Angela is born “under the milky Arctic sunlight” and grows up with her father near a glacier. They hike there often and listen, with their whole bodies, to the glacier and its “universe of sound.” This is the enchanting opening to Angela’s Glacier, written by poet Jordan Scott and illustrated by Diana Sudyka in the same beguiling peacock, indigo and duck egg blue colors described as belonging to the glacier.

Scott’s descriptive and evocative text makes this one especially delightful to read aloud: In describing the way Angela’s father would carry baby Angela on his back to visit the glacier, Scott writes that they hiked “through lava fields covered with silver mosses, past chocolate-brown arctic foxes atop raven’s glass, crowberry, and pixie lichen.” With each step they practice pronouncing the glacier’s name: Snæfellsjökull. As Angela grows, she takes the hikes herself. She puts her head to the ice and listens, even whispering her fears to it. In a palette filled with nearly every shade of blue and aquamarine, Sudyka uses textures and graceful, swerving lines to capture the landscape and cold winds of Angela’s favorite place to visit.

School, friends, homework and extracurricular activities consume Angela as a teen: “Time just melted away.” She feels somewhat lost, and her heartbeat sounds strange. Then her father asks, “Have you visited Snæfellsjökull?” Angela heads to that “ancient blue,” and despite knowing she’s not going to stop growing up or being busy, she makes a promise to the glacier to always visit.

Scott’s afterword describes how the story is inspired by his friend Angela Rawlings, who shares her own note about her experience listening to the “gentle” sounds of glaciers in Iceland. She writes how important it is that readers listen to themselves, to each other and “to the ecosystems and their inhabitants who sustain us,” particularly during a time of climate change and species extinction. A warmhearted ode to the colder side of the natural world, Angela’s Glacier gives readers everywhere a chance to ponder the “glacier’s music.”

Author Sahtinay Abaza immediately draws in young readers of The Ramadan Drummer with a visceral description of how fasting for Ramadan feels to the book’s central character: “Hunger gripped Adam like a wild beast twisting and turning for food. It grumbled. It stomped and roared.” Meanwhile, Dinara Mirtalipova’s full-spread illustration characterizes this hunger as a ghostlike shadow that haunts Adam as he gazes longingly out his bedroom window at the setting sun.

At sundown, Adam’s family breaks their fast, feasting at a table overflowing with bowls of steamed rice, lamb chops, lentil soup, salad and pizza—Adam’s favorite. Here, Mirtalipova’s illustrations pop against a white background, guiding readers’ attention to the action, as well as to the bold patterns of the family’s rugs and the bright, flowing fabrics worn by Adam’s mother and Aunt Norah. As the women talk, they fondly remember the Ramadan Drummer of their youth, who would walk through the streets before sunrise, drumming to wake up residents so they could eat their pre-fast meal. Adam’s mom explains, “It’s an old tradition . . . Now we just set the alarm clock instead.”

Later that night, Adam dreams of meeting this mysterious figure, and the book’s formerly bright white pages become suddenly bathed in dark, dreamy blues, depicting a night sky bursting with orange and yellow stars. This transformation is a glorious, exciting sight that easily distinguishes the dream sequence. The Drummer lets Adam beat the drum as they walk through the neighborhood, and together, they hear whispers carried on the wind that reveal which neighbors are hurting or in need of help. “During Ramadan, every act of kindness is rewarded tenfold,” the Drummer reminds Adam.

The next morning, Adam sets out into the real world—which Mirtalipova once again sharply brings into focus against a white background—to help the people he heard about last night. By the end of the day, “His stomach was empty, but his heart was full.” Both Abaza and Mirtalipova include notes in the back matter that provide more context about Ramadan and their own childhood experiences. With its memorable story and illustrations, this intriguing picture book about Ramadan customs will appeal to both the senses and emotions of young readers.

“The best and worst thing in the world is other dogs,” muses the dachshund protagonist of A Pack of Your Own, written and illustrated by Maria Nilsson Thore and translated from Swedish by A.A. Prime. Wrapped in a fine robe, the dachshund stares out of an apartment window at other dogs, who seem to have so much fun in their packs. But those dogs turn the dachshund off with all their bottom-sniffing, running around on all fours, barking and peeing. This misfit—who walks on two feet, uses toilet paper, and wears a shower cap while bathing in a tub—assumes there must be something wrong with them: “I wish I could find someone like me. Someone who loves fancy hats, clever crosswords . . . or the aroma of coffee.”

Thore’s fine-lined illustrations utilize a subdued monochromatic palette, save for the caramel-colored dog and his rust-colored collar. She captures elegant details in the apartment the dachshund calls home, including the bathroom where they sit on the toilet, just like a human. When they bravely visit the dog park in an attempt to fit in, the other boisterous dogs are each visually distinctive and bursting with personality, their chaos captured in energetic yet careful compositions.

When a poodle who spots the dachshund wandering home alone decides to knock on the door and is invited in, readers know that life will change for the dachshund. The poodle is a bit wild and has a peculiar way of doing things, such as drinking coffee straight from the carafe while lying down across the back of the living room’s wingback chair. But they enjoy many of the same things as the dachshund, who comes to understand that friends don’t have to be “exactly like me!” Two spreads depict their budding camaraderie, and a smile grows across the dachshund’s face at having finally bonded with another dog. Every dog has its day, and this is the dachshund’s: the first day of an abiding friendship.

