Short, clear, lyrical sentences with easily digestible information are just right for young readers. The  lyrical and figurative language in Flying Deep made this story feel like a literal, visceral journey. I love it as a read-aloud!

     The book makes superb use of lyrical language, which I’m currently looking out for because I’m taking a fantastic class on lyrical language with Dianne White, through the Writing Barn. The text is evocative, contemplative, active and sensory, and a pleasure to read over again. And it’s open-ended, so it’s easy to insert yourself into the story.   
     Alison Hughes’ figurative language is delightful. Ninon Pelletier’s visual personifications of the Silence, the Noise, and the Dark are fabulously effective!
     Perhaps best of all, I was pleasantly surprised by the subtle and seamless way the author introduces the concept of meditation into the story.
     This is a beautiful book in every way, and I recommend it highly.

     Lendler has really pulled off a challenge here--encapsulating, well, basically everything that ever existed on Earth, in a simple and compelling text. This book is a page-turner, with one event triggering the next, and driving the reader toward new discoveries. The language is little-kid friendly (for example, a mammal is called a "little fur-thing"), and the narrative voice feels more like a caring parent than a science instructor. After all, it's nice to feel a little warmth when being told that at one time nearly everything on the planet was destroyed by a plummeting asteroid.
     The whole evolutionary shebang is further enhanced by highly appealing and accessible art from Eisner Award-winning team Shelli Paroline and Braden Lamb. The muted color palate--a soft gray punctuated with warm blends of red, blue, yellow, and green of undefinable  hue--feels both solid and soothing. The figures are highly graphic in design, and pop off the page. Yet nothing looks computer generated. You can see the ink skipping across the paper fibers. If this isn't hand-drawn, it sure looks like it. Despite the figures' simplicity, a sense of enormous empathy goes out to our two main characters (if the book has any)--the "little fur-thing" and later, the new fur-thing without sharp teeth, or claws, or warm fur. That pensive creature with the big brain.
     Just when you thought this book couldn't get any better, it goes so far as to try and explain why the passing on of knowledge to our children is important. And then, a child appears! And that is YOU, the reader! The whole creation package tapers back down to the personal, and finally ties into a final philosophical question about the one unanswerable question--"Where did that first dot come from?" It's brilliant.
     So, what's my recommendation in a nutshell? Go get this beautiful book! It's accessible narrative nonfiction for young readers on a complex topic. It's the total package.

   Finally, although I appreciate a simple text (as is the current publishing trend), this story goes deeper. It's thoughtful. It's a literary work--for kids. The main character (Chloe) is smart, bold, and logical. As a byproduct of her outlook, she's also judgmental. When she's faced with an issue that doesn't fit into a logical box, her judgmental side kicks into high gear. She can't figure out why Adrian Simcox would say he has a horse when he doesn't. Her irritation comes to a fever pitch and she decides to expose Adrian as a liar.
   To her credit, Chloe is willing to remain open to possible explanations she hasn't thought of yet--answers that bloom in the beautiful imagination of Adrian Simcox.
   I love this book because it will make kids think. I love it because it makes ME think. I am sometimes judgmental (like Chloe), because I don't have enough information to be able to imagine someone else's perspective and unique life challenges. I appreciate this book, and wish for more like it in the world. Adrian Simcox Does NOT Have a Horse is the kind of book that can make the world a better place.

