Review by New York Times Review
IT'S funny when, as a relatively well-adjusted woman in your 40s, you read two fine novels about intelligent girls who are curious and daring and good-hearted. There is a wrench in your belly - of recognition, or nostalgia. It's appreciation for careful attention paid to a short, mostly underrated phase in the life of women. Suddenly the body armor you've built and polished feels leaden and even cowardly. What seem bold are the characters of Jacqueline Woodson and Pat Murphy, who in their new novels render the knotty friendships of girls with gravity, whimsy, intimacy and melodrama. Both novelists, with their tendency toward straightforward, spare sentences (especially Woodson), create rich worlds with relentless attention to emotional detail. In both books, there are prickly allusions to not fitting inside one's own body. But "After Tupac and D Foster" and "The Wild Girls" aren't novels about first menstrual periods or the cute boy in first period. Instead, the girls in these books encourage one another to write fanciful fiction and tramp through woods, or to take a secret train trip to the big city and back. "It's all quiet now," the unnamed narrator says to her friend Neeka in "After Tupac and D Foster." "You can start working on planning your Big Purpose." These girls have lives. And both books are luscious and dangerous with brand-new moments of self-rule. The girls' rebel fearlessness is without affectation, and tempered by sturdy family ties; they have just begun to realize that the loosening of such cords is even possible. The authors depict the in-between moment - do we still wear matching clothes because we're best friends? do we still play outside? - as the girls' focus on one another, and on their families, becomes sharper and more nuanced with almost every page. The title "After Tupac and D Foster" is more about time frame - the novel takes place between the time the rapper Tupac Shakur was shot and lived in 1994, and then was shot and died in 1996 - than subject matter, which converges around the narrator and her friend Neeka, both girls from solid, if imperfect, families in Queens, and D, their new friend. A lonely, adventurous foster child, D tilts her friends' lives in small but transformative ways. The narrative mostly skips hip-hop's beats and rhymes for the lyrics and loudness of brusque girlhoods, especially the sibling-on-sibling parenting that happens in big families. Youthful parenting, the book murmurs, makes kids grown-ups too soon. At one point, Neeka says to her mother, Irene, "Nobody told you to have all these kids." The narrator is afraid that Neeka will be popped in the mouth by Irene right on the train platform. But Irene cuts to the quick with words. "I guess I should have stopped before I got to you, huh?" Toward the end, D goes away to live with her real mother; the friends don't even learn her real name until she's about to catch the bus. The narrator, though coming to terms with the fact that D's life is not so much romantic as it is complicated, could still agree with something Neeka says early on: "D's cool. She's like from another planet. The Planet of the Free. ... I'm gonna go to that planet one day." "The Wild Girls" winds through a Northern California suburb plush with creeks and culverts. Joan, 12, has just arrived from sedate Connecticut with her parents (quietly selfish father; strong yet depleted mother) and 15-year-old brother, and on a hike into the woods meets a motherless girl named Sarah who calls herself the Queen of the Foxes (her father, created, like so many characters in both novels, with fullness of detail, is a startlingly charming tattooed biker). The girls, responding to each other's lonesomeness, immediately begin catching newts and playing make-believe, and soon graduate to keeping journals and writing stories together that catch the attention of an intense writing instructor at Berkeley. WOODSON, with her tale of three pseudo-tough girls in Queens, cares less about plot than does Murphy, with her longer, more traditionally paced novel about two girls who toughen up by painting their faces with tribalesque "war paint" and learning by the end of the novel that part of growing up is living by one's own axioms, the ones that come from experience: "Sometimes, you gotta believe something crazy," Sarah says, to explain why she obstinately holds on to the idea that her mother, who left the family when she was 2, has turned into an actual fox. "Because all the other things you could believe hurt too much." Joan and Sarah, like the girls of "Tupac," are at the age when ideas like sneaking off alone, especially in the dead of night to stand in a moonlit amphitheater, are an irresistible twitch. There is whooping and squirrel-watching and rock-throwing - on au courant tomboyism that remains free of mocking contemporaries for wearing lip gloss. They are deep in the romance of growing up. Could both these novels, in terms of setting, be more impressionistic and vivid, like those years are? Is there in both a lack of suspense about what will happen? Yes. But in their books Woodson and Murphy have both created moments of humanity that the girls respond to with whole hearts. They wear innocence like polished armor, and it shines. These girls encourage one another to write and tramp through woods, or to take a secret train to the city. Danyel Smith, the editor in chief of Vibe, is the author of "More Like Wrestling" and "Bliss."
