Tree of Birds

Another great book we've found for this in-between phase is Tree of Birds. Once again, this is out of print, but Amazon has a few reasonably-priced used copies available. I picked this up at a garage sale or something about a year ago, but Charlie wasn't ready for it until now.

This is a delightful story, and one that I like much better than the sappy-sweet Stellaluna. A boy named Harry finds an injured bird and takes her home to nurse her back to health, and names her, amusingly, Sally. But once Sally is all better, Harry still wants to keep her. It's getting cold out, and normally she would fly south for the winter, but he keeps her locked up indoors so she won't leave him. But there are a couple of problems. First, Sally is very lonely, gazing longingly out the window all day. But even more disturbing is that her flock refuses to fly south without her. Instead, they follow Harry around, staying in a tree outside his bedroom window, flying behind him to and from school, and even waiting for him outside the schoolroom window all day.


Harry is very concerned, because it's starting to get cold out and the birds will die if they don't fly south for the winter. He tries to convince them to go away, telling them that he is taking very good care of Sally, but he cannot convince them. Finally, it begins to snow. Harry and Sally stare out the widow, distraught. Harry finally makes the difficult decision to open the window, even though he will miss Sally very much. But in a surprise twist, Sally doesn't leave -- the other birds fly into his house instead!

I love this book because of the concern Harry shows for Sally the whole way through. His emotions are very real. So are those of the birds, who do not talk but express their feelings through very well-drawn facial expressions. I also love how Harry makes his own decisions and takes care of his own problems. His mother shows up here and there with help and advice, but Harry is definitely thinking and acting for himself. This one is highly recommended!

It Takes a Village

This review is a "don't judge a book by its cover" tale. Sometime last summer, Charlie and I stumbled across a garage sale held by a recently retired elementary school teacher who was selling off enormous quantities of kids' books for twenty-five cents each. I bought about forty books there, I am not kidding. Some of them were fantastic. Others just okay. It's hard to go through hundreds of books while a squirmy toddler sits in his stroller, and at twenty-five cents a pop, I erred on the side of purchase more often than I otherwise would. When I saw It Takes a Village, judging by the title alone, I assumed it would be terrible. I bought it so that I could have a good laugh and then chuck it in the trash.

It actually turned out to be a rather good book.

Who would have thought?

The only thing I actually dislike about this book is the title and its repetition on the last page of the book. The rest of the story is great, and the pictures are quite nice also.

The story takes place in an African village. (If you look closely at the signs in the background images, you'll notice a French influence. The author's notes on the last page of the book say that it's Benin.) A mother and her daughter and son take their mangos to the market to sell them. The girl, Yemi, around 7 or 8 years old, is given the task of looking after her younger brother, Kokou, who is probably 2 or 3. They set off to look around the market together, but Kokou soon wanders off and Yemi spends the rest of the book looking for him.

Yemi is worried, but Kokou is having a grand time walking around the market and meeting all the friendly people who are selling their wares. Different people give him food, water, entertainment, and a place to nap. Yemi finally finds Kokou and walks back through the market with him, thanking all of the people who helped him throughout the day. Finally they return to their mother, who is not surprised or worried at all. She knows that "it takes a village to raise a child" -- by which she means that the community members are friendly and benevolent and can be trusted.

I really like this moral, just not the words that it is phrased in. In the first place, the children are very free-range. Their mother lets them wander around the market without supervision even though they are quite young, and then the pre-schooler manages to set off on his own and is perfectly fine. This wandering is not shown as subversive or dangerous, but actually quite natural and expected by the mother and all the other adults in the story. And the reason that it's so safe for the kids to wander around freely is that the adults in the community are trusted, even if they are strangers, and they are all relaxed and friendly. This is exactly the kind of community that everyone wants to be a part of. The phrasing is not perfect. It doesn't take a village to "raise" a child. It takes a benevolent community to create a society in which children can exercise full age-appropriate independence. But that's not such a catchy title, I guess.

