Sara Beth West

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Prunella tells the story of a young girl who develops a passion for unusual and often unloved plants, but struggles to find her place with other kids. Bestselling author Beth Ferry partners with artist Claire Keane to create a picture book with a color palette and style as unique as Prunella herself. From the cover through every page, the illustrations root Prunella in a lush but heavily shaded green space, populated by such “persnickety plants” as the obscure bladderwort, the better-known Venus flytrap or even the familiar yet hated poison ivy, with brief scientific descriptions accompanying drawings of each plant on the book’s endpapers. Readers are introduced to Prunella as an infant, child of two master gardeners and born with a purple—rather than the customary green—thumb. As she grows, her fascination with strange plants grows along with her, and though her parents “didn’t always understand Prunella’s choices . . . they completely understood her passion. And they fueled it!” 

Though Prunella has the unconditional support of her family, making friends does not come easily for her, and she takes solace in her garden. Despite its comforts, she feels left out until the day her neighbor Oliver (and soon his sister Clem) arrives, which plants “a tiny, hopeful friend-shaped seed.” Ferry makes use of nature-related words to tell this sweet story of finding your place, noting the “bouquet of botanists” and the group of young scientists who “wormed their way into Prunella’s heart.” To bring this world fully to life, Keane draws on a varied set of visual tools, sometimes breaking the page into vertical or horizontal segments like soft-edged comics panels and other times spreading out across two pages with rich and exuberant drawings. Besides the plant life, Keane is especially skilled at rendering facial expressions, giving visual voice to each character even if they never speak. Couple Ferry’s clever wordplay with Keane’s detailed illustrations, and you’ve got a book that is sure to resonate with young readers, especially those who have ever felt they didn’t fit in.

Couple Beth Ferry’s clever wordplay with Claire Keane’s detailed illustrations, and you’ve got a book that is sure to resonate with young readers, especially those who have ever felt they didn’t fit in.
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Growing up in Venezuela, Paola Santos hated having to clear the rotten fruit from beneath her family’s four mango trees, a chore that resulted in an early resistance to this delicious fruit. Her picture book debut, How to Eat a Mango, reclaims this experience with joy through the eyes (and ears, nose and mouth) of young Carmencita as she works with and learns from her Abuelita. Like the author, Carmencita doesn’t like the work of picking mangoes and thinks she also dislikes the fruit—until Abuelita explains, “There’s more to a mango, mi amor,” and teaches her the five steps of enjoying one. Abuelita takes Carmencita on a journey through all her senses and encourages a sense of gratitude towards the abundant goodness of the world around her.

That journey is told in lyrical language, beginning with, “Uno, we listen,” as the mango trees “whistle stories of sunrays and rain and those under its shade.” Juliana Perdamo’s accompanying illustrations are full of life and warmth and color, and combine with the writing to create a lush story that encourages young readers to tune in—with all their senses—to the many gifts nature has to offer. Simultaneously lively and meditative, How to Eat a Mango would make an excellent choice to teach kids about mindfulness. It is no quiet book, however; sensory experiences explode on each page, and young readers will appreciate the way Carmencita connects the mango to her own life: “Mangoes grow up! When I teach Carlitos to get dressed, I feel like a big kid.” Through it all, Santos weaves in the youthful wonder that she resisted as a child, explaining in an author’s note that, now that she lives in Canada, mangoes “embody my desire to go back in time and tell my younger self to pay attention.” With its simultaneous publication in Spanish, this gentle book will remind all its readers, young and old, of the joys of thoughtful attention.

Simultaneously lively and meditative, How to Eat a Mango would make an excellent addition to any series on mindfulness. It is no quiet book, however: Sensory experiences explode on each page.
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As long as there are bedtimes and children who’d like to avoid them, there will be picture books there to help: Moon Bear, written by Clare Helen Welsh and illustrated by Carolina T. Godina, is an excellent addition to the fold.

Godina’s gouache and colored pencil illustrations introduce young Ettie as she cleans up, bathes, puts on pajamas and enjoys a story with her mother. But the comfort of her bedtime routine dissolves as soon as her mother turns out the light, leaving Ettie in the dark with a flashlight. The almost wordless format gives emerging readers the chance to interpret the story as they see it, and with its soft palette and gentle spirit, Welsh and Godina’s collaboration is sure to be loved by children and caregivers alike. 

