Gerstein reworks a historical anecdote about an Englishman who transplanted himself—and a thousand house sparrows—to this country in 1868. Strange as it may seem, the birds were unknown here before the mid-19th century. One John Bardsley, seeing his adopted town of Philadelphia plagued every spring by inchworms that the local birds refuse to eat, recalls the voracious little pests of his youth, and returns to England to round up a flock. Gerstein depicts Bardsley as a smiling, slender gent in muttonchops and a bowler, surrounding him with both contemporaries in period dress and clouds of handsomely feathered sparrows. Adding a doubtless fanciful element to the tale (which isn’t particularly close to fact anyway), he has Bardsley hear, or perhaps dream, that the sparrows talk it over, and volunteer to make the trip. They get a skeptical reception in Philadelphia, but once they have hatchlings to feed, the inchworm plague is history. Gerstein declines to take up a discussion of the now-controversial practice of importing alien species—but that just makes his tale a springboard for discussion, as well as an engaging take on an obscure bit of Americana. (foreword) (Picture book. 7-9)
Pub Date: May 1, 2003
ISBN: 0-374-37139-3
Page Count: 32
Publisher: Frances Foster/Farrar, Straus & Giroux
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: April 15, 2003
From Johnston (An Old Shell, 1999, etc.), poetic phrases that follow a ghostly barn owl through days and nights, suns and moons. Barn owls have been nesting and roosting, hunting and hatching in the barn and its surroundings for as long as the barn has housed spiders, as long as the wheat fields have housed mice, “a hundred years at least.” The repetition of alliterative words and the hushed hues of the watercolors evoke the soundless, timeless realm of the night owl through a series of spectral scenes. Short, staccato strings of verbs describe the age-old actions and cycles of barn owls, who forever “grow up/and sleep/and wake/and blink/and hunt for mice.” Honey-colored, diffused light glows in contrast to the star-filled night scenes of barn owls blinking awake. A glimpse into the hidden campestral world of the elusive barn owl. (Picture book. 4-8)
Pub Date: Feb. 1, 2000
ISBN: 0-88106-981-7
Page Count: 32
Publisher: N/A
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 2000
The gastronomical oddity of eating winged and many-legged creatures is fleetingly examined in a superficial text that looks at animals and people who eat insects. Bugs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner are gobbled up by a shrew, an aardvark, a bear, a gecko, and others. The rhyme scheme limits the information presented; specificity about the types of insects eaten is sacrificed for the sake of making the rhyme flow, e.g., a mouse, a trout, a praying mantis, a nuthatch, and a bat are repeatedly said to eat “bugs” or “insects” in general, rather than naming the mayflies, moths, or grubs they enjoy. An author’s note explains her choice of the word bugs for all crawly things; an addendum takes care of other particulars lacking in the text. Long’s exacting pen-and-ink style lends a naturalistic perfection to this visual playground of the insect world, enhancing this glimpse of vital link in the food chain. (Picture book. 4-7)
Pub Date: Feb. 1, 1999
ISBN: 0-88106-271-5
Page Count: 32
Publisher: Charlesbridge
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 1, 1999
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