Robinson, Lisa. Gifts From Georgia’s Garden How Georgia O’Keeffe Nourished Her Art. Illustrated by Hadley Hooper. Holiday House, 2024.
Georgia O’Keeffe, renowned for her iconic paintings of skulls and bones, landscapes and skyscapes, and colorful flowers, was also a dedicated gardener and a warm, welcoming host in her New Mexico home. Her garden in the New Mexico desert not only inspired many of her works but also provided fruits, vegetables, and flowers that graced her table and were shared with friends and visitors.
This picture book offers a glimpse into O’Keeffe’s artistic world, but it serves more as an introduction. It can spark curiosity, leaving readers eager to explore her full body of work, whether online or through other books. The focus here is on her New Mexico garden, where she practiced sustainable gardening techniques to enrich the soil, protect her plants, and cultivate food that nourished both her body and her art.
The author also shares some of the dishes—soups, salads, and desserts—that O’Keeffe prepared for her guests, including a recipe for Pecan Butterballs. As someone who loves anything with pecans, this was a delightful bonus!
This book paints a picture of O’Keeffe as not just an artist, but also a gardener and homemaker who left the “male-dominated” art scene of New York City to create a fulfilling life and career in the New Mexico desert. I admire O’Keeffe’s art, and it’s refreshing to learn how her gardening and love of simple, wholesome food shaped her creative process.
One sentence near the end of the book did leave me pondering: “Georgia grew old in her garden sanctuary, and even when she became blind, she continued to tend her garden and paint.” This statement may prompt children to ask how an artist can paint without sight, a valid question that reminds me of how Beethoven composed music despite being deaf. ‘Tis a puzzlement.
Wang, Ann Suk. The House Before Falling Into the Sea. Illustrated by Hanna Cha. Dial Books for Young Readers, 2024.
This picture book, based on the true experiences of the author’s mother and the illustrator’s grandmother, tells about a seven year girl living in Busan, South Korea, during the Korean War (1950-1953). Kyung, the little girl, sees her family welcome many refugees, both strangers and relatives, into their home near the seashore. Kyung gradually learns through the example and words of her parents that their hospitality in “the house before falling into the sea” is a gift to the refugees but also to Kyung and her family.
When Kyung wishes for things to go back to the way they used to be with no noisy visitors and scary sirens, Kyung’s mother tells her:
“Kyung. Our visitors are not stones we can toss to the sea. They are people, our neighbors, to help and to love.”
And one of the refugees, Mr. Kim, tells Kyung:
“Kyung, do you know why I called your home ‘the house before falling into the sea’? Because without your umma and Appa opening your doors to us, we would have had no other place to go. Soldiers might have chased us farther, until we fell into the sea. Being here with you, safe, is a gift that Sunhee and I will never forget.”
The story reminds one of the story Jesus told of the Good Samaritan, and that affinity is reinforced by the “Questions to Consider” given in the end notes. “How do you define neighbor? Who are your neighbors? What have you learned from a friend? What have you taught a friend? How can you show kindness to others?”
These questions are, of course, optional. Use them or not as you see fit. I would tend toward letting the children with whom I was reading this book ask me their own questions, and there might very well be some questions about Korean words used in the story, about war in general and the Korean War in particular, and about the hospitality and care that Kyung’s family shows to the refugees. There’s a glossary in the back for the Korean terms, and a note about the author’s and the illustrator’s family stories of living through the war.
Recommended for children of Korean heritage, for those who are studying the Korean War and the general time period of the 1950’s, and for children of any background who have questions about war and refugees. It would also be a lovely story to read in conjunction with the parable of the Good Samaritan. Just read it and let the children make their own connections.
Well, Knight Owl is back, with a new, adorable—and brave—friend, Early Bird. Early Bird is Knight Owl’s “biggest fan.” She wants to be a knight just like Knight Owl, and she’s very vocal with lots of questions about how and when and where she can begin her knighthood journey. Unfortunately, while Knight Owl quietly guards the castle during the night and sleeps during the day, Early Bird begins the day at dawn, “making a great deal of noise.” How can Knight Owl mentor or even tolerate such a noisy, chatty, questioning Early Bird?
