There was a bear who lived in the forest & with her, she carried a book that contained everything she needed to know. Her life was calm & settled. AftThere was a bear who lived in the forest & with her, she carried a book that contained everything she needed to know. Her life was calm & settled. After having read her book, she comes to realize that there is perhaps more for her to learn. Through her journey, she voyages through landscapes & geography that ask her to reflect; Has she reached the pinnacle of knowledge? Is there more for her to see?
Young readers will find in this book a gentle reminder that one’s place in the world can be a journey; there need not be a settled neighbourhood that shelters them unless this is where they feel most at home. Through stories, books, music, & artistic mediums, young readers may allow themselves to dream of the knowledge they have yet to acquire. These messages are valuable to all readers, particularly to those amongst us for whom the moral of the story will be warmly received.
Ultimately, young readers who are enthused about the wandering nature of life & the possibility of gathering knowledge wherever they may go will find in this little book an array of rubies & gems that they may collect in their pockets as they move through life. What the bear learns is both where she belongs & how her knowledge can grow alongside the people (animals) she meets. I find the kindly reminder of all the wonders of the world, some of which can be found in our own backyard, a tender thought; the world is big but, around every corner, there is a friend, a good story to be told, a lesson to be learned, & life to be lived.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Jolly Fish Press, & Frances Tosdevin for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on the death of a loved one, grief, adultery, body mutilation, physical violence, parental neglect, self-harm, violence affecting a child, sexual abuse, elder abuse, & others.
As is so often the case, one’s experience with a story is entirely subjective. Fujino writes as an omniscient translator of traditional horror; the torment of everyday life a banal yet utterly terrifying reality each much affront. In this collection, she has decided upon three (3) tales of tenderly mundane terror: a novella that presents the demure of an egotistical maniac; a short story that explores elder abuse; & finally a short story that lingers on the psychotic.
Readers are either in or they are out; outside of the haunted house & the neighbourhood filled with the indistinguishable. Ultimately the stories are the purely paranormal essence of what is scary when we fail to understand. Unfortunately, the vast panorama of the phantasm does not linger for all eternity when the reader is given the chance to question whether or not they should be afraid at all.
Nails and Eyes In this novella, Fujino’s characters are cathartic shadows. The story follows the narrator as she dictates the demise of her stepmother or, rather, the woman with whom her father was having an affair & who came to live with them after the narrator’s mother died. I was rather uninterested in the logistics of this stance; whether or not the narrator was actually omnipotent or simply a child with an ego problem—this story functions in so far as the reader allows themselves the opportunity to listen to the ramblings of a child who very clearly is immature in every sense of the word.
From some point in the future or, maybe from no place understood by humans at all, the narrator recounts all the events that took place, leading up to the physical assault she carried out against the woman who lived with her. The graphic nature of her crimes—i.e. pealing open eyelids to scrape the iris & orbs with chips of nail polish—would have been better suited for a more fulsome buildup. The author introduces the relationship between the daughter (aged 3) and her new parental figure (early 30s) as a slow-burning fire in the middle of a haunted wood.
Readers spend so much time going over practically mundane occurrences that the final blow of violence comes as a disappointment. This story is not written in a way that is daunting or riddled with tension. I was utterly immersed in a domestic drama with a narrator who was an egomaniac—constantly droning on about her perfect vision. I was surprised to find out that this was actually a Horror. That being said, I understand the genre to be a fast plain of a multitude of facets. This story had nothing more than tedium to accompany the pacing.
I enjoyed the habitual torment of realization that dawned on the new maternal figure as she discovered the blog of the deceased. I liked how viscerally her emotions translated to the dull wording on the page. Her character was troubled in a nearly apathetic manner & for this, I was grateful. She was written with the ease of unexpected normalcy; she was nothing special, she expected nothing in return & understood that at the end of her life, she would die. Yet, all this time, she was squirming inside an egg that she struggled to crack for one moment of bliss.
This story functions well as an introduction piece to the genre. For readers who are uneasy with graphic violence, the author introduces the gore of an almost unbelievable situation in a disconnected way. The events that take place make practically no sense. How much did this child weigh to be able to crush the ribs of a fully grown adult? Was the woman totally asleep—she is described as having closed her eyes. The child’s nails were already nearly non-existent; how then did she have daggers for nails after they were further filled down? I appreciate the willful belief that one could develop a skill at pealing nail polish clean off a fingernail but this has more to do with the quality of the polish than the actual mouth or fingers of the person in question.
Alas, this is not the story in which the reader’s logical ponderings are needed or relevant as they do nothing but denigrate the magical rambling of the premise at hand. I find this a rather hard pill to swallow. After all, the premise relies wholeheartedly on the reality of the events. One needs to be able to appreciate the tedium of everyday life to understand that death is certainly a curtain swipe away. Regardless, my questions remain. I am left apathetic as a consequence.
Ultimately, the plot holds gems of an especially cruel nature. The narrator, though crude in her existence & responsible for the death of her mother; is still a child. She was three (3) years old at the time of the events. She might have perfect vision according to the Snellen chart but she remains unable to gauge the world around her; she murders her own chances of growing strong by biting the hands that feed her. Therein lies the true terror; a noted future starvation, a gullied & sullen intestinal track wrought & vapid as a consequence of one’s own choices.
What Shoko Forgets Shoko is not her real name though; the reader will be forgiven for forgetting this along the way. The main character is an elderly woman who is being kept in a physical therapy hospital until she is better. What ails her is perhaps the slow steps of the end of her days. She spends her time in a fog, sometimes able to recollect tired pieces of information such as her maternal role but, for the most part, she sits in solitude, haunted by a young man whose reasons for roaming the halls are unknown.
This story is crass, exploring the churching reality of an all-too-prominent unspoken truth; abuse often happens right under our noses. Shoko speaks to herself & tries to recall that which her mind blocks out as the sun rises; the reoccurrence of what is most probably sexual abuse (rape). The author explores the physical reality of bounds & mounds, yet allows the night owl to remain unnamed.
After having enjoyed the novella, I was disappointed to find that there were two (2) short stories included alongside the bind. Because I had been immersed in the novella, its sharp & sudden ending left me annoyed. I was not ready to read another story so, I gave myself some time in the hopes that the silence would reprieve this story from my disappointment. Unfortunately, it was difficult to read this story because it was so utterly ambiguous.
There is very clear abuse taking place but the villain is not made apparent. Is the reader meant to deduce that the extroverted young man in the clinic is the one committing crimes? Is the reader being encouraged to reflect on their own prejudices; if a person is not obviously unwell, are they ill? Though the premise of this story does sound intriguing, it does not deliver on its promise. The reader should not have to fill in all the blanks to make a Mad Libs out of this story.
One can roam at leisure back & forth throughout this story without really arriving at any clear conclusion. Is Shoko simply a product of her time or is she a cultural marker? Are the women imagining the man or is he really there? Is Shoko experiencing a progressive form of Dementia or is she blocking out the trauma of residing in a care facility against her will? What is the purpose of this story?
