KIRKUS REVIEW
Bouchard trumps our expectations in this winsome tale of how they play hockey in the Far North. It’s winter, it’s Canada, and the sport is, of course, hockey. On a visit to Cousin Etienne’s farm, the narrator is stoked for a weekend full of hockey. But wait: “Where are our skates? Our pads and gloves,” asks the narrator. “That stuff’s for city kids,” Etienne says. “We play real hockey here. No skates. No pads. No helmets. Just a number nine sweater.” (For the uninitiated, that’s Rocket Richard’s number when he played with the Montreal Canadiens.) We’re talking street hockey—a nice twist and a subtle jab at the purists—and the kids have a blast, a hard-playing, high-scoring, play-’til-you-drop blast. The narrator even gets the pleasure of showing some nice moves and gaining the respect of the other players, in a sport where respect is never a given. Then, just to throw another move on his audience, Bouchard (Qu’appelle, above, etc.) reveals that the narrator is a girl, now a woman passing on the old number nine to her daughter. Those hats and clothes have masked her gender throughout, thanks to Griffiths’s (Give Maggie a Chance, not reviewed, etc.) clever art. He really gets into the spirit of the lark; the contestants are gamesome, open-mouthed, and good-natured, for in Bouchard’s story there are no winners or losers, just a bunch of kids who play on and on until the dinner bell calls. (Picture book. 4-8)
