THUNDERLAND

Edkins Willis tackles a common childhood fear with compassion and imagination.

The young narrator dislikes everything about thunderstorms—the “inky clouds,” “howling winds,” “scary shapes in the shadows,” and the “CRACKS and the CRASHES and the RUMBLES.” When all these dreaded things happen simultaneously, the child hides under the kitchen sink. Dad stands on the facing page, holding pillows as he gazes out at the storm. The protagonist is dubious when he suggests they go to a place he calls Thunderland, but the little one follows him to a pillow fort he’s made by the window. Together with their small dog, they huddle inside with assorted stuffed animal friends. The space feels cozy due to the rounded forms, soft lines, and highlights of warm color in the sketchy pictures, which adopt a style similar to some of Dan Santat’s work. An imaginative turn occurs when Dad suggests they invite the storm to play with them, and a lively shouting match ensues. Father and child compete with the storm, with their yelling, the dog’s howls, and thunderclaps conveyed through large, full-caps lettering. The storm’s personification humorously continues as they name the storm “Nancy,” imagine where she came from and where she’s going, and share their cookies with her. By the time Nancy departs, the child is somewhat saddened by her departure, though decidedly buoyed by playful, sensitive Dad’s compassion. Dad and child are brown-skinned.

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