The illustrations in this book are realistic and use vibrant colors. Charlie loves to point out all the different items for sale in the market and all the activities that Kokou does with the grownups he meets. He is particularly intrigued by the fact that Kokou doesn't wear a shirt or shoes. ("Mommy, why him go outside with no shoes?") My only minor complaint about the illustrations is that on a couple of pages, there are multiple "time-lapse" pictures of the same characters on the same page. This can be confusing to kids who don't understand why there are four Yemis on this page. But it's a small point compared to the valuable things in the book.

So. You can't judge a book by its title.

Good Dog, Carl

Good Dog, Carl is yet another one of our nearly-wordless friends. It's about a mother who goes out to run some errands, leaving her baby in the care of a large black pet dog, Carl, while she's gone. Carl and the baby get in all kinds of exciting but messy adventures around the house, but Carl cleans everything up and puts the baby back to bed before the mother gets home, so she is none the wiser.

The illustrations in this book are very realistic drawings, but often two scenes, or a before-and-after, are shown on the same page without any lines in between. I've noticed that this is rather confusing to Charlie, thinking that there are two dogs or two babies instead of understanding the time-lapse. That's exactly why Montessori advocates a single picture on each page at this age. Still, this is an interpretive skill that kids need to learn, and a wordless book invites lots of discussion, so I haven't found it to be too much of a problem.

Charlie enjoys narrating this book to me, much more so than his other wordless books. I'm not sure whether that's something inherent in the story, perhaps it's more familiar or easier to follow, or whether it's just that I introduced this book at a slightly older age than our other wordless books, so he has more ability and less history of being read to from this book. This is generally a fun book, but not one of our all-time favorites.

The Day the Babies Crawled Away

When I first read The Day the Babies Crawled Away, I thought the pictures were stunning but the text was pretty lame. Apparently, I am not a two-year-old, because the moment Charlie first heard it read to him, he was enthralled. And after just a couple of readings, it began to grow on me. This is nowhere near great literature, but it's not annoying or boring, either. And the pictures definitely make up for it.

The pictures! All of the characters, scenery, and details are done in black silhouette, intricately detailed. There are many details to notice--butterflies, bees, blackberries on a bush, caterpillars--all pure black silhouettes. What really grabs you, though, are the luminous backgrounds. All the jeweled colors of the sky appear, subtly different page after page, giving the feeling that the entire book is happening at sunset even though we see the tones slowly change from day to evening over the course of the story. The book is just gorgeous to look at.

The story is pretty cute. The adults aren't paying attention one day, and the babies all crawl away. The only person who notices is a very young boy wearing a fireman's hat. He chases after the babies, trying to get them to come back. The babies crawl through forests and caves, take rides on birds, and end up at the bottom of a cliff before the boy catches up with them. He then takes over a parental role, finding them food and serving as a pillow for their nap, before leading them back home to their grateful parents. Nice and free-range: The babies get along reasonably well without their parents, and it's a little kid who steps up, takes responsibility, and successfully brings them home.

So, what is it about the text? I think it's a bit choppy in parts ("I say! What a day / When the babies crawled away.") and not very interesting. Charlie, on the other hand, found it immediately compelling for two reasons. The most important thing is that the book is written in second person, putting the child-reader in the role of the little boy saving the day ("Remember the way / You tried to save the day? / You hollered, 'HEY! / You babies, STAY!'"). Charlie becomes very excited, pointing to the silhouette of the boy and announcing, "That's me! That's Charlie!" and sometimes repeating the little boy's lines of dialogue. The repeated use of the word "remember" draws the child into the story even further, framing the whole thing as a retold story that happened to him personally just the other day.

The other thing Charlie loves about the text are all the exclamatory phrases he can add to his vocabulary: I say! What a day! Nice play! Okay! Hey, hey! He picked these up much faster than I expected.

The upshot is, I was skeptical at first, but this is definitely a worthy addition to our library.

The Train to Glasgow

The Train to Glasgow is a new (2004) picture book of an old (1954) poem that is a recent favorite of Charlie's. It is a cumulative poem in the style of The House that Jack Built, or There Was an Old Lady Who Swallowed a Fly, or, for that matter, Green Eggs and Ham, which is another of our favorites. The poem has a bit of substantial variation; that is, the lines change a bit as new things are added, and the last verse is completely different.