Godina varies her layouts throughout, sometimes utilizing a comic book style to demonstrate bedtime moments over multiple panels, other times illustrating full spreads, as when Ettie’s fearful face peeks out of the covers in her darkened room. When twinkling light begins streaming through the break in her curtains. Ettie gets out to explore, testing the light tentatively before pulling it around to draw beautiful designs. Looking out the window, she notices how certain stars form the shape of a bear and connects them with the magical light, bringing the bear to life. At first shy, the bear soon starts to play with Ettie, trying on her slippers and testing her paintbrushes. 

Before long, they are both fast asleep, and when morning comes, Ettie can’t wait to start her day. The final pages show her rushing excitedly through her day, even announcing, “Time for bed, Mommy,” as the clock on the wall shows her to be 45 minutes ahead of her normal bedtime. With nods to such favorites as Frank Asch’s Moonbear and Eric Rohmann’s Clara and Asha, Moon Bear is a quiet reminder of the power of a child’s imagination. 

With its soft palette and gentle spirit, Clare Helen Welsh and Carolina T. Godina’s ode to bedtime is sure to be loved by children and caregivers alike.
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Brendan Wenzel’s award-winning picture books (Every Dreaming Creature, A Stone Sat Still) invite readers to look carefully at every image. Two Together continues his exploration of perspective, this time through the eyes of a dog and a cat traveling home together. Two Together easily stands alone, but also fits as a companion to Wenzel’s They All Saw a Cat and Inside Cat. With simple rhymes and a rolling cadence, the text follows the animal friends as they walk through the woods, cross a stream and encounter other obstacles before arriving at their cozy home. Dog and cat enjoy different aspects of their journey—one two-page spread shows them caught in a rain shower (which dog appreciates while cat decidedly does not) before they are dried by a breeze and the warm sun (which cat loves and dog barely tolerates). The differences in their experiences are subtle, but readers will love discovering these moments of personality.

Wenzel further encourages close scrutiny through varying the art styles and media used. When readers first meet them, the dog and cat look very similar, both drawn in loose lines and muted shades as they walk toward a pond. But from the moment they see their reflections in the water, the picture book takes off, and for most of the book, the dog appears in a highly saturated, finger-paint style whereas the cat is drawn in scratchy lines of colored pencil. Sometimes a spread is fully divided, with the dog’s smeary boldness occupying the left and the cat’s sharp edges on the right. When they look at a bird, or a frog, or a bear, the creature is drawn as a composite of these contrasting styles. 

But when the dog and the cat look at each other, “two together face-to-face,” their appearances reverse. Suddenly, it is clear: The art is not representing what they look like, but how they see the world! 

While the rhymes aren’t always perfect, the simple sentences and descriptive words paired with vivid images will make Two Together excellent for developing readers.

Readers will love discovering a dog and cat’s moments of personality as they enjoy different aspects of their journey home in Two Together.
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Celebrated Deaf poet Raymond Antrobus originally resisted the idea of writing children’s books because of what he called “snobbery” in a 2021 interview with The Guardian. Thankfully, Antrobus came to see the immense importance of these stories, and released a tremendous debut picture book, Can Bears Ski? Readers will delight at his latest offering, Terrible Horses, which features a protagonist with hearing aids who fights with his older, much cooler sister. 

The picture book form is a wonderful vehicle for Antrobus’ poetry, which shines through each lovely line in the use of poetic devices such as alliteration and repetition. Despite these higher-level literary elements, the narrative is instantly relatable, conveying the tensions of sibling rivalry and all the associated emotions. Declarative sentences combine to form poetic yet authentically childlike stanzas that sing. Though Terrible Horses is not overtly about the Deaf experience, Antrobus provides thoughtful and gentle representation by expressing the little brother’s unique type of isolation. 

Ken Wilson-Max’s whimsical mixed media illustrations unite with Antrobus’ careful word choice to show the explosiveness of the siblings’ fights and the healing power of words as the protagonist retreats to write “stories about terrible horses” in which he is a lonely little pony “that can’t compete / that can’t speak / that can’t sleep.” These stories comfort the young narrator, but they also serve to heal the sibling relationship once his sister reads them and starts to better understand her little brother. The energy of Wilson-Max’s colorful line drawing enhances this rich story, creating the perfect combination for children and their caregivers and storytellers.

