Julie Danielson

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While skateboarding through New York City, a boy pauses at the Museum of Modern Art and decides to head inside. Suddenly, his imagination kicks into gear: Figures from three legendary paintings step through their canvases to join him—the cubist figures from Picasso’s “Three Musicians,” the woman and lion from Rousseau’s “The Sleeping Gypsy,” and the abstract expressionistic body from Matisse’s “Icarus.” As a group, they leave the museum and roam the streets of the city, making memories at iconic stops like the Statue of Liberty’s crown. After the boy returns to the museum to say goodbye to his new friends, he stops to paint his own memories of the day on a building wall.

In a closing note for Imagine!, author and illustrator Raúl Colón writes about his experience growing up in New York without ever visiting the museums. (“My hardworking parents were taking care of many important issues to help keep the family above water and my fragile health in check.”) What, he wonders, would his life have been like if he’d seen such works of art when he was younger? This inviting, well-paced wordless story, rendered in Colón’s signature, highly textured watercolor and colored pencil illustrations, is his answer to that question. The boy’s adventure, springing from the deep wells of his imagination, is nearly breathless, and the story as a whole is truly inspiring.

A reverent, playful tribute to the power of imagination and art.

Raúl Colón's new picture book, Imagine!, is a reverent, playful tribute to the power of imagination and art.
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From the very beginning, the energy of Kevin Henkes’ A Parade of Elephants is infectious as readers turn the page to see a parade of pastel-colored elephants. There are five, to be exact, but on this first full spread, they are laid out in five rows in which we see them incrementally (one in one row, two in the next, and so on).

For the most part, the elephants march from left to right on an uncluttered, squiggly-lined landscape, trimmed with heavy-lined borders that often form a stripe on top of the purple pages. But, delightfully, Henkes mixes up the compositions. Sometimes, for instance, there is a stripe of purple at the top with the elephants jubilantly marching below, and sometimes all the borders fall away while the elephants determinedly march on.

As we follow their march, Henkes sprinkles the text with prepositions for those children still learning the ways of grammar. Up, down, over, under, in and out march the single-minded elephants. In a moment of creative wordplay, we read that they are “big and round and round they go.” The short phrases and short sentences are laid out in a large, bold font. Closing with a happy surprise as it does—when they tire, the elephants scatter stars in the sky via their long, upturned trunks—young readers won’t want to see this story end.

Engaging, entertaining, and educational, A Parade of Elephants is one to trumpet about.

From the very beginning, the energy of Kevin Henkes’ A Parade of Elephants is infectious as readers turn the page to see a parade of pastel-colored elephants. There are five, to be exact, but on this first full spread, they are laid out in five rows in which we see them incrementally (one in one row, […]
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Horse Meets Dog, the debut picture book from TV writer Elliott Kalan (“Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Return” and “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart”) tells the story of two stubborn animals who refuse to acknowledge one another’s identities. Upon first meeting, Horse assumes Dog is a tiny baby horse, and Dog assumes Horse is a very big dog. Their confusion grows until they are (literally) running in circles, unable to see the world from the other’s point of view.

With speech-balloons and Tim Miller’s expressive, cartoonish illustrations, over-the-top humor is the name of the game here, and the lively back-and-forth discussions between the two characters make Horse Meets Dog a particularly good choice for storytime. In one instance, Horse tries to feed Dog a bottle of hay and mocks Dog’s tail, telling him his tail should hang down “like a gorgeous hair waterfall.” Even gift-giving attempts fail: Dog doesn’t understand the heavy saddle Horse gives him, and Horse is utterly baffled by the concept of fetching a ball.

The new friends never come to understand the error in their thinking, and the comic rimshot of an ending—a bird appears to tell them they are “two weird-looking birds”—leaves readers hoping an epiphany will follow.