   As I write this, the idyllic woodland community of Paradise, California lies in ashes--destroyed by the forest fire that swept through over a week ago. My brother escaped, abandoning  his home of 20 years when a pine tree in his neighbor's yard burst into flame. He'd spent the morning watering down his roof, hoping for the best (not packing in anticipation of the worst). Now, there were only moments to grab a couple of essentials and GO.
   The next day, he came home to us, in the Bay Area, with only his truck, computer, sleeping roll, and the clothes on his back.
   After a week and two days of limbo, we now have confirmation that his house is destroyed. The fire service posted a photo online. Other than a few deformed metal furnishings--the stove, the desk, the fireplace insert (and chimney)--not much is recognizable. Yet the layout is still there. We see the house still--in our hearts and minds.
   Here it is, nearly Thanksgiving. And we ARE thankful! Over 70 Paradise residents (and possibly many more) lost their lives under tragic circumstances.
   My brother came home!
   Out of the ashes, inspiration?
   I don't yet know if anything inspiring will come from the ashes of the Paradise disaster. But I'm searching, and I'm hopeful. And since picture books are the playground of hope, tonight I'm turning to Out of the Woods by Rebecca Bond, for solace.
   Out of the Woods is the true story of a little boy (the author's grandfather) living in his mother's big, busy, raucous, riotous sportsman's hotel beside a lake in Ontario, Canada in 1914. It's a story of history. A story of childhood memories and fascinations. And a story of a devastating forest fire that drove every living thing--human and animal alike--into the lake for a long, dark day and night while the fire raged. With images of hunter and moose standing shoulder to shoulder, knee-high in water, Out of the Woods is ultimately a story of coexistence and of setting aside differences in the face of disaster.
   My heart goes out to all the residents of Paradise. So much was lost. But I hope every survivor finds solace and inspiration in the fact that they are whole and safe--and out of the woods.

     October is my favorite month. I love the crisp, sunny weather that reminds me of my mid-October wedding day. My older daughter's birthday is this month. And then there's Halloween! This year I will have two silver-clad alien princess to chaperone around the neighborhood. Lucky me!
     And then there's one of my all-time favorite October events...Susanna Leonard Hill's "Halloweensie" contest. This year's teeny tiny writing assignment was to produce a Halloween themed children's story no longer than 100 words, containing the words shiver, cauldron, and howl. I wrote two entries (one in poetry, one in prose)--for double the fun!

     I was fortunate to hear Sophie Blackall speak at the 2016 SCBWI Summer Conference and know that she's a collector of "curious and unfinished things." She loves historical objects and imagining the people who used those objects before, or in the case of "Hello Lighthouse," historical places and the lives that were lived there. It must be that kind of curiosity about and reverence for the past that made "Hello Lighthouse" possible, because the book holds so much in so few pages. It holds lives and histories and the passage of time, and presents all this to children with incomparable style and charm.

     Although I haven't read her book yet, I love this quote from writer/editor Calista Brill during her recent interview on The Children's Book Podcast (September 19, 2018). It goes to the heart of creating original work that also succeeds in speaking to an audience.

     Oops. The ropes fail, and (furniture fiasco!) the new couch ends up lost in a field with only one curious witness to notice--Llama.
     Don't worry. The family and Llama will cross paths, later. But before their stories converge, there's a whole lot of llama-ish exploring to be done.
     Check out this charming book. You'll want more llamas on library shelves. And you'll come away with a new appreciation for your couch.

   Infinity and Me is a jaw-dropping blend of fact & fiction and text & art. I don't know how they did it, but the balance is perfect.
   Pretty much, you could pick up this book and read it to a child of any age, and they would probably be captivated by the art, the story, and the concept of infinity.
   You heard me... The concept of infinity. 
   I read the book to my daughter yesterday. A few minutes after we closed it and I had moved on, I noticed she was reading it again. Somehow, it drew her right back in. That's a successful book!
   How does the author, Kate Hosford, do it? How did she create a contemplative story about such a vast and complex concept--and keep it fresh and engaging for young readers?
   Here's the breakdown on her interesting approach:
   We have a girl (Uma) with new red shoes who looks up at the stars and asks a big question--how can I imagine 'infinity'? Remember those red shoes--they're important. They ground the story in the real world and serve as a structural framework, since they come back in at the end. Those red shoes are actually a nice little set of bookends.
   All through the middle of the story, Uma asks various people how they imagine infinity. She has a chance to try out all their definitions and see if they work for her.
   In the final pages, Uma has a personal experience that becomes her 'a-ha!' moment. She comes to realize what 'infinity' means to her when her grandmother, a source of infinite love, notices and compliments Uma's shoes.
   In a perfect circular ending, the two end the story looking at the stars together.
   So, structure serves as an indispensable aid to conveying this difficult topic, as does grounding the story with real-world objects (the shoes) and relationships/emotions.
   Add to this the careful attention lavished on this book by the art director and illustrator, and you have a final piece that is beautiful, intriguing, delightful, informative--and important.