In a manner far too obvious to be quaint, the author presents the simple terror of existing at the mercy of other people’s kindness as the ultimate antagonist. Readers are at liberty to remain apathetic or wrought with sorrow.
Minute Fears I hold preferential feelings toward the modernization of terribly spooky stories from childhood. There is something altogether charming about the simple scares that exist in the narratives without fallacy. In this final short story, one is brought back to the lunacy of uncommunicable fear. The main character is a mother & she is very proud of this. Her friends are married & happy but, they are not as free as she is. With a husband who is fully supportive & independent & a son who is smart & punctual, this lady of the house remains content to live her life in her own way. On the night in which we meet her, she is preparing to go out with her friends.
I mention this background because it is the crux of both the main character’s person & the essence of the plot. Without these differing points, the main character becomes another person utterly unknown to the reader. Her physical & characteristic attributes are rarely mentioned but, the author emphasizes her long hair. One becomes eager to see this mother figure out in the world enjoying time with her friends. The sympathy that is drawn from readers throughout this story is merited. It is comforting to think that any multitude of readers might at once understand the plight of a crying child & yet, long for his mother to meet the opportunity for a social engagement.
When I was young there were many scary stories that followed me around. The morbid curiosity that accompanied my fears pulled me onwards like a rope to the waist. The same holds true for the narrator’s son. The local playground carries with it the curse of a luring demon. If any child remains on the playground after 4:45 PM they will be subject to a curse wherein the spirit of a dead girl will haunt them until they too are cloistered captive in the playground, for all of eternity.
The demon rings the house of the child, taunting them to come back to the playground to join her. After a couple of coos & pleas, she arrives at their door & brings them along with her. On its own, it is easy to understand why this would scare a child. The threat of separation from their safe place, their home, is freaky; to be captured by a creepy ghost is fowl. Yet, what if the ghost is no such fang-leering figure? What if the demon were the boys’ own mother?
Once again, the ambiguous ending that accompanies this story is perhaps not what readers want to find. It would be a harsh encounter to be met with a plainly written conclusion. However, this story works better because it remains hidden within the readers themselves. What is the best-case scenario? Would it have been preferable for the narrator to let her child sleep, comforted by both his parents in his own home? Surely.
The simple scary story made scarier by the unknown is a pleasure to behold. The simple figure of a mother is not all that she is inside. Her long dark hair reminded me of the whisper of an invisible wind. Japanese folklore references a woman just like the mother figure in this book; a woman with long dark hair, a conflict in what remains of her soul, & the intentional wanderings of her listless feet across the earth. For traditional Horror film aficionados, “The Grudge” (2004) will have acted as an introduction to Kayako—the demon-spirited girl with the long hair. In other versions of this story, she is called Kuchisake-onna & is a Yūrei.
What the multiple versions of this story have in common is the translated ease of this spirit to wander the earth collecting upon what she wants—what she needs. Readers will never know what becomes of the boy & his mother. The too-suddenly employed final marker of the end of the sentence leaves room for a raving rambling of thoughts none of which will find ease or repose in any aspect of this story. What has befallen the characters in this book might be as simple as wandering in the dark or, as troubling as the trembling legs of the young as they wander through the unknown grasping onto the hand of the person they thought they could trust.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Pushkin Press, & Kaori Fujino for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters that contain reflections on animal abuse, the death of a loved one, fertility, abortion, the sexual abuse of a child, the death of a loved one, grief, parental abuse, neglect, & others.
Veronica is a woman with a story to share. As is often the case, her reflections stumble; the narrative that is presented to the reader reeks of a solemn manuscript, kept ripe in the confines of an archival system long since abandoned. Maneuvering her way through four (4) decades of peril, amorous sentiments, confusion, equations, & lore, Veronica presents the reader with a series of events unbound by logic. Her life story is plausible as much as any fairytale or decrepit fable; the reader longs for a settled story & they find one hidden between the shadow boxes of new walls, built around a childhood sheltered by curious, strange, eyes.
This is not a book that I feel many readers will appreciate. Fans of Literary Fiction & afternoons seated on uncomfortable ground peering deeply into new wounds; this story will hold rubies & gems for readers who appreciate stories for what they are—tales to be told & intrigue to behold. I would not be quick to recommend this book to casual readers. That is to say, readers are perhaps more likely to feel a sense of enchantment towards publications that follow a patterned logic but which are quite hollow of the morbidity of secrecy. This book follows the narrative of a woman who feels inclined to share. This is not a book that contains a tale both otherworldly & trite. Readers will be asked to hang their inhibitions at the door & settle themselves into a room caved in with harrowing memories & distrust.
Should readers find themselves immersed in this book as I have, they may be uncomfortable with the tide that wipes clean their memory of any valid semblance of time. I find myself now, seated uncomfortably longing to pull the blinds down & attempt to regain the sentiments I held while reading this book. Yet, here I am without much to invest in this review. Rather than feel that memory has failed them, readers might be inclined to conclude that this story resides within the book & not within the mind. As a consequence, one needs to return to the apartment in the drumming heat of Rome to illustrate the complexities of a life destroyed by tedium.
In essence, this story is riddled with what might be complete lies. The main character opens the story by inviting the reader to believe that her brother has died. One soon learns that this is a habitual event. Under the all-seeing eye of a matriarch who does not seem invested in the well-being of her children, but rather more engaged in the societal perception of what it means to be a mother; the main character & her brother wallow in a childhood absent of stimulation. Their days are passed inside an apartment without access to the outside world. Having a patriarch who fears illness & pollution, they meander their days in a space that grows walls.
The walls do not grow on their own. One might be inclined to look into the metaphorical significance of each of these events; are the walls that their father builds meant to create individualized space within a collective entity? Why are there so many walls & how does the patriarch gauge where to build these walls? None of the philosophizing done by the reader comes to any secure conclusion. We wade back & forth through a series of recollections that engage the reader to wonder, question & prophesize what all these things might mean. Rather like in real life—the one experienced outside the confines of the book—none of the questions one has, are granted a reasonable answer.
Moments pose shade to the healthy development of the main character. Inappropriate encounters shape her into a neutrally traumatized individual, one rather disinclined from sharing with a room of people whose ears are deaf to her existence. Perhaps, I felt inclined to listen to so much rambling because within each section of recollection, there was a simple facet of truth. I do not need the narrator to be honest with me, I am rather disinclined from caring whether or not the story is altogether fabricated; the point is to be present. Veronica met me at a point in time when the summer nights felt long & my life was changing. Tomorrow is certain to bring a series of new challenges whereas outwardly, the waves have nestled still to the depth of the river.
Perhaps, because my mind was accepting of the banality of recalling a fraudulent painting & the worried rambling of a story that had yet to be written, I found myself absolutely immersed. This story does not need the reader to accept it as truth, rather the story is a story & that is all there is. Veronica suffers as much as anyone else & perhaps more so because her existence is sheltered between words written clearly but whose meaning is altogether lost on the stable mind of the observer. Each character in this book felt like a stranger waiting to make their way to centre stage. The antagonists—the villains & predators—malevolent winds gusting brutality against the windowpanes of Veronica’s childhood home.