 

This article was originally published in the November 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Horse Meets Dog, the debut picture book from TV writer Elliott Kalan (“Mystery Science Theater 3000: The Return” and “The Daily Show with Jon Stewart”) tells the story of two stubborn animals who refuse to acknowledge one another’s identities. Upon first meeting, Horse assumes Dog is a tiny baby horse, and Dog assumes Horse is a very big dog. Their confusion grows until they are (literally) running in circles, unable to see the world from the other’s point of view.

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In this German import, originally published in 2015 by Antje Damm and translated by Sally-Ann Spencer, young readers meet the reclusive Elise. Likely agoraphobic, she is scared of many things, including people, and she doesn’t leave her compulsively-cleaned home. One day, when her open window allows for the entry of a paper airplane, it frightens her. With broom in hand, she sweeps the paper airplane into the fire.

The next morning, a young boy named Emil arrives to retrieve his plane, and the spark of a friendship is ignited. The boy stays to play, to hear a story (“It was a long time since Elise had read to anyone”), and to have a snack. “It’s fun at your house,” he tells Elise before exiting. After his visit, Elise is a changed person, and she even sits down to make her own paper airplane—one sure to serve as an invitation to her new friend.

In her delicate 3-D illustrations, rendered via paper vignettes, Damm uses color to capture the inner life of our introverted protagonist. In the opening spreads, as Elise sits despondingly at her kitchen table, no color can be found, save for a subtle yellow behind the windows. With each page turn, this yellow grows brighter, and when the boy enters her home, so do colors that eventually bloom throughout her small dwelling. In the final spread, the colors are bright; Elise’s cheeks are rosy and her heart is content.

A sweet, tender story of a friendship found.

A sweet, tender story of a friendship found.
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It’s a snow day, and Alice’s father wakes to find her dressed in royal garb, declaring she is “KING Alice! The first!” King Alice is full of creative ideas for how to spend the unexpected day off, and whatever she says goes. While her mother tends to the baby, King Alice and her drowsy but willing father write and illustrate a story. Even though King Alice is bursting with ideas and hops from one game to another, she faithfully returns to their story—the one where, just like in real life, she calls the shots.

After a well-earned timeout breaks King Alice’s stride, father and daughter make amends and return to their bustling, chaotic story featuring pirates, unicorns and fairies. Though most of King Alice is filled with the lively pen-and-ink and watercolor illustrations that won Cordell a Caldecott Medal for Wolf in the Snow, the story within the story is rendered via Cordell’s children’s stash of art supplies, and his fluid, humorous dialogue keeps things moving at a brisk pace.

The bond between father and daughter is the heart of this sweet but never saccharine story. King Alice’s father goes all in, never turning down a game in the name of traditional gender roles—he spends most of the book in a tiara and toy earrings—which is refreshing to see. Long may King Alice reign.

 

This article was originally published in the October 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

It’s a snow day, and Alice’s father wakes to find her dressed in royal garb, declaring she is “KING Alice! The first!” King Alice is full of creative ideas for how to spend the unexpected day off, and whatever she says goes. While her mother tends to the baby, King Alice and her drowsy but willing father write and illustrate a story. Even though King Alice is bursting with ideas and hops from one game to another, she faithfully returns to their story—the one where, just like in real life, she calls the shots.

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In Ann Stott’s Want to Play Trucks? two toddlers meet at a playground and engage in the communication and compromise necessary for creative play. Alex and Jack, who meet there regularly, are always referred to by their names in the text; refreshingly, no pronouns are ever used to assign their gender.

Jack likes trucks, ones that wreck things, and Alex likes pink, sparkly dolls. Jack’s play is more physical and aggressive; at one point, the truck destroys a large pile of sand while Alex watches with hesitation. The two attempt to play yet can’t agree on whether to play with dolls or trucks, finally deciding to play “dolls that drive trucks.” When the toy crane comes out and Jack says that no one can wear a tutu and drive a crane, Alex takes offense. An argument ensues until Jack clarifies: “It wouldn’t fit in the driver’s seat.” But of course. So the tutu comes off, and the doll, now in overalls, can happily operate the crane.

