RED RED RED

As Gorbachev’s story opens, the day is coming to a close. Turtle is rushing through town, rushing as fast as is possible for a natty turtle in a striped sailor’s jersey and a floppy summer chapeau. A turtle rushing, of course, attracts attention. The locals want to know what’s up. But Turtle is only admitting to “Red, red, red.” Raccoon wants to know if he means her roses, or maybe Goat’s socks, or perhaps Fox’s red roof. No, no and no—so they each cumulatively fall in line behind Turtle to get the skinny on his strange behavior. It’s a merry band, measured with just the right amount of oomph in Gorbachev’s color-soaked art. It doesn’t matter that Turtle has enough breath to tell his interlocutors that all their guesses are wrong, but not enough to tell them where they are headed. He’s just deepening the mystery, keeping them guessing to keep them—and his readers—in his thrall. (Picture book. 5-7)