The story is about a boy named Donald, maybe around ten years old, who almost misses the train from Donibristle to Glasgow. The guard grabs his hands and yanks him into the train as it is leaving the station. But then a cage full of chickens falls over and the chickens escape and begin running around the train. Donald gathers them back up for the guard, who is so pleased that he invites Donald to have tea with him and his wife.

The illustrations provide the opportunity to anticipate what is going to happen next, at least once you've read the book through a few times. As the guard blows the whistle to start the train, for instance, you can see Donald in the background, running across a bridge, trying to catch the train. As the guard yanks Donald into the train, a corner of the cage of chickens is visible just beside him. When the chickens get out of their cage, you see them running toward the passengers they'll be stepping on top of on the next page.

The main attraction of this book, though, is the poem, which is very cute and not boring. Charlie has started to recite it along with me as I read the book, something he rarely does with other books. Oh, and the train. Everyone loves a good train.

This is also a great free range book. This boy is traveling alone on a train between two cities which, Google Maps tells me, are about 50 miles apart. He doesn't even have an adult bring him to the station! Once on the train, he saves the day by rounding up the chickens. And then at the end, he is allowed to go to tea, again without any parents, with this man and woman he's apparently never met before. This kid is capable, independent, trusting, and friendly--all excellent qualities.

Just a Little Critter Collection

There are approximately nine million books in the "Little Critter" series, and I readily admit, I have not read them all. The ones I have read range from fantastic to very boring. That's why I was pleased to discover Just a Little Critter Collection, a hardcover collection of seven really excellent Little Critter stories. There is no hit-or-miss here. Every single one in the book is great.

Most of this review discusses the stories, but before I launch into that, I want to mention the totally cute illustrations for a moment.  These are not great works of art or anything, but they are adorable and interesting. There are many background details to discover, particularly a spider, cricket, and mouse that follow Little Critter around to many places. The facial expressions on the parents and kids are also priceless.

Each of these stories is also available as an individual paperback. The included stories are:

• Just for You
• When I Get Bigger
• I Was So Mad
• All by Myself
• Just Go to Bed
• Just a Mess
• I Just Forgot

One of the major overriding themes of these stories is a free-range childhood. The main character, who I guess is the Little Critter himself, is probably around four or five years old (old enough to have a little sister who is a kid, not a baby), but his parents give him a huge amount of freedom and responsibility. In Just for You alone, his mother lets him cook eggs, mop the floor, put away the dishes, carry the groceries home from the store, mow the lawn (with an old-style mechanical mower), and set the table for dinner. In every picture, the mother is in the background, looking on, encouraging Little Critter to do things on his own. When he messes things up, which he does repeatedly, she is clearly aggravated but always kind and helpful. This is also the main story of the rather obviously-titled All By Myself.

Despite his age-appropriate freedom, Little Critter has clear rules and limits imposed by his parents. When I Get Bigger is about his fantasies of the exciting things he'll do when those limits are removed. All of them are very reasonable things that bigger kids can do ("I'll go to the corner store by myself."), or at least could back in the 1970s ("I'll have a two-wheeler and a paper route. I'll make lots of money.").

Combining both free range philosophy and good parental limits, I Was So Mad describes what happens one day when Little Critter was prevented from doing a series of activities he wanted to do (putting frogs in the bathtub, climbing inside his sister's dollhouse, painting the exterior walls of the house, and juggling eggs, among other things), and decided that he was so mad he would run away. His parents look on in quiet amusement as he packs his wagon full of toys and cookies and heads out the door. But right outside, he runs into his friends and decides to go play baseball with them instead of running away.

The two ideas also intermingle in the last story in the book, which is my favorite, I Just Forgot. Parents sometimes have trouble understanding exactly how many things a kid has to learn and remember. Things that are second-nature to us--like turning off the bath water when we are done!--are just one more habit that a kid is in the process of forming. Little Critter is doing his best to remember all the things he needs to do, but he only gets about half of them right. The writing in this story is just adorable and captures a little kid's voice perfectly. Some of the things are presented straightforwardly ("I put my dishes in the sink after breakfast, but  I forgot to put the milk away."), and others are almost laugh-out-loud funny ("I didn't forget to feed the goldfish. He just didn't look hungry. I'll do it now, Mom.").

