CAN'T-DANCE-CAMERON

Can Cameron kick up a capercaillie ceilidh—a shindig, that is, a hoedown, a bird hop—in the ancient evergreen woodlands under the Cairngorms, or is he a grouse with two left feet?

Despite his smart plumage—in the elegant, spare palette of the Scottish Highlands—Cameron isn’t a confident creature. He can’t dance like the other capercaillies, especially not like other members of his famed MacFeather clan. He has tried, but he just doesn’t have the confidence. The moves are there, though; they are just hidden under a layer of qualms and uncertainties. With a little Zen guidance from Hazel the squirrel, Cameron learns that he is hard-wired with dance steps; indeed, he uses them every day as he goes about his business in the forest. He can shimmy (see him shake off those pine needles); he can duck walk (see him limbo under that downed tree); he can kick like a Rockette (see him distract that bobcat by booting a pine cone). Now tie them together on the dance floor—he’s a feathered Fred Astaire. “Sometimes, Cameron, you go looking for something and find that you had it all along,” says Hazel. Pat, but true. What gives the truism new life is the locale: exotic, yet very real.

Lovely to look at—and just kooky enough to keep readers engaged for the hoary message.