Hello, books! 👋

Can we read? No. 69

And hello, people! Thanks for being with me today.

If you’re new here, welcome. To learn (a little) about me and what you’re going to receive as a subscriber, visit this page — and feel free to hit reply on this email with any questions, especially if there is a way I can be helpful to you. We all get a lot of email; we all absorb more content in a day than our great-grandparents did in a whole year (or something like that) — if I can make the process of finding great books for your family easier, please let me know!

ICYMI

I interviewed the author/illustrator Elisa Kleven the week before last — it was such a good one, and I’m still reeling over how generous she was:

(How) Can we read? An interview with Elisa Kleven

Also, last week I released one of my big seasonal issues, children’s books for spring:

Children's books for spring🌷

Okay, let’s get on with it 🐾

---

The Crocodile and the Dentist by Tarō Gomi (1984)

This hilarious book begins with an introduction to its two (and only) characters as they ready themselves to see each other: first, the crocodile thinks to himself, “I really don’t want to see him, but I must.” Then the dentist thinks to himself, “I really don’t want to see him, but I must.”

Thus the reader gets an immediate glimpse of how this encounter will play out — the crocodile has a thought toward the dentist, and then the dentist has the exact same one toward the crocodile, and since neither of them ever say any of it out loud, neither has any idea that they are thinking and feeling the exact same things.

This is typical of Gomi’s extra-simple — but never simplistic — style, including his blocky, charming, visually distinctive illustrations, which are as wonderful as ever here. This is a tale about the importance of going to the dentist, perfect for little ones who are apprehensive or resistant to that, but there’s so much more going on here — the assumptions we make about one another, the stories our fear tells us, how despite our seeming differences, we are all human. (Even crocodiles.)

---

Little Night/Nochecita by Yuyi Morales (2006)

”As the long day comes to an end, Mother Sky fills the tub with falling stars and calls, “Bath time for Little Night!” But Little Night, like children everywhere, won’t come — saying instead, “You have to find me, Mama. Find me now!”

Mother Sky has more patience than I do (ahem), and she willingly plays this game — she peeks down a rabbit hole, finds Little Night, and snatches her up for a good scrub. But Little Night continues to goof around — when Mother Sky calls, “Dressing time for Little Night!” the impish child again says, “Not until you find me, Mama!” and scampers off. Mother Sky looks into a bat’s cave, finds Little Night, and serves her pancakes. Their warm, loving (really infinitely patient) game of hide-and-seek continues through two more aspects of getting ready — drinking milk and brushing hair — until Little Night is ready to take her moon ball and go out to play.

Morales’ stunning celestial illustrations enchant and offer the perfect entry into this dreamy bilingual tale, which invites readers to romp and imagine their way through what could be — but doesn’t have to be — mundane, every-day routines.

---

Goodbye, Friend! Hello, Friend! by Cori Doerrfeld (2019)

It doesn’t get much more visually cheerful than Cori Doerrfeld’s work — her images are bright and full of verve — but that doesn’t stop her from tackling topics that are decidedly the opposite.

In her first book, The Rabbit Listened (which I reviewed in issue No. 13), Doerrfeld wrote about the destruction of a child’s tower, the many attempts of various animal friends to provide emotional support, and finally, a rabbit’s perfect empathetic response (if you haven’t guessed, it’s simply listening). In her second, here, she confronts a sad, sometimes even traumatic childhood event — when a friend moves away — with the same level of care and gentle witness readers have come to expect from her work.

As ever, my favorite part is Doerrfeld’s willingness to invite both her characters and her readers to just sit with the feelings that come up — not fix them, not change them, just be. In the most uncomplicated way — “Every goodbye leads to a hello. Goodbye to sitting alone… is hello to sitting together.” “But sometimes when you least expect it, a goodbye comes along that really feels like the end. Sometimes, goodbye is the last thing you want to say” — she gives children permission to feel the full range of their feelings. That may not seem so special, except when you stop to think about how many books do that (which is another way of saying how often our culture entirely fails to do that) and realize: it is.

A publication note about the art for this book says it “was made with digital ink, Dr Pepper, and a good dose of nostalgia,” which just delights me (I love it when illustrators write their own, clever notes for this section) and is as good an explanation for Doerrfeld’s work as any — she is always clear, always gentle, always offers the invitation to be human together, bear witness to life and loss together. Always the ultimate in empathy — and, to me, the very best.

---

Count on Pablo by Barbara deRubertis, illustrated by Rebecca McKillip Thornburgh (1999)

It’s market day, and for the first time, Pablo is going to help his abuela with her market stand. Together they go out to the large garden to pick vegetables to load in the truck, and this turns out to be the heart of the story: Pablo picks a variety of veggies at abuela’s instruction, counting each using different units of skip counting — limes by ones, onions by twos, peppers by fives, and so on.

When they get to the market, no one wants to buy the vegetables individually, until Pablo comes up with the idea of buying chips and a bowl from other vendors, and preparing salsa to sell at abuela’s stand. This involves more natural math, pleases the customers, and of course, saves the whole day.

When I found this living math book I was skeptical that my children would enjoy it — it seems repetitive in some ways — but I was wrong. Thornburgh’s watercolors tell a vivid, loving, grandmother-grandson tale, and my kids love the skip-counting required to turn most of the pages (joining in verbally as I read aloud every time). A book that combines a great story with some fun learning? Yes, please.

If you like this one, be sure to check out my Spotlight On: Math, which is all about developing mathematical thinking through children’s books — but more importantly, is chock-full of excellent, enjoyable titles for the whole family:

Developing mathematical thinking through children's books 🧮

---

That’s all for today! Thanks for reading, and as ever, if you know someone who might like a newsletter about children’s books, raising readers, and building a culture of reading in your home, feel free to forward this along 💌

Sarah