Ken Wilson-Max’s whimsical mixed media illustrations unite with Raymond Antrobus’ careful word choice to show the explosiveness of fights between siblings and the healing power of words.
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To grab a young reader’s attention, a book often needs to combine the familiar and the outrageous. Patrick Flores-Scott deftly employs this equation. In No Going Back, he introduces readers to Antonio Echeverria Sullivan on the morning he’s released on parole. After 18 months at Zephyr Woods Detention Center, Antonio has gotten sober and is ready to make amends to those he has harmed, particularly his mom and his best friend, Maya. The conditions of his parole are strict but manageable—even the part about having zero contact with his dad. 

No Going Back opens with a “Dear Reader” letter from Antonio, where he explains what’s about to unfold: the “whole honest-to-God true tale of the seventy-two hours after my release . . . including the improbable and gripping encounter with the same stolen money that got me stuck in Zephyr in the first place.” Teen readers will be compelled by how Antonio navigates returning to a home and a life that looks completely different. The book alternates between short narrative chapters (each with a day and timestamp at its heading) and free verse poems from Antonio’s perspective that describe his relatively happy childhood as well as his father’s alcoholism and abuse. The fast pace of the book will keep readers engaged as they bounce between the present and the past, learning more about Antonio. Eventually, the story accelerates into the thrilling, leaving readers wondering how Antonio might escape from a dangerous situation. Antonio’s voice is inconsistent at times, but the energy of his story will sweep interested readers along, and they will sympathize with his desire to become the person he knows he can be throughout this novel focused on friendship, loyalty and redemption.

The energy of No Going Back will sweep readers along, and they will sympathize with Antonio’s desire to become the person he knows he can be throughout this novel focused on friendship, loyalty and redemption.
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A successful fantasy plunges readers into a world that feels removed from the ordinary, while still maintaining a familiarity or unexpected resonance. National Book Award finalist Traci Chee’s Kindling does exactly that as it takes readers into an unknown world ravaged by a war in which “kindlings”—teenage warriors trained since childhood to wield a dangerous magic—were deployed as an ultimate weapon, but always at a cost. Even if they survived the fighting, using their magic resulted in an early death by “burning out.”

The book opens after the war has ended, and kindling magic is taboo. This dramatic postwar shift means former kindlings can move on with their lives, but having known nothing but fighting and death, many are unable to find purpose and drift through the world as outsiders. However, formal peace doesn’t mean an absence of violence, and a threat on her village leads Tana to seek help from Amity, a powerful and influential kindling formerly known as a Deathbringer. Amity agrees and works to assemble a team of kindlings, all women or nonbinary, all carrying the trauma of their past battles and the uncertainty of their futures.

Chapters alternate between the eight main characters’ individual perspectives. Chee makes an unconventional choice in constructing the whole novel in the secondperson, referring to each character as “you.” This structure takes some getting used to, as does distinguishing the different characters who, while distinct, have much in common as well. Inspired by ensemble films such as Seven Samurai and The Magnificent Seven, Kindling thoroughly reimagines the multi-voice story and offers readers something surprising.

Inspired by ensemble films such as Seven Samurai and The Magnificent Seven, Kindling thoroughly reimagines the multi-voice story and offers readers something surprising.
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With bold, cartoon-style art by illustrator Hatem Aly and delicious rhyming patterns by Omar Abed, The Book That Almost Rhymed (Dial, $18.99, 9780593406380) will immediately grab the eyes and ears of young readers and their caregivers. This picture book is a pure delight, sure to be a huge success at storytimes and bedtimes alike.

In rollicking iambic couplets, The Book That Almost Rhymed tells the story of a young writer proud to read his work aloud until his sister interrupts to alter every perfectly crafted rhyme. For example, what starts with “She ruined every rhyming verse, / so now my story sounds much—” concludes, thanks to his sister, with “MORE MAGNIFICENT!” Each time, the protagonist bravely soldiers on, adapting to the changes and keeping his cool, while Aly’s illustrations adjust accordingly in eclectic and exciting elements ways.

Despite the complexity of their design and the intricacies of layering digital illustrations, Aly keeps the illustrations visually simple and reminiscent of a child’s drawings. Because the rhymes are so tidy, young readers will easily be able to anticipate most of the originally intended rhyming words, which makes it even more fun when the page turns and the sister’s unexpected alterations arrive. Near the end, as the siblings prepare to face their biggest foe yet, the rhymes build the tension beautifully: “At last! They reached the treasure chest, / but something blocked them from their quest—/ the fiercest beast you could imagine! / A vicious, fire-breathing—” but instead of the expected “dragon,” the page turn reveals a surprise certain to result in peals of laughter.