In this way, I believe this book to hold a secret that it does not wish to speak; something undoubtedly dull, common, & magical. Readers might find themselves struck by the discussions of infidelity & love or, they may become stuck in the parables that guide them down city streets into disparaging apartments housing unknown people, dead to the story at play. The beauty of this story is that it will hide itself from the desired recall of the brain; where it hides, I cannot begin to know. One may be sitting, casually enjoying the autumnal breeze, only to find themselves pondering the rejection of Veronica’s writing.
One may find oneself perusing the events thrice only to regain a semi-smidge of valuable information. Why was Veronica unable to write a book review? Why does she remember her interactions with the author who does not remember her, time after time? Why is Veronica so tender with her brother while their relationship seems to foreshadow distrust? Why does Veronica remember her father so vividly as a man she misunderstood in all ways, even as a human being? The recycled perception we have of Veronica is the same one she shares with us. She lives authentically via a lifespan that paves the way for us to walk several steps behind; she is too far away for our questions to reach her with any severity or urgency, simply as whisperings in the wind.
Should readers be inclined to spend some time with Veronica they will find that she is unlike anyone they wish to ever meet again. Her recollection is plagued like a deathly disease with shallow emotions & trite structuring. Yet, she is also fully engaged in a horribly boring narrative that she is in love with living. I am not sure that I am in any position to fault her for that.
Ultimately, what I found to be the most endearing was Veronica’s commitment to herself. Teetering the line between the end & the beginning, Veronica colours her world in ways only another artist could do, yet, I trust that she understands this & she knows that I do too. This story flowers pathways paved in cement with uncomfortable silences & shadowy leaves of dying trees; every single breath between a new train of thought is a station to an unknown location yearning for the passenger to break free of the tracks. Like glue, the reader puts as much effort into keeping this story together as the narrator & for that, we are bound together like staples & straw; mangled by our own romantic perversion to recognize the person unknown.
To navigate through this story is to forget & recollect all at once. Veronica is a person all her own, her parents are people who live down the road & her long life is one that another might hope to live. I deeply appreciated sharing the space that the author crafted. This book is grim & illuminates the strange sentiment of insecurity that exists in all of our memories of a time when walls were built around us to redirect the life we were living. I will come back to this sequence again & I hope once more, to be met with Veronica as she settles in spiky blades of grass to convince me of something that might be altogether too earnest to be real.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Grove Press, Black Cat, & Veronica Raimo for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, tou**spoiler alert** It is important to note that most of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the book's subject matters & those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on parental abandonment, mental illness, terminal illness, grief, the death of a loved one, an authority figure’s inappropriate relationship with a minor, & others.
How we see the world is often in direct correlation to how we live inside of it. The familiar faces of a shadowed person may either be the seething fangs of cannibals or the dentures of a high society neutrality. Amongst the crowded streets & laundering businesses we come to recognize the normalcy accompanied by age. These same vendors, once, our classmates. The busybodies on Saturday morning soon hold the forgotten memory of intimate exchanges. Within these cold pursuits down backroads, one learns to adapt. The unseemly reality of the human condition might be sheltered or, when teaching downwards we might altogether forget that, on just such a morning, the lessons of life were once being taught to us.
In a way, I was fully prepared to meet my match in this story. I very rarely read full synopses as I have come to find them to reveal too much & I rather enjoy the silent whimpering of the unknown. This book purports the death of a character, a girl, as a focal point of the story. Have we, not all been in places where someone has gone missing—has vanished from this life?—asks the story. The uncouth nostalgia of a community of people who each experience loss in different ways as the mystery of a terminated life force draws the story to its conclusion, reeks of anything but a casual loss. In some unfathomable way, Grabowski wrote a story that is too real to be true. Yet, in its essence, it is everything we intentionally leave unsaid in the chosen miscommunications we share with one another.
I have sat with myself for several days since finishing this book. I am not entirely convinced that I can write a review that would do this book justice or that might shed a sliver of light on my experience. As I have come to this point over the course of many reading years, I find it best to begin at the start. However, there is no clear beginning here. The narrative that this book undertakes is disorganized, uneven, & rather morose in its dissociation from the reader. A series of ten (10) female characters are presented in sequence, one after the other in tandem & entirely solitary from one another. The narrators bequeath the reader their time & tenderness yet, offer none in return. The younger narrators—girls in their teenage years—remind the reader that they should be mindful of judgment. Only to turn around in the ink & torment the eyes with cruelty.
It is my habit to philosophize the root of the tree; to un-riddle the rhymes that are presented to me; reading is far more enjoyable to me when I approach texts in this way. While faced with a new approach to revelation, I came to find that I needed to act quicker than I might normally. Many stories offer the reader the opportunity to station themselves in the environment of the story before opening the actors’ curtain. Rather than employ the traditional smooth flow into tortured waters, the author allows her first character to speak quickly. She encourages our first narrator to ride her bike around town, chat with a coworker whom we do not know, & share details of a series of events we cannot possibly understand; only to turn over her shoulder & forget that we are there.
The narration style of the introduction allows the reader to choose their level of enjoyment & awareness. One has the opportunity to read about Jane’s wanderings & accept that this story will explore too much of too many things for the reader to understand. This reader might settle on the fact that no story is meant to be totally understood. I am personally inclined to believe that people who read stories in this way allow themselves a clear path to enjoyment. On the other end of the spectrum, for readers who approach dissecting every parable & chant as I do, the rules of the road are different.
Characters fly through this story at warp speed—one needs to think quickly on their feet. This is perhaps a strange thing to say given the fact that the reader sets the pace but, it is true. I feel mildly embarrassed that I cannot remember the names of all of the characters though they live in my mind. This leads me to feel no pain toward this admission because I do not have a memory for names in real life, I have a memory of faces & sounds. What I mean to say is that, though Jane is the first character & though Brynn is Lucy’s mother, my mind has remembered them as it does all the people I meet in my everyday life; as real people.
I do not wish to downplay the incredible feat it is to accomplish this result. The author’s talent for understanding the mind of the reader, both the unperturbed enjoyer of stories & the analytical deducer of words, presents to them both a world in which they might live independently of each other, all while crossing paths at crucial points. I highlight the various readers that exist in a simplified dual category because this is a very complex story.
There are scenes that require us to be both nimble in the logistics & gentle as the wallflower. One cannot sit in the hospital room & loudly judge the parental choices of a woman dying of cancer. One requires the petalled accepting reader to ease the group through the social requirement & the critical mind of the decipherer to reveal the inner workings of the castrated wounds sewn shut behind closed doors. There is space & need for every reader in this text. That being said, readers will be encouraged to revisit this story more than once. As I reflect on the introduction of this story I am reminded of the way in which my mind sought to go back as I perused the middle. As the book drew to its close, I grappled with starting the story all over again; for one final reveal, a sliver more of sweet pie meant to steal cavities in my teeth.
