some of the tomatoes in the book are photographed from Jim's own prolific produce, along with other bits and pieces of collage that accompany Karen's vibrant watercolours. Such personal touches reflect the deep intimacy that clearly underpins Karen and Jim's creative partnership and makes their books so warm and likeable. It seems likely that the inhabitants of Grislygust will get another outing at some point, as Karen and Jim talk enthusiastically about ideas for future stories featuring the same characters.
As well as their joint picture books, Jim also has aspirations to write something longer at some point. “I'm working on a novel that I pick up and put down every few months” he says. Meanwhile, the couple are keeping busy working on current projects and are starting to do more events - recently making their first festival appearance at Edinburgh. “I do all the talking while Karen draws” says Jim, making Karen chuckle playfully, but not in the least resentfully. Much like the other finely tuned aspects of their partnership – working or otherwise - it's obviously an arrangement that suits them both. While Jim grows tomatoes, Karen grows flowers and while he thinks up the stories, she brings them to life in pictures. If that's not domestic bliss, I don't know what is.
Originally published in 1989, Frog in Love was the first of 17 books to have been published in this classic character series. Taking the very grown-up theme of romance and presenting it on a level that children can appreciate is quite an ambitious endeavour, but this gentle and touching tale manages to pull it off with grace and sincerity.
At first Frog thinks the thumping in his chest must be an illness, until Hare diagnoses him as being in love. Anxiety turns to elation as Frog proclaims the object of his desire to be a beautiful white duck, and then back to anxiety again as he is too shy to tell her his feelings. But despite Pig’s reservations about the feasibility of an inter-species relationship (slight political undertones perhaps?), Frog finally gets Duck’s attention by showing off and doing the biggest jump EVER.
For such a simplistic character who really bears little anatomical resemblance to an amphibian, Frog is unfalteringly lovable and bursting with personality. Let’s hope that the re-release, with its more contemporary cover design, will keep Frog bouncing through the generations into the hearts of children for years to come.
Mousse the dog loves Muddy Bear almost as much as his best doggy-friend Nut. So when Muddy Bear gets accidentally rolled up into a snowdog, Mousse is distraught and sets off to find him with the help of Nut. Some well-meaning but misguided rabbits send them off on an erroneous mission to confront Big Bear, whom they think might have taken Muddy Bear, but they only succeed in needlessly waking a grumpy Big Bear form hibernation. Eventually Muddy Bear turns up, but not before Mousse has endured a fretful night without him.
The lost toy scenario is one which has been tackled by many a children’s book before, but the winning combination of lovable yet quirky characters, some clever tension building and a heart-warming happy ending make this a pleasantly refreshing take.
Most children invent an imaginary playmate at some point, and for the little boy in this book, it’s an elephant. But is it imaginary? Just like Bernard’s monster in Not Now Bernard, the parents (or in this case, grandparents) can’t see the child’s unusual companion, and the child gets blamed for all the mess and destruction caused. But this un-named boy enjoys many an adventure with his elephant friend, and eventually the grandparents join in the game.
Softly drawn with grey scribbly skin and a docile friendly face, the elephant is surprisingly inanimate and lacks the personality of his anarchic anthropomorphic forbears - The Tiger Who Came to Tea, The Wild Things or even Bernard’s monster. The repetitious expressions on the human faces also make the characters feel slightly cold and removed, though the illustrations are by no means unpleasant. A simple if rather dispassionate tale, the themes of make believe and making a mess will surely appeal.
In this topsy-turvy nursery rhyme world, Little Miss Muffett is bored of her repetitive role, and sick of being intimidated by spiders, so decides to break out of her own story to see what is happening elsewhere.
Bumping into all sorts of well-known characters along the way - including the Grand Old Duke of York, Jack and Jill and The Queen of Hearts - Miss Muffett upsets plots all over the place, causing much chaos in the process.
It’s an amusingly anarchic take on a familiar format, with matchingly madcap illustrations and satisfyingly silly. Inquisitive young minds will no doubt identify with Miss Muffett’s need to explore the unknown, though protective parents may not necessarily approve of her rebellious tendencies.
Despite its highly accomplished and beguiling illustrations, the presence of both penguins and polar bears in a single environment (a classic schoolboy error) was an immediate turn-off to this otherwise magical tale.
Topographical technicalities aside, Miki is a sweet and ethereal character, whose midwinter wishes take her on a strange underwater voyage where she encounters all kinds of weird and wonderful creatures.