An ice cream truck that visits the playground eventually trumps all imaginative play in the sandbox, and agreeing on ice cream is a cinch.

Stott’s text, laid out in simple sentences and uncomplicated dialogue, is matched by illustrator Bob Graham’s soft, spacious watercolors. As with any book illustrated by Graham, it’s fun for readers to take in the details around the children—such as the children’s caregivers chatting intensely behind them and the other park-goers, including one in a wheelchair and a woman in a headscarf. It’s a truly inclusive playground. 

Want to Play Trucks? is a joyful, authentic tribute to the dynamics of children’s play.

In Ann Stott’s Want to Play Trucks? two toddlers meet at a playground and engage in the communication and compromise necessary for creative play.

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In this wondrous meditation on the origins of life, readers see matter expand and time and space blossom. In spare free verse, Newbery Medal-winning author Marion Dane Bauer kicks off The Stuff of Stars with the “deep, deep dark.” There is only a speck in the vast blackness. But once our universe is born, the pages explode with vivid oranges, reds and blues. Caldecott Honor winner Ekua Holmes’ dazzling collage illustrations—rendered on handmade marbleized paper—feature deep, rich colors and remarkably kinetic lines. Holmes takes highly abstract concepts and makes them sing, swirl and spin on the pages. Bauer fills the text with animated, bustling verbs: After all, the creation of life itself takes great colliding, stretching, expanding and exploding.

Three spreads are devoted to the formation of Earth—a planet with “just the right tilt” to support life—where animals, including humans, eventually begin to thrive. Bauer then seamlessly weaves in the birth of a child, who also begins as a speck in the darkness. Here, the story’s second-person narration works to great effect, directly addressing the young reader: “You cried tears / that were once salty seas.”

The Stuff of Stars is out of this world.

 

This article was originally published in the September 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

In this wondrous meditation on the origins of life, readers see matter expand and time and space blossom.

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BookPage Children's Top Pick, August 2018

Evan, a bright orange anthropomorphic fox in gardening overalls, and his dog are constant companions. They enjoy many hobbies, but more than anything else, the best friends love to work together in Evan’s garden. One moment they are relishing their time outdoors in their lush garden space; the next, Evan’s dog has passed away. Evan is devastated.

With his best friend gone and grief at the wheel, Evan loses his passion for gardening. In fact, he destroys his plants and tears angrily at the ground with a hoe. Weeds soon take over, but this is fine with Evan, as he wants the barren earth to reflect how he feels inside. But when a pumpkin begins to grow in his yard—despite all the weeds—Evan’s heart expands, and he begins to carefully tend to it. When Evan’s pumpkin grows large and wins third place at the county fair, he turns down the grand prize—a free puppy. But after bravely taking a peek inside the pen, he’s soon driving home with a new furry friend.

With tender restraint (the dog’s death is handled well, with merely six words and a poignant, but not graphic, image), author and illustrator Brian Lies has crafted a deeply felt story of new hope and healing after loss, one that altogether avoids excessive sentimentality. The pacing is flawless, and the emotions are never forced. Lies’ eloquently rendered illustrations play with light and shadow on full-bleed spreads that invite readers into Evan’s grief and his eventual journey from sorrow to newfound happiness.

Understated yet powerful, The Rough Patch is a story that stays with you.

 

This article was originally published in the August 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

Evan, a bright orange anthropomorphic fox in gardening overalls, and his dog are constant companions. They enjoy many hobbies, but more than anything else, the best friends love to work together in Evan’s garden. One moment they are relishing their time outdoors in their lush garden space; the next, Evan’s dog has passed away. Evan is devastated.

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In this inspiring companion book to the award-winning Trombone Shorty, published in 2015, Grammy-nominated jazz musician Troy Andrews, who performs as Trombone Shorty, re-visits his childhood in magical New Orleans.

