Jill Lorenzini

Right off the shelf, Bob Staake’s The Book of Gold shimmers with promise; the lions of the New York Public Library beckon, and you just know something fantastic awaits.

In muted sepia tones of a vaguely bygone era (trolleys, bowler hats), we first meet Isaac. Everything bores Isaac, despite living in one of the most exciting cities in the world with parents who try desperately to pique his interest. When a shopkeeper sets him on a mission to find The Book of Gold, Isaac starts in Brooklyn, determined to be the book’s discoverer. At the onset, he is merely interested in the promised riches, but the book proves enigmatic and well hidden, and it’s only a matter of time before Isaac begins to actually read the books he examines. We leave the sepia tones behind as Isaac ages and his quest takes him around the world. Will he discover the truth that all readers know?

Renowned author/illustrator Bob Staake writes with the heart of a true book lover, but illustrates with an equally strong and passionate eye. Staake’s round, expressive characters feel slightly old-fashioned—you might just as easily find them in a picture book from the ’50s—but not at all outdated. Brooklyn and Manhattan bustle and burst with detail, interesting sights and people in every direction.

Readers of all ages and backgrounds will love every inch of The Book of Gold. You might be tempted to turn over the bookshelves and find that mysterious book. But then again, maybe you’ve already found it.

Lulu is friends with all the trees in the neighborhood. Even the trickiest, gnarliest trees can’t stop this intrepid climber. Unable to resist the pull of a good branch, she rescues kittens and kites while the neighborhood kids watch in awe. But when forced by illness to stay inside, Lulu discovers a tree’s shadow on her wall and suddenly her imagination (and the tree) burst into enormous being.

There is a special bond between kids and trees. Another Way to Climb a Tree beautifully depicts that friendship and the creativity that blossoms when kids roam outside. Liz Garton Scanlon narrates with unpretentious language, throwing in repetition and alliteration for good storytelling measure. With a retro feel, Hadley Hooper’s illustrations are cheerful and reminiscent of simpler times. Hooper fills each page and background with gentle, subdued color, which adds to the story’s warmth. Hooper skillfully personifies the trees; their colors become subdued, hazy and less distinct with Lulu’s absence. Tiny details like nature-themed book titles, branch-patterned pajamas and leaves taped to the wall give Lulu’s world a lived-in feeling.

Admittedly, many of us are beyond our climbing years, but this book provides the perfect encouragement to grab a hammock or pull up a lawn chair while kids find their way into the leaves.

This article was originally published in the August 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

In her raincoat and boots, an eager girl and her puppy are ready to follow the breezes in their backyard. After rain sends her scampering for shelter, leftover puddles are just the beginning of an adventure. Following her imagination and unfazed by the changing weather, she hosts a seashell tea party, sends her toys on a mini nautical adventure and eventually recruits a friend for one final quest.

Told in first person with simple words, Secrets I Know lets imaginations flourish. Kallie George makes good use of personification and metaphors, lending an extra bit of poetic enchantment. Paola Zakimi illustrates with a zoomed-in intensity, drawing readers deep within the tale through scenes that are as lush and soft as the best-kept gardens. Varying shades of green recall our own childhood memories, when everything was bigger and more wondrous. Each page is worth exploring, with wild animals, toys and tucked-away bicycles.

Secrets I Know feels both timeless and fresh, like an old classic that has faded just enough without losing its sense of wonder.

This article was originally published in the June 2017 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Bears make the perfect storybook characters: curmudgeonly, routine-bound, honey-filled, with warm hearts hidden deep under fur and padding. Gerald Kelley’s charming Please Please the Bees joins the shelf of grumpy-bear-learns-a-lesson tales, and has a good reminder for gratitude and kindness in readers of all ages.

Benedict’s days are busy: errands, violin, knitting, bed, errands, violin, knitting, bee strike. Bee strike? Putting a honey-less damper on his day, the bees refuse to work, citing an unacceptable yard and deplorable hive conditions. Life without honey is flat-out miserable. But dry toast and an uncompromising bee might be just the motivation Benedict needs to clean up his self-centered lifestyle and overgrown yard.

Kelley thoughtfully tells his story with both words and pictures, injecting his simple narration with punchy, fed-up bee dialogue—these bees mean business. Benedict’s smashed violin and tangled yarn underline the honey-less dreadfulness, while Benedict’s furrowed brow lets us in on his earnest inner struggle. Warm, soft colors and detail-filled pages will keep eyes of all ages busy. Earbuds, sunglasses and a computer add a touch of modernity, while wind chimes and cozy quilts make Benedict’s world appealing and homey. Bee strike signs and raincoat-clad bees subtly add humor while underlining the stern message.