Some sequels are a disappointment, and others are just O.K. This one has illustrations just as good as Knight Owl, and I liked the story even more than I did the the story in the first book. In Knight Owl, the little owl manages to tame a dragon, an eventuality for which I was willing to suspend disbelief. However, I tend to think the “dragons aren’t so bad” trope that is common nowadays is a bit of a cop-out. Dragons are meant to be villains. In this story, however, we have true danger (wolves!), and Early Bird gets to save the day with his early warning and his noisy ways.
The illustrations are so expressive. Knight Owl looks sleepy and grumpy and watchful and frightened in turn, all as a result of something that Mr. Denise does with the eyes and the lighting and the interplay with the text of the story. Early Bird manages to look admiring and innocent and industrious all at the same time. And the two-page spread in which Early Bird goes out into the forest in the snow because Knight Owl is exasperated with all the questions and noise—what a masterful illustration of a sad and forlorn little bird!
I read this book out loud to myself, and it reads well. I can’t wait to read it to some children for storytime or to my own grandchildren. Perfect read aloud, published in 2024, fun and fanciful, Knight Owl and Early Bird will be my next purchase for the library, and it’s one of my favorite picture books of 2024.
Evidence! How Dr. John Snow Solved the Mystery of Cholera by Deborah Hopkinson. Illustrated by Nik Henderson. Alfred A. Knopf, 2024.
I read an adult nonfiction book called Ghost Map by Steven Johnson, about Dr. John Snow and the 19th century London cholera outbreak associated with the Broad Street water pump. So, I knew the basic outlines of this picture book story by noted author Deborah Hopkinson. Still, it was good to be reminded that the solution of medical mysteries has always required dogged work and investigation to find evidence that will pinpoint the source of diseases and lead to treatments and a cure.
When cholera came to Broad Street and surrounding areas in London in 1854, the prevailing theory was that the disease was caused and spread by “bad air.” Dr. Snow, who had already been researching the disease of cholera for some time, believed that cholera was spread by sewage-contaminated water. This book tells the story of exactly how Dr. Snow proves his hypothesis and stops the Broad Street cholera epidemic from continuing to kill London’s tenement dwellers..
The text of this story is simple but detailed enough to make the story clear to young readers. Step-by-step, Ms. Hopkinson leads us through the thought processes of Dr. Snow as he asks questions and interviews people to test his hypothesis and to eventually show the people of the Broad Street neighborhood what they must do to stop the cholera outbreak.
The illustrations in the book by Nik Henderson are adequate, depicting a foggy, Dickensian London with Dr. Snow moving quickly and confidently through each picture on a quest to find the answers to the cholera problem. The appendices include a brief restating of “the case against the Broad Street pump”, a short biographical sketch of Dr. Snow, a list of major infectious diseases and their causes, and a list of books and internet resources for adults and children about cholera and other infectious disease epidemics.
Kadooboo: A Silly South Indian Folktale by Shruthi Rao. Illustrated by Darshika Varma. Page Street Kids, 2024.
The word “silly” in the subtitle signals to the reader not to expect anything too profound from this adapted South Indian folktale, but the fact that it’s a folktale, passed down from grandmother to granddaughter, means that the story certainly has some significance and meaning. And it’s fun. Fun is not twaddle, and comedy is not useless. Therefore, classify this one as a humble living book.
Anya’s Appa (dad) is making kadooboo, “pouches of dough filled with sugar and grated coconut.” (Yes, there’s a recipe in the back of the book.) Anya’s friend Kabir is asked to take some home to his Amma (mom). As he runs home, hurrying to beat the impending rainstorm, Kabir collects other friends who come along to share the kadooboo and to get in out of the rain. But Kabir also becomes more and more confused about the name of the treat he is carrying. Is it bookoodoo? Dubookoo? Duckooboo?
This picture book just tells a sweet little story. Yes, silly, but the wordplay and the multiethnic cast of friends elevate the story into more than a simple misunderstanding or joke. The illustrations and the names of the children that Kabir meets show that this is set in South India where all kinds of ethnicities share the same Indian subcontinent, but there’s nothing in the story that preaches “diversity”. It’s just a show-and tell story with funny words that children will repeat and try to remember themselves. The pictured children remind me of Dora the Explorer, so it’s a colorful, 21st century sort of picture book.