The plot itself revolves around Lucy, a high school girl who is both a dreamer & a realist. While at a house party, located in a dilapidated building near the sea, Lucy falls to her death landing straight on her back onto the cement of an empty swimming pool. The weather is rainy & dark; the air is filled with the possibility of rebirth. On just such a night, Lucy dies. I felt rather sick inside reading about Lucy’s final moments. I was tormented by the mirror facing me; this could have been me, it could have been any number of my friends but, instead, it was Lucy. Here I am, saddened by a loss that is not mine to claim.
The proximity I felt towards this story did not stop at the premise. I found myself eager to escape every single narrative that was presented & yet, doubled back as I was reminded that no one is the antagonist; these are all just people lost in a world without rules, structure, or guidance, trying to be good—trying to be better than human beings are inclined to be.
What renders this story so powerful is its dedication to realism. Certainly, almost every single narrative in this story is tinged with despair. Some level of pain & horror follows each of the characters. Their recollections of the past, their faltering willpower to remain hopeful in the face of dark caves, & their trust for another day, incorporated flames of gasoline-induced fire to the blazing blue ocean. One woman knew the family of the deceased, & another girl was her best friend. One woman wandered the hospital as Lucy’s father was consumed by grief, & another girl made a disparaging video of her online. The structure of this story teaches the reader to be patient. Things do not necessarily have to make sense to us right away for them to have a purpose.
The nature of every relationship in this story is that it is inappropriate. At once, the reader watches the villain take shape; the lying friend, the crude friend, the nasty friend, the girl who is mean to other girls. Only for pawns to shift as though being played against us. What if what we thought was in fact flawed—was wrong? What if every interaction is attributable solely to our perception? What if Olivia isn’t a nasty cruel girl but someone who has been sheltered only from love? What if the carapace of the Great Khan were only marbled by the arrowheads? The truth of the matter is that the reader will never know the truth.
Just as each person interacts in fractions with other people, so too did each of the characters. A single sentence might be intended to evoke something while being something different to the receiver & be defined entirely differently to the observer. It becomes cruel to hold fast to a stance that is misinformed. The beauty of this accomplishment is that it settles outside of the page to linger in the room with the reader. Social settings are rarely so cut & dry as they appear. We are insulted & hurt by variability in tone & cultural wording; we lose track of who we are when we smile without happiness & furrow brows to coin an empathy that evades us. None of this is evil or blasphemous, all of this is human.
As the narrative progresses the reader might feel the cool breeze of the sea at the backdrop of all that happens. The insecure ramblings of the inner monologues try to convey a message that is braille to the senseless. While being offered the key to the home one comes to realize that there is nothing to study in the abyss. While each character fights for her right to be alive & nestles herself with words of comfort only heard from within, she suffers the winning Excalibur.
I would be remorseful if I did not mention the victors of this story. I have highlighted that there is no antagonist among the narrators; no one woman is the bad thing that slithers in daylight & feeds in darkness. However, behind the doors of every safe space that was built to house knowledge, growth, & the introduction to the world, there is a man who profits off the even keel of the women who build the town. The sexual predator who is celebrated with a retirement party, the teacher who is enamoured with marooning intimacy. The absent father galavanting free of responsibilities. The scrolling eyes of the family member.
Maybe, like in life, the fictional account of existence highlights what we already know. There is a line we might choose to cross, sometimes we are tossed over it in a bid to survive the horror of a living nightmare; other times we were born on the other side of what is deemed angelic goodness of the children of an invisible man of the sky. Perhaps we might need the narratives of each living being to appreciate the nuance that presents itself to us. Perhaps it does not matter to know that some people have it bad & others choose the blade with the edge to sharpen bones. My mind reels at the gentle sway, as a boat might against water waves; lending me softly back to the shores of my life where I am met with days of sun & nights of the moon; skies of clouds & stars; both of which present visually to the hero & villain alike.
Ultimately, I find myself monstrously moved by this story. The obscene level of talent that is required to shelter a minotaur in the labyrinth of tangible vernacular is found in the mind of the author. It is an absolute pleasure to find oneself malevolent in longing, desolately gorged with ravishing imagery & torrential truths. This is a stunning piece of literature that will forever hold a warm & secretly forward place on the library shelves of my home. To wander the pages of a story that is crafted with intention, ease, & dedication is to be met with the Leviathan in flesh; wounding the seabed of life to regurgitate for the pen, all the inky loveliness of the titled victor & villain; humanity.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, SJP Lit / Zando, & Alina Grabowski for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
**spoiler alert** Within the tumultuous mind of the grave, shadows linger in lethargy, protecting a grey matter that has been put to rest. The lingeri**spoiler alert** Within the tumultuous mind of the grave, shadows linger in lethargy, protecting a grey matter that has been put to rest. The lingering thoughts of opulence once relied upon to create fantasy & magic are outnumbered by tedium & structure. The book's main character finds herself searching the crevices & corners of her mind hoping to find what has been lost. Her agency has been stripped of purpose, her days are numbered leading to a final shift in perception & reality. When the night is through, Abby will face a world that is not welcoming & does not necessarily care whether she is in it or not.
I find myself at a bit of a loss. While reading this book I teetered on the edge of the page; to move forward or settle on a reading experience that might not have been for me. It is not so much that I did not enjoy the book as much I found myself immersed in a nightly ritual that was peevishly personal. The main character, Abby, is too tangible. None of this is a negative criticism. On the contrary, readers seek to find a person actively living life within the stories they select but, what becomes of their lives once the book ends?
The altogether overly personal nature of this story will feel, to many readers, like a jaunt through mental turmoil. The angst that Abby experiences leaves one eager to encounter the illusion of Keynes within Abby’s psyche—even with the knowledge that his rhetoric is nothing short of a first-person interchange; a nod, a slight hand movement as the singular brain maneuvers point of view. Reading this book felt like walking down a sidewalk in a silent & still neighbourhood. One is convinced that each house must have people living inside of them but, one is shockingly appalled at the prospect of spotting these inhabitants alive within brick walls.
To prepare for her speech on Keynes, Abby sets about employing the Method of Loci—a rhetorical method in which a person relies on visual cues such as walking around one’s living room, sitting at the dining table, speaking to a familiar face near the front garden, etc. By placing oneself in a familiar environment, the pressures that require us to be at ease are lessened. One can easily imagine speaking the truth to a series of dialogues that might take place with someone we know innately. Thereby, the orator is able to call upon the visual cues to guide them through long parables.
As Abby attempts to practice her speech employing this method she loses herself. Her train of thought is immensely intertwined with the facts of her presentation, all of which is a messy jumble nostalgic of the voracious darkness of night. The questions that Abby seeks to have answered are sickened by her inability to gauge her pace. Sometimes, she begins her description of a room as one might when describing their space to a friend. The sufficiency of the details Abby selects is lost on her because there is no one around to imagine the space but her. Certainly, Keynes wanders the halls of her mind—her home—but, this does not count. She can tell herself—Keynes—that the table was white all she wants, this fact does not alter the soliloquy of sorts that litters the quietness of night.
