A little book, with much white space and many tiny figures, united only by a line that extends across the middle of every double page but changes, as it goes, from a tightrope supporting a juggling clown to a horizon with three shying ships, a loopy, multicolored thread-become-ribbon, a train track, a human alphabet, a tug-of-war between cartoon Russians and Chinese, a silk thread, a row of paired animals, a filmstrip of a baseball pitcher, and so on. Worked in along the way are phrases built around the word line (line of fire, line up, drop me a line, ocean liner, etc.), few of them developed enough to be called puns. The separate spreads appear pointless and scattered, and so does the entire sequence; the line doesn't transform itself with any style or sense or, in fact, any attention to juncture--it's simply a prism on one page, a filmstrip on the next. For a reminder of what a line can do, see Norton Juster.