This story would be perfect for reading aloud, but the read aloud-er might want to check the ending before attempting the final word in the story. And of course, the story cries out for some homemade kadooboo as an after-story time treat. The ingredients are not too exotic or hard to find, and the recipe instructions a fairly straightforward, although adult help and supervision is required (kadooboo pies are fried in oil).
“The story is a modern retelling of a South Indian folktale my grandmother used to tell me when I was a child. In the original story, a man eats kadooboo at a feast. He hurries home, excited to tell his wife about, and repeats the word over and over so as not to forget it. . . . The kadooboo in this story is a fried dumpling.” ~Author’s Note
Peterson, John. Mystery Mystery in the Night Woods. Illustrated by Cindy Szekeres. Scholastic, 1969.
I went to a library book sale a couple of months ago, and I found eight or ten old Scholastic paperbacks for sale for fifty cents apiece. I grabbed them all with plans to read them and see if they would fit into my library. Mystery in the Night Woods definitely makes the grade.
However, let’s deal with the possibly offensive parts first. Flying Squirrel, aka F.S., and his friend Bat are introduced in the first chapter, and right away we can tell that F.S. is a proud and self-centered squirrel. He tells Bat, “When I do something, I want to do it the best!” and “that’s why I’m a success!” So, it’s no surprise that when F.S. falls for Miss Owl and asks her to marry him, he is not willing to take “no” for an answer.
It is a bit disconcerting to present-day sensitivities to discover what F.S. does about his unrequited love for Miss Owl. He kidnaps her and refuses to let her go until she promises to marry him. This abduction is the part that a couple of Amazon reviewers found offensive, but I didn’t read it that way. Of course, the kidnapping is wrong, indeed criminal, but Miss Owl is for the most part unharmed. F.S. is arrested, sentenced by the Night Court, and made to pay for his crime. And eventually he becomes a much more humble and helpful squirrel.
So, it’s a story of “pride goeth before a fall” and “crime doesn’t pay” and “all’s well that ends well.” I believe in repentance and forgiveness as well as justice, and that’s what the book models with anthropomorphic animal characters. I daresay had the characters been human adults doing the same things, my take would have been different. But really, a lovesick flying squirrel kidnaps an innocent Miss Owl, but then repents and helps solve a mystery and foil a major crime spree? It feels like something from the cartoons that entertained me on my childhood Saturday mornings.
“Weasel stuck his head out of the window and whistled. A dark cloud came out and floated past him. Bat looked on from his hiding place. He could hardly believe what he had seen. What was the dark cloud? Where did it go? Bat was sure of only one thing–Weasel was up to something crooked again.”
And there you have the teaser for the rest of the story. It’s a good mystery for the 8-10 year old crowd. Leave it at that. I wouldn’t pay a lot for the book, especially since it’s only available in a paperback edition published in 1969. MY copy happens to be in very good condition, but it won’t last forever. Still, if you come across it, pick it up and give to a child you know who is not too jaded to enjoy a simple animal story mystery.
John Peterson was a successful children’s author who published quite a few best-selling books including Terry’s Treasure Hunt, The Secret Hide-Out, Enemies of the Secret Hide-Out, and the series of books about The Littles, a tiny family who live in the walls of a human-size family’s house. Cyndy Szekeres, the illustrator for Mystery in the Night Woods, is well known for her tiny animal illustrations, and the ones in this book are charming.
What would it be like to grow up with a conman for a father? A conman who swindles your friends’ families out of large sums of money and convinces you that it’s all just part of “the family business”?
In Faker, Gordon Korman, a prolific middle-grade novelist, explores this intriguing premise through the eyes of Trey, a young boy who has been hustling people with his dad and younger sister for as long as he can remember. The family moves from town to town, conning wealthy people out of their money, and then disappearing when the heat gets too intense. As soon as things start to unravel, Trey’s dad calls a “Houdini”—a quick escape—and they vanish, only to reappear later in a new place with a new scheme.
