PLB 0-8027-8682-0 Will Rogers’s legend may have faded a bit over time, so Dadey toils to bring him back into the young public’s eye, mixing—just as she did in Shooting Star (1997)—real episodes with wildly preposterous events to amplify his persona. It’s true that he was the all-American, kind-hearted, spirit-lifting, lasso-tossing gentleman-cowboy; diminished in the hubbub here is his common decency, love for children, and gift for simple acts of kindness—Rogers was an artist when it came to modesty and gestures without fanfare. Dadey irons her story out in an afterword, separating the truth from the tall tale. Goto’s illustrations are great, beefy, apple-polished productions in keeping with the tone of the story, usually catching a grinning Rogers from below to give him the look of a colossus. If even a smidgen of the truth of Rogers’s goodness comes through, Dadey’s and Goto’s efforts have not been in vain. (Picture book. 5-8)
This vibrant, thoughtful book from Katz (Over the Moon, 1997) continues her tribute to her adopted daughter, Lena, born in Guatemala. Lena is “seven. I am the color of cinnamon. Mom says she could eat me up”; she learns during a painting lesson that to get the color brown, she will have to “mix red, yellow, black, and white paints.” They go for a walk to observe the many shades of brown: they see Sonia, who is the color of creamy peanut butter; Isabella, who is chocolate brown; Lucy, both peachy and tan; Jo-Jin, the color of honey; Kyle, “like leaves in fall”; Mr. Pellegrino, the color of pizza crust, golden brown. Lena realizes that every shade is beautiful, then mixes her paints accordingly for portraits of her friends—“The colors of us!” Bold illustrations celebrate diversity with a child’s open-hearted sensibility and a mother’s love. (Picture book. 6-8)
Small, saucy Martha is not a child to put in pink. She wears black-and-white, highly graphic dresses, including one long-sleeved number with a bull’s-eye on the belly. She has mastered the management of her boring goldfish, somnolent cat, and clueless dog, and she opines that it is high time to acquire a large, ugly monster. Forthwith, she marches out with her piggy-bank. The nearest pet shop stocks only small monsters, but one green fellow has an pleasingly awful grin. It’s a done deal: “Keep the pig,” Martha says as she exits with her purchase. Martha knows that the monster eats only wood, but she doesn’t know that twigs will be followed by branches, planks from the dog’s dismantled kennel, her bed legs, and her bottom drawer. As the monster grows, so does its appetite, until the only place left to put it is in the wardrobe—which it promptly eats. Enough is enough for Martha, but the pet shop man offers only exchanges; against his advice, Martha selects an egg with green and purple splotches. As the original monster gets pushed out the back door, readers will delight in the dreadful possibilities inherent in this twist. It’s a romp of a tale to read aloud, with a tongue-in-cheek text; the vigorous pictures more than support and extend this illustrious excursion into the consequences of pet ownership. (Picture book. 3-8)