I can totally relate to Little Critter's parents. They rarely say anything in these stories, but their facial expressions and body language always mirror exactly what I'd be feeling if my kid did whatever it is that Little Critter is doing just then. They are by turns proud, amused, frustrated, angry, worried, annoyed, and loving. But they generally stay in the background, letting Little Critter work out his problems for himself. This is most evident in Just a Mess, when Little Critter can't find his baseball mitt and his mother suggests that maybe he'll find it if he cleans his unbelievably cluttered room. She refuses to help, commenting, "You made the mess, so you can clean up the mess." You go, Mom Critter! In the whole story, she only intervenes to prevent Little Critter from washing his bedroom floor with the garden hose.

And parents are not perfect. I completely identify with Dad Critter as he gets increasingly annoyed with Little Critter's refusal to cooperate with the bedtime routine and ends up shouting "Just go to bed!"

Yet the love always shines through in these books. No matter how frustrated and annoyed the parents and child get with each other, there is always a tender moment. You just know that this is a strong, close-knit family. To a parent, one message of this book is that kids can be aggravating as heck, but they are still awesome. To a kid, the message is that parents can be aggravating as heck, but they are still awesome. Capturing both of those messages at once is, in my opinion, brilliant.

The Gruffalo

The Gruffalo (I've linked to the board book edition, which we own, but it's also available in paperback) is a cute little story about a mouse who keeps himself from being eaten by other animals in the forest, using his own cleverness. Whenever an animal wants to eat him, he scares them off by claiming that he's about to be joined by a scary monster called a gruffalo. This works great until the gruffalo turns out to be real, not imaginary, and also threatens to eat the mouse. But then the mouse parades back with the gruffalo to all the creatures he talked his way away from before. Each one looks at the gruffalo and runs away immediately. The gruffalo is convinced that they are actually afraid of the mouse, and runs away, leaving the mouse in peace. I'm almost certain that this is some kind of familiar folk tale, but I can't put my finger on what the original version was.

The book is written in very clever and nicely-flowing verse. So nice, in fact, that I'm going to reproduce the entire first animal encounter here so you can read it:

A mouse took a stroll through the deep dark wood.
A fox saw the mouse and the mouse looked good.
"Where are you going to, little brown mouse?
Come and have lunch in my underground house."
"It's terribly kind of you, Fox, but no--
I'm going to have lunch with a gruffalo.
"A gruffalo? What's a gruffalo?"
"A gruffalo! Why, didn't you know?"
"He has terrible tusks, and terrible claws,
And terrible teeth in his terrible jaws."
"Where are you meeting him?"
"Here, by these rocks,
And his favourite food is roasted fox."
"Roasted fox! I'm off!" Fox said.
"Goodbye, little mouse," and away he sped.
"Silly old Fox! Doesn't he know,
There's no such thing as a gruffalo?"

What I like most about this book is the subtlety and politeness of the text. The fox doesn't come in growling, "I'm going to eat you up!" and the mouse doesn't say, "No way, my friend the gruffalo is going to come and eat you up instead!" It's all very genteel and implied. Not only does this make for a more fun book, it also brings in more parent-child conversation about the book, if your kid is too young to make these connections on his or her own.

The illustrations are nothing particularly special. They're nice enough, and the gruffalo is drawn such that it is more silly than scary. There are a few details to find in the backgrounds--birds, butterflies, mushrooms, but nothing major is of note here.

One possible objection to this book is that the mouse gets himself out of his predicament through lying, a strategy we shouldn't glorify to our children. But it is morally proper to lie to protect your values, and your life, from criminals who would do you harm. So this really just becomes an opportunity to discuss the ethics of a difficult situation with your children. It's also quite a clever solution for the mouse to come up with, so we can respect him for his creativity and quick thinking.

The author, Julia Donaldson, is apparently quite well known in the U.K. for writing a large number of popular children's books. I haven't read any of the others, but I did want to point out that there's a direct sequel to The Gruffalo, called The Gruffalo's Child, which apparently involves the gruffalo telling his child about the very scary mouse he once met in the forest. I'm also kind of in awe of anyone who can get an entire professional website and Christmas TV special (sadly, not available for the U.S. market) made from just two books. That is some impressive marketing!