As clever as every line of this book is, perhaps the most impressive part is how Abed blends the frustrations and responsibilities that come with having a younger sibling with immensely creative wordplay, especially as the ending reveals that the sister’s additions weren’t quite as random as they first seemed. In a perfect combination of pictures and text, the siblings work together to save the day, reminding us all of the power of collaboration and spontaneity.

Omar Abed blends the frustrations and responsibilities that come with having a younger sibling with immensely creative wordplay, perfectly matched by Hatem Aly’s exciting, intricate illustrations.
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Louder Than Hunger is the middle grade debut of John Schu, a 2011 Library Journal Mover and Shaker who has long served as a trusted celebrator of great books for young readers. Readers are assured this novel-in-verse is something special by the foreword by Newbery Medal winner Kate DiCamillo, which insists, “Reading Jake’s story will change you.”

Eighth-grader Jake has an eating disorder. But at the book’s opening, all readers know is the year (1996) and a few of Jake’s favorite things, which include Home Alone, Broadway musicals, and spending time with his grandma. Soon, though, it becomes clear that Jake is struggling, after he writes about The Voice, which tells Jake to exercise more and eat less. The Voice makes Jake think he is “repulsive” and is “louder than the hunger in my stomach.” Before long, Jake isn’t able to hide what’s happening under his baggy overalls and sweatshirts, and he is admitted to Whispering Pines, an adolescent inpatient facility with a department devoted to eating disorders.

Jake is resistant to treatment at first, refusing to participate and even leaving at one point only to find he has to return. Learning his beloved grandma has cancer makes everything that much harder, but after lots of time, support and persistent efforts from caregivers including art therapist Pedro (whose colorful socks grab Jake’s attention) and psychiatrist Dr. Parker, Jake starts to find his way out of the hole in which The Voice has trapped him. Jake’s story, while realistic, is never graphic, and even younger readers will be able to appreciate this important perspective on experiences that are not often discussed. Discovering that Jake’s story is very much also Schu’s personal story adds another dimension to a story that is a vital addition to any bookshelf.

Even younger readers will be able to appreciate Louder Than Hunger’s important perspective on experiences that are not often discussed. John Schu’s middle grade debut has a place as a vital addition to any bookshelf.
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Kacen Callender dedicates their first foray into young adult fantasy, Infinity Alchemist, to “the younger me who always wanted to write a YA fantasy.” While this might make one imagine a teenage Callender dreaming of a future as an author, Callender explains it is actually in reference to their early days of their career, when they struggled to write fantasy. “It was very difficult at that time, for whatever reason, to get the story out,” they say. ”Infinity Alchemist had been percolating for a lot of years, so it felt like a massive triumph for me to finally write it.”

What made this book such a challenge in those early days? Callender points to their struggle to pull together all the many necessary threads of this narrative into a cohesive storyline: “I didn’t quite understand plotting yet. Now, hopefully, I do.”

Some readers might view this focus on plot and action as a departure from Callender’s previous books, which are character-driven and move at a slower tempo, titles that might be deemed “quiet” by the publishing industry. In Infinity Alchemist, “there’s a lot of fighting scenes, a lot of explosive battles, a lot of excitement, alongside the emotional depth,” Callender says. Yet with its theme of learning about one’s self-worth, Infinity Alchemist still has a characteristic Callender feeling to it.  “With all of my books, I tend to focus on a theme, some sort of internal healing and a message that I hope will resonate with readers,” they say.

Read our review of ‘Infinity Alchemist.’ 

One of the guiding principles of the fantasy world of Infinity Alchemist is that everyone has equal access to alchemy, but people still experience different degrees of success in learning alchemy, often due to the deliberate manipulation of the system by those in power. Protagonist Ash Woods is unusually gifted, but he has been denied access to the training that would make his power legitimate. Regarding the tension that creates, Callender says, “For me, it was always important that there not be a Chosen One, to include the idea that everyone is powerful and everyone is magical, and everyone is Chosen in the eyes of the Source or the Creator or what have you. I wanted to explain how power is internal; power is realizing that you are worthy without being gaslit by the idea of societal power.” But Callender adds: “You can feel power for yourself and feel that self-worth, but there are still other people who have the power to decide that you aren’t worthy. I wanted those different versions of power to be in conversation.”

