ROBIN AND THE STICK

In an effort to achieve a herculean task, a little one sticks with it.

Piles of sticks are everywhere in Robin’s home, a testament to the youngster’s passion. While on a walk one day, Robin and Mama encounter the biggest stick. Robin desperately wants it but can’t pick it up. “That’s not a stick,” says Mama. “It’s a branch!” Set on having this not-a-stick, Robin returns day after day, struggling to lift it but failing repeatedly. After numerous attempts and a little bit of growing up, Robin musters the strength to carry home this prized possession, proud of the accomplishment. Punctuated by Mama’s encouraging refrain (“Today you are the biggest you’ve ever been”), Goodale’s brief text makes a nebulous concept—the seemingly tiny steps we take in pursuit of a milestone—feel concrete. Her words are matched by beautifully composed, deceptively simple visuals. Though Goodale employs a limited palette, her use of shading is intricate, every brush stroke imbued with emotion. Clad in a bright-red hoodie, Robin pops against the gray monoprint and oil paint spreads. And while the little one’s earnest resolve will elicit “Aw”s from adults, Goodale writes with utter respect for both her protagonist and her readers—this is an author well aware that growing up is hard work. Meanwhile, Mama sets a worthy example for parents everywhere with her willingness to give her youngster the space to fail before finally triumphing. Both characters have skin the white of the page.

Outstanding.