Review by Booklist Review
As she did in her last book, The Snow Day (2009), Sakai focuses on the interaction of a rabbit mother and son. But this time, instead of finding quiet in a force outside themselves, the fury coming from the boy is a storm in itself. You always sleep late, the child accuses and then catalogs a list of Mom's other bad behaviors: watching television; yelling for no reason (well, perhaps it's the toys in the toilet); insisting he hurry up. Then the boy complains, You say you can't marry me, not even when I get bigger. Wanting to marry a parent is sometimes a fantasy of young children, but this comes out of the blue. He is so mad, he is going to leave. Which he does then quickly comes back, with assurances from a finally awakened mom that she missed him. As before, the art here is quite special. Lightly textured backgrounds put the child and his mother center stage. The boy's emotions, in both vignettes and spreads, are subtly yet powerfully displayed, while Mother, with her face rarely shown, seems depressed. Truth, sadness, and love mix here.--Cooper, Ilene Copyright 2010 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
This honest account of a small rabbit's angry outburst and the contrast between the adorable protagonist and his simmering emotions demonstrate Sakai's (The Snow Day) uncanny ability to tap into children's feelings. "And you always tell me to hurry up-hurry up-hurry up-but then you never hurry up yourself," the small rabbit complains, toiling over a plate of spaghetti, being pulled along by his mother's hand, and then sitting stranded on the sidewalk while his mother chats with a neighbor. Later, he lies on his mother's bed, arms crossed tightly, eyes narrowed, ears limp with despair: "And-And-And-And-" he falters, before venturing into deeper waters: "And you say you can't marry me, not even when I get bigger." Sakai's wedding portrait of son and mother is a priceless mixture of humor and pathos, the small rabbit a pint-size, suspendered, and bowtied groom, the bride so big that only her wedding dress-clad torso fits on the page. Sakai's artwork, densely stroked in pastel shades, mirrors the many layers of the rabbit's emotions. A nuanced vision of a child's mercurial inner life. Ages 3-7. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
PreS-K-Sitting alone at the breakfast table while his mother sleeps in, a young rabbit begins to list his grievances: Mommy always sleeps late, never lets him watch cartoons, yells for no reason, is late picking him up from school, and says that she can't marry him even when he gets bigger. "So I'm really mad at you, Mommy," the little rabbit announces, "So mad I'm gonna LEAVE. I'm going someplace far, far away. GOOD-BYE." After two wordless spreads, where the clock indicates that only five minutes have passed, he returns to ask if his mother missed him. She replies with a reassuring "SO much!" With a sparsely worded text, the simple, muted watercolor illustrations, outlined with soft charcoal, communicate most of the emotions and provide the rest of the story. Like Anna Dewdney's Llama, Llama Mad at Mamma (Viking, 2007), this Japanese import, a follow-up to The Snow Day (Scholastic, 2009), conveys the sweet and satisfying message of a mother's unconditional love. Perfect for one-on-one sharing and for generating a discussion about feelings, self-expression, and forgiveness.-Rachel Kamin, North Suburban Synagogue Beth El, Highland Park, IL (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
In a new picture book by the creator of The Snow Day, chalk drawings on blackboard endpapers show the elements of this preschooler's world and hint at the story to come. Domestic objects (cookies, a ball, a cozy bed) share board space with things of the wider world (an airplane, an action figure, a television). Why does the TV have rabbit ears? The preschooler and his mother are bunnies. Bunny mother, just trying for a Saturday morning sleep-in, is subjected to a litany of grievances, such as "You yell for no reason," culminating in "And you say you can't marry me, not even when I get bigger." When bunny child decides to run away and heads out the door, the point of view changes, and we see two wordless double-page spreads of the mother looking absolutely bereft. The door didn't quite close, however, and the child soon returns to a joyful hug. Stylish illustrations in a palette of black, blue, and cream feature characters who resemble painted folk-art figurines. They pack an emotional punch that will resonate with many angry bunnies and their anxious (and tired) parents. sarah ellis (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
and the fact that his mommy can't marry him. Young readers will sympathize, while adults will secretly smile. Sakai's paintings are simply composed and staged, allowing rabbit's expressive poses to shine. There are no distractionseach detail becomes evidence of his mother's care. Her palette is uncomplicated, but extreme attention is given to the small amounts of color used. She also has a talent for scale and pattern. Across four pages she uses the same composition, but each has a different emotional beat, highlighting the connection between mother and son and contributing to the final payoffhugs and harmony. As usual, the illustrator's work feels essentially Japanese: hand-done but with implicit craft; appearing simple but incredibly sophisticated. A playful story that offers young readersand their big feelingsa serious voice. Charming, classy and current. (Picture book. 3-7)]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