“I wanted to explain how power is internal; power is realizing that you are worthy without being gaslit by the idea of societal power.”

Callender has a history of telling the stories of characters whose identities aren’t often represented in media, and Infinity Alchemist continues that work with a diverse cast of queer, trans, and polyamorous characters. Ramsay Thorne, for instance, is genderfluid, and the book seamlessly shifts pronouns throughout the character’s arc. This technique foregrounds Ramsay’s story more than Ramsay’s pronouns. “Ramsay comes to life in that way because it is going to be different for every reader, depending on where they last left the character. For example, I’m writing the sequel now, so for me the last I saw Ramsay, he was using he/him pronouns. But for you, having just read Infinity Alchemist, she was using she/her pronouns.”

Whether through the use of shifting pronouns or depicting a trusting polyamorous relationship, Callender’s work makes more visible the lived realities of countless people, and Infinity Alchemist is flooded with empathy and compassion. “That’s one of the great beauties of being able to write about these identities,” Callender says, as they explain how the imaginative act of reading allows anyone to “become” a character. “Even though you as a reader might not ever understand all the ways an identity can work, you can for a moment become that queer Black trans kid, and you’re understanding all of their wounds and their traumas and their grief and their healing.”

Callender builds on this idea: “Regardless of identity, that’s where a character is built: inside the idea that we all have these wounds that we either inherited or experienced. From my perspective, life is the story arc of healing those wounds.”

“That’s where a character is built: inside the idea that we all have these wounds that we either inherited or experienced.”

That wisdom comes through in every page of Infinity Alchemist. In the book, as Ash and Ramsay are coming to trust each other, Ramsay lists some of Ash’s more frustrating qualities, claiming him to be “selfish . . . and hot-tempered, and irrational, and you act without thinking.” Then Ramsay pivots to Ash’s kindness and curiosity, explaining, “It’s lazy to put a multifaceted human being, created from the alchemy of the universe, into a box of good or bad. No one is only one of the two.” When I ask Callender about the apt specificity of “lazy” here, they laugh and agree that it’s the perfect word. “It’s easy to decide that someone is good or bad instead of wanting to do the work. It’s a lot of work to look at a person and consider their traumas and wounds and all that has built them to be the person who they are today.”

We closed our time by discussing the relationships depicted in Infinity Alchemist and the way “polyamory reflects the concept of healing in the book, where everyone is worthy of love, and the idea that love cannot be limited.” Callender says, “I understand that some readers might ask why polyamory, or might not understand what it is as an identity. But it’s my hope that as there are more books with the topic of polyamory, it will be more accepted.”

Acceptance, self-worth, healing, love. “What’s better than that?” I ask, to which Callender replies, “Exactly.”

Photo of Kacen Callender by Bella Porter.

Having conquered several other genres, the acclaimed author discusses their young adult fantasy debut, Infinity Alchemist.
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Between the years of 1955 and 1958, Italian author Gianni Rodari wrote two newspaper columns for children: “The Mailbox of Whys” and “The Book of Whys.” With delightful illustrations by JooHee Yoon, The Book of Whys revisits Rodari’s whimsical responses to questions sent in by children throughout Italy. In a brief introduction, translator Antony Shugaar explains that Rodari replied not only “with the simplest and soberest of answers” but also “with wild imaginings that utterly reframed conventional thought until a purer logic shone through.”

The collection begins with a question sure to captivate young readers: “Why are grownups always right?” Rodari’s endearing rhymed verse response concludes with a confirmation “that ‘grownups’ are always right / Except for when they’re wrong.” This willingness to engage with uncertainty is a hallmark of Rodari’s style, as is the way he moves from science to ancient history to silly digressions, like in his reply to the question, “Why can cats see in the dark?” which starts seriously but concludes with verses about cats lamenting how they “can only dream of bacon.” Rodari also plays with proverbs, often to challenge them. When responding to the question “Why is gold so precious?” he refers to the “silence is golden” proverb, noting how it isn’t always true, especially when addressing injustice: “Those in the wrong just keep on going if those in the right have nothing to say.” In this way, Rodari invites his readers to engage with larger questions,including ethical ones. 