Back & forth through memories of the first renovations, through the midnight jaunts of an insomniac’s terror, to the present; Abby allows the reader to enjoy the crisscrossing of merit between the scholastic endeavours on which she prides herself to be lost in the insecurities that loom like leeches on her lymph nodes. The reader is certain to become uncomfortable. Though Abby seems to be giving us far too much personal information we remain tertiary to her narrative. It does not matter whether or not she knows we are around. It does not matter that her husband & her daughter are sleeping soundly beside her. Abby is lost in her own despair.
Is the reader able to pose harsh judgment & set the book down with rational criticism? Can a reader be expected to want to see Abby succeed? There are moments in her meandering when Abby asks herself truly vital questions. This recycles me to my own first sentiments; this book is a privy space of intimacy whereupon the main giver of secrets remains unaware that someone else is there, listening.
The parts of this story that I appreciated the most were the ones that made me drowsy. My mind wandered through lanes of memories catalogued for my own sleep disorder. Here I was, sometimes in the middle of the day, reminded of the distorted pattern of wakefulness that plagues my cerebellum like a villain. The ways in which Riker writes about sleep & the tirelessness of the overactive mind felt familiar to me in their bittersweetness. This congenial similarity that grew between Abby & me was disconcerting. Why couldn’t she sleep? What loomed in her soul that made her nights so everlasting? What is wrong with us?
Though I cannot say for certain that it might ever be in my ability to walk through the details of this book in a review-style format that will do the book justice, I know that I will be back to read it once more. Meeting Abby was evocative of the nightmares I lose track of & the eagerness my skin feels for cooling water. As the narrative veers between fact & fiction—recollections that revoke comfort—the reader is allowed to call it quits. Abby is going to fall asleep & her revelations will be forgotten. After all, she didn’t even know we were there.
Ultimately, the reader is encouraged to draw parallels between the cold world of numbers & calculation to the heartbeats in the cavity space of their own person. The setbacks that Abby has faced are certainly not the end of the world & maybe she will bounce back & realize that the paths she took when she was meant to be dedicated elsewhere were not in vain. I sit here writing about a book that I read & enjoyed & I remember when all these thoughts circled lonesomely in my mind. We are perhaps never so stunted as when we consciously bemoan ourselves for the freedom we seek.
For readers who are eager to mingle the cooling tongue of the desolate mind; the tragically sleepless; the succulently tender roamer of solitude, this book will scratch the rib cage & tickle the back of the throat. Perhaps, the rhetoric method that sees us knock at our own door paralleled by a strange figure we hope to rely on for anamnesis might reveal to us the red ruby within the wound of our centre. The phantasm in the room is us.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Grove Press, & Martin Riker for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
Sometimes, the stories we share hold the unitarian goal of keeping a memory alive. Certain stories are of knights, dragons, & stormy skies. Other storSometimes, the stories we share hold the unitarian goal of keeping a memory alive. Certain stories are of knights, dragons, & stormy skies. Other stories are of the shining star of a person that kept us warm in their embrace, with love, tenderness, & all the time they had in this life. This picture book explores the author’s short recollections of her grandmother—Nuakuluapik—in three (3) scenarios throughout their childhood.
As a reader, an individual, & a person who holds memories of adults from childhood, I hesitate to know how to form my thoughts. This is not a book I might recommend because it’s not so much a story as a quick moment wherein the author tells the reader that once upon a time, there was someone who loved them very much & now, they are gone. There isn’t so much a story in this book as there is a quick succession of moments.
At once, Nuakuluapik, is introduced, she allows the author’s childhood self, to help her with sewing, come on trips, & play with homemade toys. Then, the recollection is at a close. When I finished reading this book I felt the actual story was missing. There is no girth to this book save for the emotional ties that one assumes the author holds to the subject matter. This is a very cold way of speaking. My intention is not to be cruel. If a reader does not mind sifting through a couple of pages wherein a memory is clicked forward & then moved out of the scene, they will appreciate this.
I wanted to know more. I wanted to be immersed in the memory rather than find myself sitting on the sidelines adopting an adult stance to what I suppose are heavy memories on the author's heart. Young readers will appreciate the illustrations & might even find themselves curious about the amplitude of what is being hinted at but, they will not be given the depth of the relationship that the young girl shares with her Nuakuluapik. This book has much more room for what is hidden in the heart.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Inhabit Education Books Inc., & Irène Jonas for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
The delicate memories of childhood, sometimes hidden or darkened with age, have been given the opportunity to come alive on the pages of this book. I The delicate memories of childhood, sometimes hidden or darkened with age, have been given the opportunity to come alive on the pages of this book. I have found Scott to be a phenomenal storyteller since I was first exposed to his work. He wonders with his ability to alleviate the weight of memory on the soul; maneuvering it alongside art that guides the reader to sensations of nostalgia & bliss.
This particular book welcomes readers into a specific time in the life of a young child as their life begins to change. We have all had those moments, more times than we can probably count, yet it’s a complication to go so far into the past. With warm stovetops heating the house of his Baba, the young protagonist wanders under raindrops & over the wiggling bodies of worms on cement to tell us the story of how things changed.
What I find most memorable about this story is how easy it was for me to become immersed in the story while allowing the illustrations by Sydney Smith to weave me back to a time when I wandered under raindrops waiting for my warm bowls of tomato soup near the special chairs where my own grandparents sat.
It is truly a talent unmatched that upheaves the mind of the adult—one that is on guard & poised—back to a time when life was new when the weather felt large, the roadways river beasts looming as titans alongside us, all the while never alerting the reader to the journey. I appreciated that very much.
Though this is a story that young readers might appreciate, I think that veteran readers might find a tenderness waiting for them, specifically, in the gloom of the dark shades; moments they haven’t revisited in many moons, for whatever reason.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Neal Porter Books, & Jordan Scott for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
Lola spends a couple of weeks every summer with her Gram. This is a time that she cherishes, a time that she anticipates, & a time that she is eager tLola spends a couple of weeks every summer with her Gram. This is a time that she cherishes, a time that she anticipates, & a time that she is eager to see arrive. However, this year, Lola begins to miss the life she leaves behind during her summer visit. She reflects on her home, her friends, & the everyday occurrences that she is used to, leaving her with a new feeling: homesickness.
I appreciated the illustrations of this story. Asma Enayeh brings Lola’s world to the forefront in such warm ways; her life & adventures feel tangible & real, as though they were only a neighbourhood away. I found the cohesion between the story itself & the illustrations fantastic. Every character has a role to play & young readers are encouraged by colours & shapes to make their way through the world.