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [October 27, 2009]
Review by Booklist Review
Pigeon, the stubborn preschool impersonator last met in Don't Let Pigeon Stay up Late (2006), returns for another encounter with an unseen adult. This time, he's angling for a puppy, and once again his approach perfectly mirrors a child's, from calm reassurances ( Oh, don't worry. I'll take care of it! ) to sulking to a full-blown tantrum: I WANT A PUPPY! RIGHT HERE! RIGHT NOW! Amazingly, his dream comes true, but when a big, slobbery pooch appears in the frame, the terrified Pigeon discovers that, in fact, he may not be a puppy-loving pigeon after all. Maybe a walrus is more his speed. Willems skillfully executes the formula that made previous Pigeon titles so popular: minimal artwork that places all the attention on the cajoling little bird, whose words and body language will strike a chord of familiarity with every child. Once again, kids will reach the story's end wondering what Pigeon will want next.--Engberg, Gillian Copyright 2008 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Unforgettably introduced in Don't Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus! Willems's id-with-wings reveals that he's wanted a puppy "forever.... At least since last Tuesday" and swears he's ready to assume the responsibility of pet ownership ("I promise I'll water it once a month"). But he soon discovers that reality, well, it doesn't bite, exactly, but it has daunting teeth--and slobbers. While Pigeon is still a marvel of visual expression, Willems this time out has blunted his character's repertoire of persuasive tactics--and with the pleading dialed down, there's not much else to enjoy. There aren't enough examples of Pigeon's quick-thinking tactical maneuvers or the comic punch that comes from the cumulative onslaught. The core thrill of this series has always been offering kids the chance to experience pleading from the parental point of view--and exercise the awesome power to say no. This time, the response may simply be, "Whatever." Ages 2-6. (Apr.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
PreS-Gr 3-The incorrigible bird returns in his fourth full-length romp. This time, Pigeon voices another common childhood dream: he wants a puppy. And he wants it NOW. He even promises to take care of it: "I'll water it once a month." He argues his case so forcefully that a puppy appears, but it's more than he expects: "The teeth! The hair! That wet nose!...I mentioned the teeth, right?" So he sets his sights on a different pet. Kids will love this perfectly paced picture book, which offers both the expected (breaking the fourth wall, Pigeon's classic temper tantrum) and a new twist (Pigeon actually gets what he wants? Impossible!). Willems's hilariously expressive illustrations and engaging text are cinematic in their interplay. Maybe kids won't appreciate the genius behind it the way adults will, but that won't stop them from asking for this book again and again.-Kathleen Kelly MacMillan, Carroll County Public Library, MD (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Horn Book Review
(Preschool, Primary) The heart wants what it wants, especially when that heart belongs to Willems's impetuous Pigeon. In his sixth book, the Pigeon tries to convince anyone within earshot that he should have a puppy. Listeners will know it's a bad idea from the get-go, whether they're already familiar with the bird's comic shtick or encountering the character for the first time. As in the previous books, the simple speech-balloon text and minimalist design put the action squarely in the foreground, demanding attention for the book's star -- who scarcely needs any help in that department. The Pigeon's direct address ("Oh...I get it. You don't want me to be happy, do you?") encourages the audience to participate in the story; his wrong-headed assumptions ("I promise I'll water it once a month") spur kids to play the grownup. When the Pigeon comes beak to muzzle with an actual dog, however, it's time to reassess his dreams...sort of. Willems's feisty friend is as emotive as ever, and his many fans will enjoy his latest outburst.From HORN BOOK, (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
(c) Copyright The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
The charming, exasperating pigeon returns, and this time he REALLY knows what he wants--or at least he thinks he does. As in his previous outings, he addresses the reader--"I'm fine. Thanks for asking"--and communicates a wide range of emotions through minimal words and a few deft pen strokes that brilliantly bring to life his one-of-a-kind personality. Following his now-familiar routine, the pigeon throws a tantrum and slyly attempts to manipulate the reader's (listener's) emotions: "You don't want me to be happy, do you?...You just don't understand." Be careful what you wish for might well be the moral of this tale, since the reality of a puppy turns out to be hilariously larger and more frightening than the pigeon's or readers' expectations. Even though the pigeon may get more than he bargained for, his many fans with find they get exactly what they've come to expect: lots of giggles. (Picture book. 4-8) Copyright ©Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