Millie and her grandmother love making dumplings together, which requires a trip to buy ingredients and see their friends in the bustling, lively neighborhood of Chinatown. This heartfelt picture book takes an unexpected but honest turn when Laolao’s age causes her to become less independent and unable to cook. But rather than spend her days feeling sad, Millie fills her time cooking for Laolao and practicing the simpler recipes her beloved grandmother taught her. When Millie decides to attempt the dumpling recipe, Laolao’s family and friends step up to help her in a beautiful show of community. 

Laolao’s Dumplings is warm and soaked through with colorful cheer. Laolao’s inviting house is full of grandmotherly decor, while Millie is instantly likable with her big smile and red cheeks. In a delightful burst of fantasy, smells and tastes that Millie experiences—such as jasmine tea or lychee—transform into jolly little floating creatures, giving the sense that Millie’s joy is so big it becomes impossible to contain. Above all, ShinYeon Moon’s depictions of Chinatown stand out with vibrant, energetic streets pleasantly bustling with shoppers and vendors of all kinds. Intricately detailed with signs and stores and produce, Moon’s Chinatown is so full of life it’s impossible to not feel a connection. 

Dane Liu’s first-person narration stays fun and fresh with plenty of innovative descriptions and alliteration. Succinct, spot-on imagery creates a strong atmosphere while propelling readers through the story. Liu manages to also seamlessly weave in mini lessons on Chinese culture and traditions without overloading on the word count, keeping Laolao’s Dumplings perfect for storytime and school curricula. 

Laolao’s Dumplings is a story of family and community, of tradition and culture, of curiosity and determination. By the end, this reviewer wasn’t sure what was more enticing: making (and eating) dumplings, or exploring the bustling shops of Chinatown. The story ends with a recipe, making the former quite possible. As for the latter, this book allows readers to take imaginary trips to Laolao’s welcoming neighborhood as often as they want.

Mika, a spirited young girl clad in a tiger costume, is enjoying imaginary adventures at home when her stuffed frog gets trapped in the washing machine—which she calls “the gurgler” due to the worrisome loud noises made by its wash cycle. Horrified to see Frog caught in its turbulent grip, Mika mounts a daring rescue with the help of her other stuffed pals, Spider and Caterpillar. 

Written by Agata Loth-Ignaciuk, Mika and the Gurgler is a simple tale elevated to epic proportions by Berenika Kolomycka’s lively comic-style illustrations, which draw young readers right into Mika’s emotions, allowing them to imagine her thoughts from page to page. The bright orange of Mika’s cute tiger costume is a visual landmark throughout that stands out against the light blues and teals of the laundry room. 

Mika valiantly displays the fierceness suggested by her costume as she leads the charge, announcing to her other stuffed animals: “We have to save Frog!” Meanwhile, Frog’s bulging eyes heighten the drama as he peers out from within the gurgler. Aside from some beginning and ending dialogue between Mika and her mom, a significant portion of the book is wordless, punctuated by various onomatopoeic sounds made by the washing machine (“beep,” “klik,” “gurgle”) and Mika’s alarmed utterances (“Frog!” and “AAAAAH!”). As a result, many preschoolers will be able to enjoy this book on their own, especially after hearing it read aloud once or twice.

Mika’s household dilemma is reminiscent of Mo Williams’ delightful Knuffle Bunny: A Cautionary Tale, which features a laundromat. Mika and the Gurgler is a lovely ode to imagination and the special bond between children and their favorite stuffed buddies.

A boy and a girl live in cities in two different parts of the world. Though it’s not explicit in the text where each resides, it is easy to tell the boy and his mother live comfortably, while the girl and her father live in the midst of war, and their safety is never a given. 

As both pairs go through their daily lives, their respective experiences mirror each other, and their destinations converge upon a single point: a brightly lit Ferris wheel, turning slowly on its axis as it offers a new perspective from every point in the sky. 

Author Tulin Kozikoglu and illustrator Huseyin Sönmezay’s picture book The Ferris Wheel is a beautifully profound yet subtle story about refugees and global connection. This book captures the essence of what a picture book should be: The text and illustrations are in complete conversation, providing context and bolstering each other. 

Across seemingly simple spreads, the parents’ dialogue often matches verbatim: “On the street, Mama says, ‘Be careful.’ / On the street, Papa says, ‘Be careful.’” But small differences carry larger implications: For example, as each pair passes a candy store, the boy’s mother says, “Not before lunch,” while the girl’s father says, “Not anymore.” 

Sönmezay’s stunning digital illustrations are as textured and tangible as if one were standing in front of a physical canvas. Bordered by white frames containing the text, the images possess a strong dimensionality that foregrounds each parent-child pair while offering many background details to explore. Sönmezay makes the meaningful choice to keep the color palettes similar throughout both settings, showing that there can still be vibrance in dire circumstances. The varying contexts depicted in each street scene are likely to prompt questions and fruitful conversations. 

Though drawn from Kozikoglu’s experiences growing up and living in Turkey—which her author’s note describes as “a land of ‘comers’ and ‘goers’’’ due to centuries-old, ongoing political turmoil—The Ferris Wheel itself is not specific about time or place, which adds to the universality of its deceptively simple narrative. While the overarching metaphor of the ferris wheel itself may not be immediately clear to young readers, the book will begin a conversation that can be returned to again and again.