With that being said, I found the ending a bit confusing. Throughout the story we see Lola & her Gram find new ways to transform their adventures into little postcards for Lola’s parents. This combats the feeling of homesickness while giving them fun things to do, on top of the array of joy they cultivate daily. When it is time for Lola to return home, I figured she would possibly adopt the practice within her familiar environment, as a way to bring her Gram into her quotidian.
Instead, we see Lola anticipate postcards that she will send to her Gram, which have already been made. Who made these postcards? Did her parents think ahead & assume that Lola would want to have her Gram included in her everyday life, just as Lola included them in her summer adventures? I suppose we could view this transition as Lola anticipating all of the things she could transform into postcards but, with the pages flipped to cards already set to post, this did not feel like the case.
For that reason alone, I feel that the story was missing part of the message. It is lovely to have someone you love so much that you end up missing them. This feeling, as Gram taught Lola, can be fostered by including those folks in the fun you are having by proxy. No distance is too far for love; no mountains too high or oceans too wide. Therefore, it would have been nice to see Lola remember this & work towards sending her Gram reminders of love & fondness from her home.
This is just my opinion. I think that young readers won’t necessarily have a problem with this as it is easy to become swept away in the illustrations & imagery of making homemade postcards. In all, this was a very sweet story that fosters a reminder in all readers that, though we might be far apart & the moon rises at different hours, the sun shines for others when we are asleep or the weather be changed altogether; we carry the memory of those we love with us always, no matter where we are.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Beaming Books, & Maggie Lauren Brown for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
What a special gift it is to be able to use words so powerfully. In simple stanzas & with prose that is at once attainable yet moving, Kim has opened What a special gift it is to be able to use words so powerfully. In simple stanzas & with prose that is at once attainable yet moving, Kim has opened a space in these pages for all readers to feel seen, to be heard, & to care for.
I have been reading for as long as I can remember. I have never held prejudice against the categorizations imposed on a book. Instead, I have always felt that a good book is a good book, no matter who it is written for. This picture book is a prime example of that. Within so few pages the author has allowed readers to wander through the gentle sheets of illustrations, included lovingly by Emily Paik, to find themselves in a space where they are reminded of their value.
I am an adult now, but this book would have meant a great deal to me as a child. This book means a great deal to me now. I am so grateful for the knowledge that authors like Kim exist in the world & have found it in their hearts to share such tender reminders with us all. Within this story, the reader is met with little poems that a reader of any level will be able to consume & appreciate. Within these poems, we are met with ourselves & the parts of us that might have gotten lost along the way.
It is important to remember that we deserve kindness, patience & warmth. Readers who will have the pleasure of working through this collection of poems will be granted the opportunity to hold those lessons dear to their hearts in ways that remind them that we are all on this earth together; the responsibility of kindness extends outwardly as it does inwardly.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Modern Marigold Books, & Kyunghee Kim for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, theref**spoiler alert** It is important to note that the majority of the themes explored in this book deal with sensitive subject matters. My review, therefore, touches on these topics as well. Many people might find the subject matters of the book as well as those detailed in my review overwhelming. I would suggest you steer clear of both if this is the case. Please note that from this point forward I will be writing about matters which contain reflections on child endangerment, violence, the forced disappearance of a child, grief, the loss of a loved one, & others.
When I endeavour to read a Horror story I feel immense eagerness at the prospect of fear. It is not that I believe fear to be an enjoyable emotion or even something that I strive to find rather, fear is a tenderness within the heart of each of us that is hidden, coddled, & safe. When an author has the ability to produce a work of fiction that breaches the veins & muscle matter of the protector of our fears, I am faced with a joy indescribable in common words. To find that which is hidden inside each of us is a skill uncommon in the abysmal literary world of hyper-production, sloshy vernacular, & disparaging plots. Only the masterful, the monstrous, the transcended writer knows us through the thickness of skin peeled from a tree & ink thicker than bone.
Fournier’s work was brought to my attention while I perused the CBC’s yearly list of authors that I should be aware of; books that I should add to my ever-growing pile of literature, lining every corner & crevice of my home. In this story he presents two tales of lore & terror that nestle themselves in the looming evening & drenching light of a fading sun; structuring in the stories told to Inuit children to keep them safe.
I will not lie to you; these stories did not affect me at all. They did not traverse the page to knock on my door as I read them in the dead of night during a bout with my ever-tender friend, insomnia. The reason for which I have written my introductory paragraph as I have is to remind readers & myself that the merit of a good book is in its devices. There are many readers who will come across these stories & regret turning off the light before they hid their toes under the blanket. The combination of illustrations within this collection brings the stories to life in a way that transcends the imaginary; suffocating the presence of real & fake; bridging a divide that we did not know kept us safe.
If I had one contention with this book, it is that I am unsure who the target audience is. The folklore tells of skinwalkers, demons who lure children out of their parent’s grasp into the tundra to be consumed for their life force. The stories remind readers of the horrors that exist in conjunction with the lore that crafts these tales. To be honest, I enjoyed reading about them. However, I did not enjoy reading about them from a position of ghoulish pleasure—as stated in the introduction—but from the stance of the casual observer, sat waiting for their turn; silent until the demon’s eyes catch their own.
Ultimately, these stories read as very young, very simple, & intended for burgeoning audiences. This is not meant to be interpreted as a knock against the book itself. Rather, I maintain my uncertainty with the target reader for it is certainly not me. Might I recommend this book to others? Definitely. It’s an interesting take on stories that I have been well aware of for many years of my life. Yet, I would not state that the stories form a whole that needed to be consumed.
If the intention of these tales was to remind children to be watchful, respectful, light-footed, & cautious then the book might do well in the hands of a reader who was once just like me. This reader might be curious & eager to explore the stories that shape the shadows of our world. If this is the case, then I think it has hit the mark. Fournier has truly presented stories in the flesh; made them real, & given them follicles, lashes, grime, & gunk. However, for readers who are as I am today, the book presents something of a short & quaint read.
The number of stories (two) leaves the book to be almost too short to leave an impact. Had there been an evenly odd three or perhaps a quartet of stories uniform in length, the book might not feel disjointed. After the first story has ended I began to feel that it should have been the last; not the introduction to the book but the one that left us gasping for thanks. The second story is very short & leaves the conclusion of the book pin-pricked with emptiness. A child is dead—disappeared—this would serve well as the tale that cautioned the reader; reminding them that they have chosen this book not because it was comforting or quirky but because they want to find what I detailed in the beginning; their own fear presented to them on the pages.
Overall, I enjoyed this short jaunt through cautionary tales of those others who inhabit the land with us. The ones that bring us underground, shave off the bottom of our feet so we disappear into thin air. The others who cast themselves a skin as silky & new as the baby born into a home lined with precautious words detailing the loss of those who came before it. I will be eagerly awaiting future work from Fournier.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Inhabit Media, & Jamesie Fournier for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
Many people might be familiar with the Chinese Zodiac—the animals that represent a year & what each of them represents characteristically. When I was Many people might be familiar with the Chinese Zodiac—the animals that represent a year & what each of them represents characteristically. When I was growing up this was as an aspect of life that I was made aware of thanks to friends for whom the practice was an intrinsic part of their lives. However, I hadn’t come upon a book such as this, that presented the belief, concept, & history in such a simple yet colourful way; I am glad to have found it now.