Despite the fact that this is a story about a family of criminals, Korman does a good job of showing that Trey is more than just a product of his environment. As the story progresses, Trey begins to question the rationale his father has always fed him about their lifestyle, grappling with his maturing conscience. I also appreciated that Trey’s father, while clearly a thief, isn’t painted as entirely villainous. He’s a complex character: a criminal with a good heart. In fact, he might be a bit too good a dad to be entirely believable, but this adds to the book’s emotional appeal.
As I read, I found myself thinking, “This is not going to end well,” especially when Trey’s dad uses him and his sister to establish relationships with the wealthy parents of their schoolmates. But Korman manages to craft a surprisingly hopeful conclusion, one that, while somewhat improbable, avoids the darker turn the story might have taken. While the book offers some redemption and resolution, the narrative doesn’t shy away from difficult questions about right and wrong. Trey may come to understand the ethics of his actions, but his father’s repentance and reformation remain more ambiguous.
If you’re looking for a squeaky-clean story with no lying, stealing, or moral dilemmas, Faker is not the book for you. However, if you’re looking for a thought-provoking story that raises important questions about ethics, theft, and deception, this is a great choice. The book offers an opportunity to discuss complex topics like whether it’s okay to steal from the rich, the nature of heroes and villains, and whether criminals deceive themselves about their own motives. Pairing Faker with a version of the Robin Hood stories would make for some excellent discussions about the ethics of stealing from the rich and living outside the law.
I came across a critique of this story about an eleven-year-old girl, Essie, who has been raised by four librarian mothers in a public library. The critic argued that the story wasn’t believable. Well, of course it’s not. This isn’t a realistic, middle-grade problem novel; it’s a whimsical and exaggerated fairy tale with some real truths mixed in.
“Essie has grown up in the public library, raised in secret by the four librarians who found her abandoned as a baby in the children’s department. With four mothers and miles of books to read, Essie has always been very happy living there.”
Now that she’s eleven, her mothers decide it’s time for Essie to experience the world outside the library and gain some independence. They give her a Saturday allowance (like in The Saturdays by Elizabeth Enright) and set boundaries for her exploration. But as Essie makes new friends—possibly enemies, too—including a boy named G.E., she begins to uncover surprising truths about herself and her past.
This book is a mixed bag. I enjoyed the references to children’s literature throughout; they were a fun touch. However, some of the books Essie reads or hears about, like Slaughterhouse-Five, are wildly inappropriate for an eleven-year-old. There’s a recurring theme of the freedom to read without censorship, which is one of the more realistic aspects of the story, especially given today’s library culture.
The narrative is generally clean, though there are a couple of instances where God’s name is taken in vain, which were unnecessary and spoiled the tone. That said, the story remains relatively wholesome. There’s a fair amount of deception and secrecy, but ultimately, the truth comes out. It’s amusing to watch Essie navigate the world of candy shops, novelty stores, and department stores when she’s never really experienced them firsthand, having only read about them in books.
And what about those “real truths”? After some misunderstandings and a bit of trauma, the characters do reach a happy ending—more or less. There are consequences to the characters’ bad and foolish choices, but the consequences are not too severe. Even the villain, Mrs. Matterhorn, the legalistic librarian who wants to kick Essie out of the library, finds her own place in a library that suits her better.
But this is also a story about how real life isn’t like a story. Not all characters undergo perfect transformations. The past can’t be changed, and the poor choices of the past do affect the present. Some characters remain flawed, and not every problem is neatly resolved. In the end, the story acknowledges that life is messy, and sometimes, the answers we seek aren’t so clear-cut, even after everything is revealed.
New in 2024, Rosa By Starlight is a modern day fairy tale about an orphan girl, Rosa Mundi, and a magical cat, Balthazar, and couple of wicked villains, Rosa’s aunt and uncle who become her guardians. About 150 pages long, the book incudes a trip to Venice and a flight through the stars on the back of a winged lion. As it should be, the good are rewarded, and the evil characters get their just desserts as well.
The book reminded me of Frances Hodgson Burnett’s A Little Princess because poor little orphaned Rosa lives in a room at the back of the house in England while her aunt and uncle scheme to make a fortune selling fake grass. And later on in Venice Rosa is consigned to a garret room and left alone to fend for herself. But the Venetian part of the story becomes more and more magical as Rosa explores the sights and canals of Venice while trying to find refuge from her terrible, murderous guardians.
