An inexplicably mobilized horde of babies marches—or rather, crawls, pedals and toddles—to Town Hall, with an articulate message that pulls no punches: “We won’t get our hair cut. / We won’t wear our suncaps. / We won’t play with smart toys / to skip us a grade. / We won’t like the doctor. / We won’t take our naps. / We’re a barefooted bad-tempered baby brigade!” Diesen’s verse careers along without a tumble, but its winks and nods play strictly to adults and—unsurprisingly—capitulates to them in the end: “But now that we’re done / and our point has been made… / Would you hold us, / And snuggle, / And sing us a song?” Dockray’s Photoshopped pictures, hip yet strangely soulless, evoke Nancy Carpenter’s illustrations for Jenny Offill’s 17 Things I'm Not Allowed To Do Anymore (2007). The notion of babies protesting their lot—a one-off, one-trick pony—will elude preschoolers and, possibly, irritate adults with a working knowledge of bona fide historical protest. Slick, with a hollow core—the opposite of babies. (Picture book. 4-6)