Yoon’s illustrations are an apt accompaniment to this collection: simple and straightforward colored pencil drawings evoking a childlike feel. Each piece provides a splash of color as well as a distinct design element, with some illustrations filling a whole page, others occupying only a small corner, and a few more unusual choices, such as the two-page spread featuring a border of walking figures. Together, art and text combine for a unique,wonder-driven work that will please adults and children alike.

JooHee Yoon’s distinct art and Gianni Rodari’s whimsical text combine for a unique, wonder-driven work that will please adults and children alike.
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Author of the National Book Award-winning King and the Dragonflies and the World Fantasy Award-winning Queen of the Conquered, Kacen Callender is widely celebrated for their ability to tell stories that reverberate across diverse viewpoints, and that gift is on full display in their first YA fantasy novel, Infinity Alchemist. In Callender’s New Anglia, magic is “an outdated term, used rarely.” It’s no longer reserved for the chosen few. Anyone can become an alchemist, though certification is strictly regulated.

Ash Woods is a talented young alchemist, but despite being the son of the famed alchemist Gresham Hain, albeit unacknowledged, Ash is denied admittance to the prestigious Lancaster school and thus ends up practicing alchemy in secret and illegally. Hain, a trusted professor, has a long history of taking on young apprentices like Ash’s mother (who died in poverty) and putting them to work in his secret quest to find the legendary Book of Source. Participating in this search took the lives of the heads of the House of Thorne—parents of Ramsay Thorne. Their public execution has made Ramsay an outcast despite possessing considerable intellectual and alchemical power.

Infinity Alchemist had been percolating for a lot of years, so it felt like a massive triumph for me to finally write it.” Read our interview with Kacen Callender.

Callender weaves a tight plot around these characters as Ash, Ramsay and Ramsay’s first love, Callum, join forces to find the Book of Source before Hain. As they search, they discover the truths by which they want to live their lives, as well as the many ways love can manifest in their world. Callender raises thoughtful questions about class, power, morality and family.

Infinity Alchemist is full of smart dialogue and moves with the kind of pace that will keep readers drawn in, but it is the overriding feeling of empathy throughout that elevates this resonant fantasy.

Full of smart dialogue, Infinity Alchemist moves with the kind of pace that will keep readers drawn in, but it is the overriding feeling of empathy that elevates this resonant fantasy.
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Like the traditional Lion Dancers featured in their gorgeous Lunar New Year Love Story, graphic novel veterans Gene Luen Yang and LeUyen Pham combine their considerable skills, bringing a tender love story to life. Yang’s writing and Pham’s illustrations blend seamlessly to introduce readers to Vietnamese American Val (short for Valentina) and her on-again, off-again relationship with love.

Valentine’s Day has always been Val’s favorite—it’s her namesake—and as a kid, she embraces the holiday wholeheartedly: making valentines for all her classmates, speaking blessings over each one, and even sending her dad a valentine from her mom in heaven. But when a crushing pronouncement from her estranged grandmother reveals a massive lie in Val’s life, everything falls to pieces. Soon, Val has lost her faith in love. Then she meets Les, “hands down the prettiest boy” she has ever seen, at the Lunar New Year festival, and she decides to give herself one year before she gives up on her heart for good. Will Les be the true love she’s been looking for?

“Once you have the familiar, you can weave in the unfamiliar.” Read our interview with Gene Luen Yang and LeUyen Pham. 

While the majority of the narrative takes place during Val’s junior and senior years of high school, Lunar New Year Love Story will appeal to a broad audience, including younger teens. Though it is a love story, it embraces all kinds of love: romantic, yes, but also familial, intergenerational, spiritual and the special love between trusted friends. All these versions of love get tested, and readers will hope along with Val as she attempts to escape her family’s doomed relationship history. Yang writes wholly real teenagers: reflective and impulsive; seeking while still confident; aware of their ability to hurt and be hurt. Yang’s Korean, Chinese and Vietnamese teen characters share diverse cultural perspectives as they explore the art of lion dancing. Their teachers insist: “It isn’t just a dance. If you’re doing it right? It’s as if you two become one animal, with one heart.”

Gene Luen Yang’s writing and LeUyen Pham’s illustrations blend seamlessly to introduce readers to Vietnamese American Val and her evolving relationship with love.

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