There is no lack of grouchy bear books, but there is always room for one that is cleverly told. Please Please the Bees is a good reminder for all of us: A little thankfulness and hard work—like a few jars of honey—goes a long way.

When a book unfolds as beautifully and thoughtfully as Deborah Freedman’s This House, Once, it’s easy to forget the hard work that goes into creating a story, much like we take the objects around us for granted. This House, Once gently opens our eyes to the craftsmanship and histories that surround us daily.

Freedman builds her story as she piece-by-piece builds a house. A small, lyrical statement accompanies each object (door, window, roof) as it is presented as part of the growing house. A beautiful, full-color, wordless spread follows, in which each item returns to where it began: the windows to the sandy beach, the wooden door to the heart of a tree. But Freedman’s is not a story about deforestation. Hers is a world of attentive shaping and art, the act of creating a home to protect and care for those living inside. Curious wild animals prod the mud and frolic on the pages, adding another layer of belonging and contentment.

Freedman’s illustrations are subdued and soft, but with detail that demonstrates her architectural background. Even the snowstorm that engulfs the house seems less a threat than an invitation to sit by the fireplace. Like a craftsperson with her tools, Freedman chooses her words with precision and significance. Her un-rhymed poetry rings with unique metaphors and similes, polished with gentle alliteration. Freedman also endows the house with sentiment and thought, a comforting reminder of where we call home.

The perfect gift for all ages, This House, Once will warm any home, regardless of the season. No fireplace needed.

Captain Alfred, farmer and small-ship captain, sets sail with a happy heart, his fiddle to brighten the journey and one special duck egg aboard. As you might predict, his trip is interrupted by an enormous and terrible storm, casting the captain and his ducks to sea. His beloved fiddle is lost to the waves, and all that remains is the egg—now hatching—in the fiddle case. Alfred Fiddleduckling is born into a solitary, foggy world. When the fiddle floats by, Alfred Fiddleduckling discovers the sound of friendship and hope as he clings to his new friend. He found music; will anybody find him?

Timothy Basil Ering (illustrator of The Tale of Despereaux) has a knack for expressively illustrated, slightly bizarre tales with endearing characters and deep messages. Like The Story of Frog Belly Rat Bone, Alfred Fiddleduckling’s tale is quirky and charming, and guaranteed to become a favorite.

With art that is both ethereal and tangible, Ering knows exactly what each scene needs and how to pull a reader’s focus.The stunningly fierce storm engulfs the reader with lightning, as Ering’s hurried brush strokes are visible and powerful in the whitecaps. Colorful, vague swirls depict music in the air, light and feathery against the fog. Captain Alfred’s wife’s anxiously clasped hands tell us of her long, fearful wait for her husband. While his illustrations stand alone, Ering’s narration adds a layer of emotion and personification that makes this book feel like a fable. Detailed and descriptive, one could imagine retelling this story—sans pictures—by the fireplace.

By the time Alfred Fiddleduckling’s story closes, readers will be enchanted by this tale of friendship and adventure, of compassion and courage. But what remains after the last page is the beautiful, swirling music, heartening and calming, beckoning us home again.

Resisting bedtime is a rite of childhood; we are all experts at delay tactics, procrastination methods and just-one-more-drink-of-water tales. Into the world of bedtime books comes It Is Not Time for Sleeping by Lisa Graff, illustrated by Lauren Castillo. Offering an alternative to exhausted parents and stalling, Graff and Castillo help children ease into bedtime with routine and rhyme.

Most adults use the evening to transition into bed: We have things to check off our lists before our minds can rest; it’s the same for kids. It may be nearing time for bed, the yawns may be enormous, but bedtime doesn’t come until after baths are completed, teeth are brushed, favorite pajamas put on, stories are read. Even then, there is one final thing that is the most important of all.

Graff is clearly an expert on children, providing details that would feel extremely important to little ones. Perfect as a final bedtime story, Graff’s calm repetition of the completed tasks helps kids slow down and relax, putting their energetic minds at ease.

Castillo’s illustrations are bright and boldly colored, echoing a world of crayons and toys. The playful nature and silliness will initially engage little readers, and sleepy little ones will be reassured by its familiarity, With our narrator at last in bed, the colors and lights dim as the story nears the end.

If it’s nearing time for bed—but not quite—It Is Not Time for Sleeping might be just what your bedtime routine needs. Just don’t forget the goodnight kiss.