As with any good fairy tale, there are questions left unanswered in the story. What happened to Rosa’s apple seeds? Did they grow through the artificial turf to become trees? Are Rosa’s aunt and uncle really related to her? Why does the word “stop” become Rosa’s magic word? How is the cat Balthazar so wealthy with servants and gourmet cat menu of food and treats? How does the magic work, and what will make it stop and start when it needs to? And finally, the question at the heart of it all: how can one escape the evil schemes of men and come home at last? For Rosa, it’s a process and a journey, and she does indeed find a real home at last.
The magnificent white Lipizzan stallions, bred for hundreds of years to dance and delight emperors and kings, captivated Marguerite Henry when she saw them perform in the Spanish Court Riding School in Vienna.
Now she makes this unique spectacle the focal point in her story of Borina, one of the most famous stallions of this famous breed. It was Borina who, at the height of his career, took a fling in the Viennese grand opera. And it was Borina who, as a mature school stallion, helped train young apprentices riders, and thus became known as the Four-footed Professor.
What a delightful story that could lead to any number of delight-directed studies and pursuits! After reading about Hans, the baker’s boy, and his overwhelming desire to become a Riding Master, to ride the famous Lipizzaner stallions at the Spanish Riding School in Vienna, Austria, I was impelled to look up and read more about the Lipizzaners and the school and the history of these horses who entertained the elite society of Vienna. I also became curious about Xenophon and his book The Art of Horsemanship, the earliest known work on the horse and his care. And I developed a bit of an urge to visit Vienna and see the castles and statues and maybe even the Lipizzaner stallions that still perform their acrobatics in Vienna and across the world in dressage shows and competitions.
I also discovered that Disney made a movie about the Lipizzaners called Miracle of the White Stallions. The movie is not based on Marguerite Henry’s book, but rather it tells the story of how during World War II the U.S. Army under General Patton rescued the Lipizzans and other valuable horses that the Nazis had moved to Czechoslovakia at the beginning of the war. Of course, that movie, as well as a 1940 film called Florian, also about Lipizzaners, is another rabbit trail for me to follow up on, soon.
Getting back to the book, the illustrations by Wesley Dennis are a treat in themselves, both the tiny black-and-white pictures that adorn the margins of each page of the book as well as the full color one and two page spreads the show up periodically. These beautiful drawings and paintings should speak to both horse lovers and artists and draw them into the story alongside the text.
Ms. Henry’s story takes place in the early 1900’s, about the time the horse and cart were giving way to the motorized vehicle. Hans has a horse named Rosy and a cart to make bakery deliveries, and he always stops to watch the Lipizzaners come out of their stable to walk to the riding school in the early morning. (Later in the story, Hans’ bakery gets a truck to make deliveries.) Hans is fascinated with beauty and skill of the Lipizzaner stallions, and his nearly impossible dream is to someday be rider who partners with these magnificent horses to bring that beauty to the people who come to watch the performance at the Imperial Palace. Hans’ journey toward that dream is a series of miracles and disappointments that require initiative and perseverance on his part until at last he succeeds in learning the lessons that Borina, the most famous of Lipizzaner stallions, has to teach.
The “moral” of the story is embedded in the text, as Colonel Podhajsky tells his apprentice riders:
“Here in the Spanish Reitschule . . . the great art of classical riding is brought to its highest perfection. This art is a two-thousand-year-old heritage which has come down to us from Greece, Spain, Italy, and of course, France. . . Our Reitschule is a tiny candle in the big world. Our duty, our privilege is to keep it burning. Surely, if we can send out one beam of splendor, of glory, of elegance into this torn and troubled world . . . that would be worth a man’s life, no?”
I am not a horsewoman or a performer, but that quote speaks to me. It reminds me of what I hope my library can be: a beam of splendor, of glory, of elegance in this torn and troubled world. What a lovely thought that can be applied to anything good, and true, and beautiful that God has called us to do, not matter how seemingly small and insignificant.