This book is for everyone, in the sense that it can be for those like myself who are not Chinese but for whom cultural markers & practices are important aspects of life to know; the more we learn about each other the better a person we are. On the other hand, you might simply have a young reader who appreciates the little pig wearing a cap on his way up the mountain. Perhaps, another young reader finds this book of pertinent cultural significance to them. In any & all cases, both the author & Paula Pang, the illustrator, have created a wholesome picture book that welcomes all.
What I appreciated the most about this book was that it is easy to understand. The notes at the back of the book are incredibly interesting & grant the guardian the opportunity to incorporate further knowledge & research into the reading experience. All the while, engaging young readers in reflecting on their connection with the animal which is representative of the year of their own birth. This was a beautifully colourful book filled with the dynamic landscape, fabulous colours, & animals brought to life in their journey up the mountain.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Holiday House, & Ying Chang Compestine for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
**spoiler alert** In the woods, where the land is vast & the trees overshadow greens, there is a Bear with a cone on his head. He sits alone & without**spoiler alert** In the woods, where the land is vast & the trees overshadow greens, there is a Bear with a cone on his head. He sits alone & without speaking we know, we have been the bear once too.
This graphic novel is not one I might typically leave a content warning for, given nothing is said; there is no writing of any kind. However, I would not feel right leaving this review without a word of caution regarding the content that is hinted at through the detailed illustrations provided across the pages. This book, in my opinion, casts a very bright light on what it is to live with mental turmoil, mental unrest, & a burden on the heart & the mind. There are certainly ample ways to interpret this story but, regardless of which way you lean, what is clear is that Bear is dealing with very distressing emotions. This story should be read when one is prepared to be reminded that in the world of thorns, bushes, sharp edges, & gloom, someone loves you. If that person is yourself or another, inside or outside your being, you are worthy of tenderness & care.
With this being said, I feel confident that many readers will find themselves as I did; confused. At first, it appears as though Bear is simply stuck. He has a bucket, or maybe it’s a cone, on his head & he cannot get it off. After trying for what seems like forever, Bear finally gives up. Then, along comes the Hare.
Bear tries to welcome the help that this other creature is trying to give to him but we see that it is difficult; almost impossible to accept. Soon, the two are at odds & we come to realize that the cone represents so much more than a tunnel through which Bear views the world, it is all the ways that he is held back. The cone might be viewed as a physical blocker; something that Bear tries to work past with his hands & tools. It is also a metaphorical obstacle which we see when Bear roams away from Hare, on his own.
What is most moving within this graphic novel is the instance in which we see Bear free from the confines of the cone. He realizes that he is free & yet, he remembers the anger & unkind behaviour he exhibited on Hare. Perhaps he believes that he should be in the cone; perhaps he believes that his powerful emotions, the ones leaving him feeling sadness, seclusion, & fear, are what he deserves. When we are faced with this scene, the story becomes quite overwhelming.
The reader can easily see that Bear has done what any person might do, he was upset because he has spent so long held back by the confines of the cone. Though the Hare tries to help him, this aid takes time & because Bear does not see any progress or any positive conclusion in sight, so he pushes the Hare away. I should wager to say that this sentiment is one which many people are familiar with, unfortunate as that might be.
This book offers readers a tangible glimpse into what many of us live with every day. The illustrations within this book are incredible. They bring to life such vivid sentiments & secrets held within the world of mental illness, I was quite blown away, seeing them displayed in such a moving manner. I would hope that everyone has the opportunity to read books in which they might see themselves reminded that what they hold deep inside is not innately something they deserve to carry. Pain, distress, & sorrow are not emotions that should be cast onto us like penance for being alive. Books such as this one remind us kindly that our worst wounds, our deepest burdens, & our most cataclysmic fears can be set to rest with tenderness toward ourselves.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Seven Stories Press, & Staffan Gnosspelius for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
Our story begins sometime in the past, though it certainly could have been the yesterday that just passed; there is no telling when this tale took plaOur story begins sometime in the past, though it certainly could have been the yesterday that just passed; there is no telling when this tale took place & that is part of its charm. Itzel lives near the jungle with her grandmother. During a dry spell, Itzel is made aware of the devastating consequences of drought. In a bid to try & see the return of rain & water, Itzel journeys through the jungle in search of the giant snake; said to be the carrier of the river—the being who sheds water across the lands.
This story is based on a folktale & for that alone, I am glad to have read it. I appreciate how vast our literary journeys might take us; across the globe while sitting at home. However, in this story, there was something missing that I might attribute to the essence of the story itself. Itzel & the other jungle animals find their way rather simply to the origins of the river, where the giant snake is meant to be. After crying, the waters flow & everyone is gifted what they needed most.
At a surface level, & should you be a guardian reading this to an audience who might not care to question the moral implications of whatever is happening within the book, this conclusion is rapid & settled. Itzel & her companions tried their best to have hope but it was dashed, regardless of their efforts. This leaves them with exactly what they were hoping to get, but, how? I think perhaps the inclusion of a bit more of the giant snake or why the snake granted them water might have been great.
After all, the giant snake was allegedly never seen because no one believed in him. The group had one, maybe two, actual believers in their company. Everyone else was simply along for the ride hoping to get water. What part of that fraction might encourage the snake to feel that he was something others had returned to in their thoughts & beliefs?
I am, perhaps, reading too much into this. The book is a retelling of an old folktale for a culture of which I am not a member. Therefore it is probable that some of this story might be better told & appreciated; the nuance clear & identifiable, by those to whom this story rings close to the heart. Therefore, I will leave off my review here by simply stating that this is a cute story, a cute book with cute illustrations & something that would be a nice added dimension to a personal library.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Kids Can Press, & Rachel Katstaller for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
The Little Wise Wolf lives in a home deep within the forest & he is very busy. So busy, he hardly has time to tell the other forest creatures how busyThe Little Wise Wolf lives in a home deep within the forest & he is very busy. So busy, he hardly has time to tell the other forest creatures how busy he is; so focused is he on reading big books & learning everything there is to know about the world. Unfortunately, the other forest creatures would like Little Wise Wolf’s help, they would love to be as smart as him if purely in their own way. But, he does not have time for their questions; he has no time to spare at all.
This picture book welcomes the life lesson that we all would do well to remember; we are greater, smarter, more emboldened, & better off because of the good people around us. Little Wise Wolf learns that there is always more to know & that knowledge is not a one-way street; everyone holds different knowledge that, collectively, makes the world a better place.