The Little Engine That Could

Charlie received The Little Engine That Could as a present from a relative about a month ago, and he fell in love with it immediately. He's definitely a train kid. But even for the non-train-obsessed out there, I'm sure you're familiar with this classic book. It was first written in 1930, and the story and pictures are almost sickeningly sweet at first glance. It strikes me, though, that the ethics behind this book are more complicated than I first thought. There are lots of good points and bad points here.

Let me recap the story first, in case it's not fresh in your mind. A train filled with dolls, toys, and fresh food is making its way over the mountain to the children who live in the town on the other side, when suddenly their engine breaks down. The dolls flag down passing engines and ask each one to help. The first three refuse, but the fourth engine, which is very small, agrees to help. This little blue engine has never been over the mountain before and is not sure she can make it, but with will power and determination, pulls the train over the mountain to a happy ending.

I'd like to briefly mention and then put aside the economic issues, because they are disappointing but not all that important. Stuck in a bad situation, the dolls do not try to hire a new engine or trade value-for-value, but instead start begging passers-by for help. Even if they don't have any cash, they surely have things they can trade: toys, food, empty space in the train cars after the goods are delivered on the other side of the mountain, fuel from their broken engine. It's also unclear how the toys and food are going to get into the hands of the "good little boys and girls" on the other side of the mountain. Will they be sold in a shop, or given out for free? Or are these items already owned by the boys and girls, and don't want their late-night partying on the other side of the mountain to be discovered? These questions are not addressed; it's just imperative that they get there by morning.

Why do I say that these economic issues are not very important? Because they're not a major focus of the book. You'd have to come up with the idea yourself to ask about it, and Charlie is way too young to do that. The book doesn't claim that begging is the best thing to do in the situation, and there's no discussion about alternatives; it's just what the dolls do. The focus is on other moral issues, which I discuss below: solving problems, helping others when you can, and the importance of a positive attitude and determination. Just because the setup for these issues is questionable doesn't mean that the book as a whole is a waste of time.

I'd be remiss if I didn't also mention the slightly sexist aspect to the book, which is not surprising since it was written 80 years ago.  The main character taking responsibility for getting the train across the mountain is a toy clown, who is male. The two female dolls fret in the background and then start to cry. Though to be fair, a toy elephant cries, too.

Now on to the good stuff.

Solving your own problems: I see this as a very free-range-friendly book. The child-readers identify with the dolls and the little clown who were on the train and are now trying to convince another engine to pull them over the mountain. There are many parental figures who might have shown up -- the engineer, the manufacturer of the toys, the shopkeepers waiting to receive the merchandise, the parents of the children across the mountain -- but none of them are ever mentioned. The dolls are in a bind, and they use their own intelligence and resources to find help. (Another free-range note is the inclusion of a jackknife as one of the toys on the train.)

Helping others -- or not: The second or third time we read this book, right when Charlie was beginning to engage with the story, he scolded the first engine that refused to help. "No, choo-choo train! That is not okay!" He was very adamant, shaking his finger at the book and frowning. This provided possibly the first occasion for me to verbally explain rationally selfish ethics to him. It is okay for the engine to refuse help, but it's not very nice. We probably don't want to be friends with him. The author and most readers would probably characterize the non-helpers as morally bad, but there is nothing in the text or pictures that demands this interpretation. There's also a great opportunity to differentiate between the first two engines, who are just snooty and mean, and the third engine, who is old and tired and might suffer actual pain if he helped.

The fourth engine agrees to help because she is friendly and nice. She doesn't have to, nobody forces her to, but she decides of her own free will that she will take on what is for her a very difficult task in order to help others. She has nothing to lose, and she has a sense of benevolence and of adventure that are inspiring.

Positive attitude: This last message is what the book is known for. The little blue engine has never even been over the mountain, let alone pulling a train behind her. She's very small and is not sure she can make it. But she gives it her best try anyway, and the positive attitude ("I think I can. I think I can. I think I can.") helps her succeed in the end. Woohoo!

Overall, this is a recommend. It's not perfect, but it has a number of very good elements and teaching opportunities. The text and pictures are a bit boring to an adult, but the book is a childhood classic and Charlie absolutely loves it.