As a child, Shorty played jazz with his group of friends in the Tremé neighborhood of the city. They called themselves the 5 O’Clock Band. Recalling his neighborhood and its culture with deep reverence, he describes an afternoon of getting “so lost in his own music” that he forgets to meet his band and is left pondering what precisely makes a good bandleader. As he strolls through the city streets, he talks to the friendly faces he passes—a musician, a chef and the chief of the neighborhood Mardi Gras Indian tribe—who give him advice on the subject. A love of tradition (knowing where the music comes from) and a dedication to the craft: These are the things that make a bandleader, he learns.

The use of repetition and the dialects local to his neighborhood (“WHERE Y’AT?” people call to Shorty) add flavor to the lengthy text. Andrews shares abundant details and leisurely paces the story, as if readers are walking along with him. Capturing the sights, sounds and smells of the Tremé neighborhood—the red beans and rice, the steamboats along the banks of the Mississippi River—both he and illustrator Bryan Collier bring this New Orleans neighborhood to vivid life. Collier’s kinetic and stylistic mixed-media illustrations use energetic lines and rich colors to bring the music and the people of this community to the page.

The 5 O’Clock Band is an unforgettable journey.

 

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

In this inspiring companion book to the award-winning Trombone Shorty, published in 2015, Grammy-nominated jazz musician Troy Andrews, who performs as Trombone Shorty, re-visits his childhood in “magical” New Orleans with help from his co-author Bill Taylor.

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In Mabel and Sam, a funny three-part adventure by Linda Urban, there is a moment that perfectly captures one of the stranger parts of moving into a new house. Mabel her brother Sam stare at a rocking chair. Because it’s in a new spot in a new room in their new house, they see the chair anew: “Now the lullaby chair looked like a stranger.” But it’s these new-home reconfigurations that spark their imaginations while the adults around them loudly pile boxes.

In the first story, which is dominated by cool blue illustrations from Hadley Hooper, Mabel and Sam are overwhelmed by all the people bustling about. They find a quiet spot in a room where there is large rug with an empty box on it, “And that is how Mabel became a Sea Captain.” In the second story, illustrated with warm honey hues, the aforementioned lullaby chair prompts the pair to take an imaginary museum tour with Mabel leading her brother through the house. In the third story, with its grey-blue shaded pictures, Mabel and Sam transform a box and bed covers into a rocket ship and have a thrilling space adventure. In each instance, Mabel takes the lead. There’s much humor in the children’s dialogue, especially in the ways in which Mabel calls the shots.

Hooper’s retro, textured illustrations, rendered via printmaking techniques, expertly capture the joyous dynamics of imaginative sibling play in this lengthy story. (I love this longer text in a day where minimalist picture book texts dominate.) Mabel and Sam are so endearing; maybe we readers will be lucky enough to see them in a sequel.

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

In Mabel and Sam, a funny three-part adventure by Linda Urban, there is a moment that perfectly captures one of the stranger parts of moving into a new house. Mabel her brother Sam stare at a rocking chair. Because it’s in a new spot in a new room in their new house, they see the chair anew: “Now the lullaby chair looked like a stranger.” But it’s these new-home reconfigurations that spark their imaginations while the adults around them loudly pile boxes.

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Author-illustrator Ed Vere would like readers to know that there’s more than one way to be a boy, a lesson delivered via the story of Leonard the lion. A gentle, introspective soul, Leonard likes to spend time daydreaming, thinking, playing with words and humming. He especially loves it when his wordplay leads to poetry, and he’s thrilled when he makes a new friend in Marianne, a “poetic duck.” But when other, more aggressive lions discover the two have hit it off, they tell Leonard there’s only one way for a lion to be: fierce. Shouldn’t he be chomping ducks? Leonard is left feeling discouraged, but together, Leonard and Marianne collaborate on a poem about the value of thinking for oneself. They bravely recite their verses to the lions—with Marianne clutching Leonard’s leg in fear the whole time.