In an unfortunate design flaw, black text on a dark background made bedtime reading difficult on several of the pages - interrupting the pleasantly rhythmic flow of the text. The author/illustrator Stephen Mackey, an established commerical artist, has certainly carved himself a new niche in the children’s picture book market with this enchanting tale - let’s just hope he does his geography homework in future.
What could possibly be scarier than a fire-breathing dragon, a ghost with no head, stubbly witches, or tutu-wearing monsters? An angry sibling of course!
Anyone who has ever hidden from an older brother or sister will identify with this vibrantly illustrated, light-hearted picture book.
Written in rhyming, rhythmic verses, young readers will enjoy anticipating and joining in with the refrain 'I'm not going out there!' on every page, as an assortment of potential menaces in the child's bedroom are eventually upstaged by the ultimate peril – a shrieking sister with a spider in her shoe!
Wheelie Girl is Molly - a little girl with a big complex. Her insecurities are somewhat justified by the fact that she has wheels for feet. Struggling to keep pace with the everyday activities of her peers, and overwhelmed by frustration at the limitations of her predicament, she exclaims “I can't do ANYTHING!”, and is about to give up trying, when her wheels actually come in handy for once.
Molly's friends are bursting with praise when she is the only one who can catch up with Rufus the dog, returning him to his grateful owner. Much like Rudolph (the Red Nose Reindeer) before her, Molly discovers that sometimes it pays to be different. A rather obvious metaphor for disability, Wheelie Girl is nevertheless an entertaining and reassuring tale, with striking illustrations and a lively text layout that keeps the story moving.
In many ways, this is a classic morality tale that reminds the reader to 'count your blessings' and 'the grass isn't always greener...'. But it is also a witty and compelling story about a cantankerous, ungrateful cat, Mr Pusskins, who, bored of his owner's stories and constant fussing, decides to leave home in search of adventure.
As the honoured guardian of my very own contrary fluffy ginger cat, I was both highly amused and duly impressed at the author's convincing portrayal of feline characteristics. Lloyd succeeds in capturing the fickle, indifferent attitude that most cat-people will instantly recognise.
The illustrations have a slightly manic, almost child-like quality to them, and yet at the same time capture a range of expressions and emotions beautifully. From indifference at Emily's attentions, to glee at his escape and subsequent rebellious antics, to tragic self-pity when he realises that street life is not all it's cracked up to be, to his eventual remorse and contrition, Mr Pusskins' changing demeanour is perfectly delivered.
A happy ending, when Mr Pusskins is reunited with an ecstatic Emily, gives the tale a welcome feel-good factor which reassures the reader that it's never too late to say sorry.
The latest Wibbly Pig story maintains the subtle simplicity of what has become a favourite character series, this time offering a touchingly hearfelt message: that being kind and fun is just as valid as being clever and coordinated.
The chemistry between Wibbly Pig and his silly big bear leaps off the page via Inkpen's expressive illustrations. WP's resigned reactions to his bear's inability to eat peas, put pyjamas on properly, or indeed undertake the most routine tasks with any efficiency, turn to joy as we learn that he can jump...crash...and bash and is enthusastic.
The humourous text has a pleasing rhythm to it, with emphasised words on each page that children will delight in shouting out, as this is one story they will surely be learning off by heart.
Has Clarice Bean got competition? Not quite... 'Delilah' makes no bones about jumping on the Bean bandwagon, most obviously in the layout and quirky text-design which scream 'CB wannabe'. Delilah is also a feisty, somewhat contrary female character, but with perhaps less of the off-the-wall humour which makes CB so appealing. On the upside, Reeve's trademark pastel colours and soft edges make the illustrations strikingly different to Lauren Child's modern, angular style, and lend the character Delilah her own distinct personality. The story itself takes place in the library, where Delilah makes a nuisance of herself, spinning tall stories from her overactive imagination. Despite my initial cynicism over the blatant stylistic imitation, I have to admit that 'Delilah' is an entertaining read, energetically written and attractively illustrated.
A land in which everyone is happy all the time seems too good to be true...and it is. The people of this charming fable must feign constant happiness by order of the crown, until one day a little boy decides he needs a good cry, and is summoned before the king to explain himself. Wormell's rustic, almost unfinished illustrations give his imagined land a fantastical, fairy-tale feel, and the king first appears as a somewhat sinister figure, with an eerily fixed smile on a dis-proportionally large face. The little boy appeals to the king, whose permanent grimace turns out to be nothing but a mask, under which he hides his true sadness. Moved by the boy's honesty, the king realises that it's alright to be sad sometimes, and that it is better to express your true feelings than bottle them up. A worthy sentiment indeed, especially so for boy readers, who may feel less self-conscious about showing emotions having read this heartening tale.