I very much appreciated the lesson of this story & the way it was presented reminds me that even when we have gathered all the information there is to know, there is always room to grow. This is part of the beauty of life. Hanneke Siemensma’s illustrations introduce the young reader to a delectable world of depth & plenitude. I am certain that young readers will remember the Little Wise Wolf & the ways in which he learnt to be a better version of himself through the kindness & gentle action of the good folks around him.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Kids Can Press, & Gijs van der Hammen for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
There was no way for me to be prepared for what I found within the pages of this book. So unprepared was I that I found myself laughing out loud at thThere was no way for me to be prepared for what I found within the pages of this book. So unprepared was I that I found myself laughing out loud at the strangeness of this book’s nature. In these moments of humour, I found myself with the comforting sentiment that young children will love this, as much as I did in adulthood.
There are no words within this picture book which makes it the ultimate story for those who may not be able to read aloud, those for whom words carry no weight, those for whom words are an unknown, or simply for those like myself who enjoy the strangeness of art. The beauty of this book is that it can be consumed by anyone for there are no linguistic barriers in imagery; everything can be just as much itself as it can be whatever you wish it to be.
I think that young readers will find an abundance to enjoy & appreciate within this book. I believe it will remain a story that bridges the transition between our introduction to books through our journey into literature. As the young character walks home from school, she passes the windows that reflect the soul of the house & all the people, things, & creatures within.
I am so glad to have gotten the opportunity to read this & I am so happy to be gifted the knowledge that readers will be able to have their first experience wandering through these deliciously detailed pages, as I have today.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Kids Can Press, & Marion Arbona for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
Mario and his mother are sitting on a park bench spending time, quietly, together. After some moments of silence, Mario asks his mother why we cry. ThMario and his mother are sitting on a park bench spending time, quietly, together. After some moments of silence, Mario asks his mother why we cry. The question is interesting in that it seems there is no right answer; no answer to quell the tears, no response to make the invisible seen. Yet, Mario’s mother seems to know just what to say.
This was a beautiful book. The prose of this story is incredible & I am truly grateful to have read it. Though this is a story for young readers I think it poses vital information for every human being. There is no way for me to express how useful this book would have been for me as a child without revealing things I wish to leave buried. Suffice it to say that I recognize the weight that this story carries in all its glory & genteel pages; a message of the utmost value.
Ana Sender’s illustrations blew me away. I could not have envisioned a better backdrop to the words the author shared than those brought to life by Sender. At once the imagery is untamed & monstrous but, it remains honest & revelatory; it shed light in the forest of our hearts & brings forth the unnamed in details attainable to all.
There is no limit to the positive things I have to say about this book. I am so very grateful to know that it exists & to have gotten the opportunity to read it. Stories like these are vital, they are the crux at which we find ourselves within literature when we don’t know where to look or how to ask to be found; a familiar place of adventure, fantasy & lore, there we are, our complicated feelings & all.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Kids Can Press, & Fran Pintadera for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
I will start off by saying that somewhere in the adult mind exists the recollections of youth. When I was young I adored this style of illustration, iI will start off by saying that somewhere in the adult mind exists the recollections of youth. When I was young I adored this style of illustration, it made me feel as though there were dimensions to be felt & held within the special book I was reading. I am glad to see this style come back again; it brought me to a time when the inside of a book held the whole world—the world I hoped to live in one day. Stories are vital & presenting all types is just as valuable as incorporating distinct art.
This is a story for a young reader, one who might be eager to jump in & name the colours on the page or highlight that the crab is red. I am appreciative of the conjoined efforts by the author & the illustrator, Ashley Barron, for creating a book so powerful in motion, as the waves on the sand. By welcoming the different kinds of oceans that exist in the world we welcome the possibility that every aspect of life exists in a nuanced state; nothing is quite like anything else though there are certainly similarities.
The characters in this book could be a mother & a daughter or a caretaker & a client. They could be a surrogate or a loved one, simply & for me, that is a welcomed possibility. Children deserve to see themselves in books. Just as I remembered the craft & worldly density of this art style, so too will children remember when they could see themselves within stories—those parts of our species that make us who we are.
This was a lovely book for a young audience who will be encouraged to participate, stay at attention, & be guided through memories of their environments & all the colours that exist around them.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Kids Can Press, & Darren Lebeuf for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
The scene is set in a town that is quite like any other but not. The narrator owns a hotel & welcomes many guests from across the globe; trotting & scThe scene is set in a town that is quite like any other but not. The narrator owns a hotel & welcomes many guests from across the globe; trotting & scampering to stay in the place whence he has put so much time & care into. At the end of his days, he is filled with a yearning for change & he wonders if by leaving the place where he is, will he miss it when it changes.
I will attribute my immediate enjoyment of the illustrations & of this short story to its similarity to “The Wind in the Willows” (1908). I found myself remembering my favourite friends of the forest, just beyond the wood, & feeling that this story mirrored some of their wee adventures if even just slightly. My enthusiasm to compare the two works is done in eagerness for I adored both in their own ways. However, it was nice to see illustrations drawn on some of the personified versions of our favourite animal friends.
Depending on the reader, this book might be interpreted as being a positive or a negative experience; the main character seems to be stuck but he’s not, he’s eager to travel but he doesn’t. In the end, this story allows young readers to welcome their own emotions into the illustrations & gives them the ability to tether themselves to a little creature who can walk either path, it is ultimately up to the child to choose.
I deeply appreciated this story. It was warm & welcoming, just as I would imagine the hotel to be. I hope that many young readers find this book on their shelves & are able to craft a dream so big that it takes them around the world, to all the friendly faces waiting to greet them.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Kids Can Press, & Akiko Miyakoshi for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
Having spent the years of her young life growing up in Hong Kong, Yuna feels particularly sad to leave. She isn’t sure where she belongs or how she miHaving spent the years of her young life growing up in Hong Kong, Yuna feels particularly sad to leave. She isn’t sure where she belongs or how she might ever find her place in this new world. Throughout this picture book, Yuna’s special origami skill comes in handy both for herself, giving her a tangible task with which to distract her & as something to bridge the linguistic divide.
This is a very special story & one I am glad to have come upon. Truly, the only qualm I have here is that the language is rather complex which results in this book being one that will be read by an advanced English speaker. I found some of the words difficult to pronounce or understand though I have never been educated in English, I cannot say for certain if the goal was to remind readers that we all have to grow & have learning to do—that we all start from somewhere.
My comments regarding the linguistic liberties aside—as I’m sure that many English speakers might not have the same issues as I did—this story is warm & is perfectly reflected in the illustrations by Jieting Chen. I appreciated the scheme that was employed to create the world of play; the imagined structures, technology, & freedom that welcome children into the hidden world within our own.
Exploring the narrative of the young, those who follow parents & guardians into a new life is very important. These stories deserve our attention just as much as any other.
I would like to see this story style further explored in children’s literature as it is an important topic for the youth and adults who might be narrating the story's trajectory. Had the wording been selected to reflect the age group I might have really loved this as I think it is important to make stories intended for children, accessible for them too.
Thank you to Edelweiss+, Beaming Books, & Marie Tang for the free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review!...more
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