Vere’s palette is dominated by deep honey, rose and mustard hues, and he keeps the focus on the characters with outlines in thick, wide brushstrokes and simple backgrounds. How to Be a Lion may be a message-driven picture book, but it’s a welcome message: There’s an alternative to the tough-guy approach to masculinity. Leonard is sensitive and thoughtful, and as he tells the other lions, “Let nobody say / just one way is true.” Vere’s story is likely to linger in the minds of children.

 

This article was originally published in the July 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

 

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

Author-illustrator Ed Vere would like readers to know that there’s more than one way to be a boy, a lesson delivered via the story of Leonard the lion.

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In this French Canadian import by Benjamin Flouw, we meet a botany-loving Fox who is always looking for new plants to add to his home collection. When he reads about The Golden Glow, a rare mountain plant “from the Wellhidden family,” he decides to hike his way to it.

First, Flouw shows readers the contents of Fox’s backpack in a spread in which everything is labeled. The Fox sets off on his journey, and along the way he meets other anthropomorphized animals—Bear, Wolf, Marmot and Mountain Goat, but there’s no menace in this forest; all the creatures Fox meets are either friends or family. On his hike, he stops to identify trees and flowers—and even altitudinal zones—in more scientific, detailed spreads.

Fox, with his cheerful determination, is immensely likable. When he finally finds the legendary golden plant, which Flouw illustrates with a flower that almost seems to glow on the page, Fox decides that the “golden glow is more beautiful here on the mountaintop than it ever would be in a vase in his living room.” The angular lines of Flouw’s illustrations are paired with a cool, earth-toned palette—primarily mustards, greens, teals and browns—and some spreads, particularly the spread with the flower, are juxtaposed with softer pinks and yellows. Readers will realize that the joy of Fox’s hike came from his experience of the natural world, even if he chose not to accomplish his original goal of adding the flower to his plant collection. Who could pluck such beauty from the mountain, after all?

Sweet with a subtle environmental message, this is a story that glows.

 

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

In this French Canadian import by Benjamin Flouw, we meet a botany-loving Fox who is always looking for new plants to add to his home collection. When he reads about The Golden Glow, a rare mountain plant “from the Wellhidden family,” he decides to hike his way to it.

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BookPage Children’s Top Pick, June 2018

A boy named Julián and his abuela hop on the subway, where he sees three glamorous women dressed as mermaids. Julián is transfixed; he loves mermaids. In the three spreads that follow, we are swept up in Julián’s reverie: We see the subway car become an ocean and fill with colorful sea creatures. They sweep Julián along until he’s a mermaid himself.

Once home, the inspired Julián makes his own mermaid costume. The curtains become his dress, a fern becomes his hair and lipstick is applied. When Abuela enters the room, she takes it all in wordlessly, and Julián’s triumphant stance becomes one of a defeated boy, sure he’ll be shamed. Instead, Abuela brings Julián a string of pearls and takes him to the Coney Island Mermaid Parade, ushering him without judgment into a world of people like him. Julián parades exuberantly with his fellow mermaids, knowing that Abuela, always by his side, recognizes and accepts him for who he is.

Jessica Love’s vivid watercolor and gouache illustrations are made even brighter by her decision to paint on brown paper; the richly colored palette pops off the pages, and abundant character is conveyed via the subtlest of facial expressions and body language. Also subtle—and terrifically poignant—is the eloquent encouragement of Abuela’s spare words. A book for the ages, Julián Is a Mermaid is going to make a big splash.

Julie Danielson features authors and illustrators at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, a children’s literature blog.

This article was originally published in the June 2018 issue of BookPage. Download the entire issue for the Kindle or Nook.

A boy named Julián and his abuela hop on the subway, where he sees three glamorous women dressed as mermaids. Julián is transfixed; he loves mermaids. In the three spreads that follow, we are swept up in Julián’s reverie: We see the subway car become an ocean and fill with colorful sea creatures. They sweep Julián along until he’s a mermaid himself.

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