The familiarity of Tony Ross's charmingly chaotic illustrations makes the potential awkwardness of his chosen subject matter somehow easier to swallow, in this simple poem about a common childhood problem. When a little boy asks his dog: “Pepe, is it because he's got silly names?..Is it because he's no good at games?...” and so on, we are initially oblivious as to the reason for his musing. It's not until the final few pages that we discover the boy is being bullied, and is in fact pondering over his tormentor's motives. Ross's refreshingly alternative morality tale boldly advocates a more philosophical approach to the too-often seemingly black-and-white issue of bullying, and by keeping it simple, cleverly avoids the usual patronising tone of other such 'issue' based books.
The illustrations in this minimal-text picture book are very much in the Tim Burton tradition – muted pastel shades of brown and grey, vacant looking expressions on wide, round faces, and a distinctly dystopian eeriness fills its hauntingly mesmerising pages. “Brigg lived in a small room in a big city” begins the story - and so we follow the resigned drudgery of Brigg's soul-less, colour-less urban life - with which anyone who has ever lived or worked in London will immediately identify. One day Brigg steals a forbidden book from the library where he works, and learns about flowers - something he has never seen in the barren metropolis he calls home. Then, seeing the same shapes and colours on a packet of seeds in a shop window, he transforms his dreary accommodation by growing a beautiful plant. But Brigg's delight turns to anguish when the plant is sucked away by the automatic cleaning system in his apartment. All is not lost however, as the plant continues to thrive in a dust heap outside the city, and hope for a more colourful future is restored.
A simple story with a strong message against apathy, reinforcing the notion that it only takes one person to make a difference – a worthy philosophy indeed in the face of current climatological concerns.
It's not often that I'm reduced to tears by a children's picture book (let alone an adult novel for that matter), but this profoundly moving account of a little girl's correspondence with her grandfather had me in floods. Unable to sleep one night because of the noise of the city where she lives, Ruby writes a note to her grandfather, who is far away in the countryside. And so begins a series of letters between the two, in which each relays details of their everyday lives, and expresses their continuing hope that one day they will meet. The increasingly fond letters are punctuated by the presence of magpies, as Grampa tells Ruby about the birds who keep him awake, and teaches her 'The Magpie Song'. It becomes apparent that Grampa's health is deteriorating, then when Ruby sees a single magpie on her balcony (1 for sorrow), we realise that he has died. It was this cleverly implied execution which so tugged my heart strings. Anholt's skilful writing is complemented by Copplestone's softly energetic illustrations, which provide a subtle exposition of the story beyond the letters themselves. Further tears ensued in the final, fold-out spread, when Ruby discovers Grampa's secret, a generous legacy that will ensure her family's security. A memorable, moving, and ultimately uplifting tale.
Last year's Nestle Prize (0-5 category) Gold winner, Lost and Found, has just come out in paperback, prompting me to finally get round to reviewing it. Being rather a fan of penguins, I was immediately drawn to the cover, which depicts a boy and a penguin looking lost whilst floating in an umbrella not far from an iceberg. Jeffers's quirky, contemporary style puts me in mind of another promising young author- illustrator and former Nestle winner, Mini Grey, which is no bad thing. Both manage to convey huge amounts of energy and expression using stylised, simplistic drawings and unpretentious, child-friendly text. Before even opening the book, I was intrigued and expectant.
The story drops straight in, without any pre-amble, to an unnamed boy opening his front door to find a penguin. Presuming it must be lost, the boy sets out to return the penguin to its rightful location, not knowing where that might be. After rowing to the South Pole and dropping the penguin off, the boy finally realises that the penguin just wanted a friend, and a heart-warming reunion follows. Lost and Found is a touching, subtly moral story that encourages the reader to think beyond the seemingly obvious. One is utterly endeared to the silent penguin as he unquestioningly follows the boy, unable to convey his true desire for company. The unanymity of the boy is sure to appeal to young readers who will enjoy filling in the gaps, or indeed placing themselves in the starring role. Similarly, the uncluttered, open spaces between the pictures and text, and the big blocks of colour across double-page spreads leaves room for the imagination to breathe. Appealingly simple, gently atmospheric and pleasingly reassuring, Lost and Found is certainly deserving of its acclaim.
