ELEPHANT IN THE BATHTUB

A young elephant is taking a bath in one of those lovely, old, claw-footed tubs that sits on a checkered tile floor—got to be Europe. Along comes a cat that joins the elephant, then a baby giraffe ushered in by its mother clad in a housecoat and sporting red high heels. Mice parachute in, an owl arrives with a snorkel and an alligator with what looks like a quilted helicopter. The gathering of creatures swells and swells, water spills everywhere and a rubber ducky ends up with a banana peel draped on its head—got to be theater of the absurd. This book is all lively and cheerful cockamamie, while Andres draws the action in chicken-scratch pen and ink that contrives to be both wiry and weighty. Again there is that European feel—it might be the light or the Old World sense of the bath toys—but the waves are pure Hiroshige. Plus, the story has a nice, tight arc—elevating mayhem; a busy, oddball climax; good and drained finale—that gives it a pleasing satiety. Just like a good bath. (Picture book. 3-6)