Review by New York Times Review
JON KLASSEN'S "I Want My Hat Back" and Stephen Savage's "Where's Walrus?," though two of the most widely anticipated Caldecott Medal contenders of 2012, didn't, in the end, get much love from the American Library Association committee that chose the winning picture book, "A Ball for Daisy," by Chris Raschka, along with three runners-up. The deliberations are secret, so we cannot know the Caldecott committee's thinking, but the single (if expert) joke of "Walrus" and the Raymond Carveresque minimalist murder plot of "Hat" were perhaps not pluses. Still, both books were strong sellers and brought deserved attention to their creators. Savage tries something different with "Little Tug," a more disarmingly modest book for younger children than "Where's Walrus?," whose wordlessness and off-the-page references to Edward Hopper as well as to "Where's Waldo?" meant inference was everything. Little Tug is "not the biggest boat in the harbor," but he (unlike his obvious predecessor, Hardie Gramatky's "Little Toot") works very hard: "He pulls, he pushes and guides the boats to safety." Rescuing a stilled tall ship, a broken speedboat and an ocean liner gone awry, Little Tug is an excellent helper. "But what about MY needs?" the little boat whines. No, not really. His problem is instead one parents will readily recognize: "What happens when Little Tug tires out?" When a bedtime book reveals its true nature halfway through a story about something other than sleep, children can feel tricked as plot gives way to purpose. But to his credit, Savage nicely patterns Little Tug's bedtime ritual with what has come before: the tall ship tucks him in with a sail, the speedboat hums a lullaby, the ocean liner gives him a hug. Savage's artwork gives the boats just the right combination of realism and personality. The harbor is a mostly serene expanse of simplified shapes, calm waters and changing skies, with a particularly gorgeous gradation of tones as night falls, and Little Tug a sturdy bright-red focus throughout. With just 100 words, including the title, this book is a good one for last call, as any demand to "read it again" can be easily satisfied. "This Is Not My Hat" is probably not a bedtime book. A plucky little fish has stolen a dapper little hat from a sleeping big fish. The fish is upfront with us about its theft ("This hat is not mine; I just stole it"), and prattles on about just why he is going to get away with the hat and the crime ("And even if he does notice that it's gone, he probably won't know it was me who took it"). Meanwhile, the pictures show the big fish waking up and methodically, inexorably hunting the little fish down until they are both deep in the weeds, from which the big fish emerges alone. Only God knows what happened, but the big fish has recouped his hat. As was true with "I Want My Hat Back," in which a rabbit and a bear provide the dialectic, the ethical position in "This Is Not My Hat" is complicated. Don't steal, obviously. But given that children's literature champions the small and the weak, there is also this: Don't get caught. Depending on where you are on the political spectrum, "This Is Not My Hat" could be a cautionary tale of either righteous class struggle or uppity proletarians. The decision to separate the action in the cool black, gray and green underwater noir pictures from the postulates of the text ("And even if he does guess it was me, he won't know where I am going") means that not all picture-book audiences will be old enough to thoroughly get it. I read the book to a 3-year-old, but it was too deep for him; when I watched a 6-year-old and her father read it together, they were appropriately and gleefully scandalized. Any picture book needs to bridge the worlds of adult and child, whether they are the tucker and the tucked in or the experienced reader and the sounder-outer. The negotiations between what grown-ups and children want, and between what adults are familiar with and children are still apprehending, provide the tension that makes children's books possible. Whether puttering along with Little Tug on the surface or swimming with the fish in the dark below, we're all in this water together. Roger Sutton is editor in chief of the Horn Book magazine.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [November 11, 2012]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* Klassen's authorial debut, I Want My Hat Back (2011), became one of the surprise picture-book hits of the year. This follow-up is really only related in its hat-theft theme, animal characters, deadpan humor, and a suggestively dark conclusion. Which might seem like everything, but whereas the first book featured light sleuthing by a semi-dopey bear looking to find his lost lid, this is a similar story from a fishy absconder's point of view. This hat is not mine. I just stole it, claims a minnow darting through the deep-sea black. He tells how he lifted it from a bigger fish. At each stage, the minnow reassures himself that he's gotten away with his perfect crime. We see it ain't so, as the big fish trolls along right behind him, right down to the minnow's final, prophetic double entendre: Nobody will ever find me. Once again, the simple, dramatic tension and macabre humor mesh splendidly with Klassen's knack for tiny, telling details and knockout page turns. Who knew hat thievery was such a bottomless well? HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: Klassen's debut was a #1 New York Times best-seller and Geisel Honor Book. The publisher is rolling out a 15-city tour and pulling out all the publicity stops in support of this release.--Chipman, Ian Copyright 2010 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Like Klassen's very funny and much-praised I Want My Hat Back, this story involves a hat theft; this time, Klassen ups the ante by having the thief narrate. It's a small gray fish who has stolen a tiny bowler hat from a much larger fish ("It was too small for him anyway," the little fish sniffs. "It fits me just right"). Klassen excels at using pictures to tell the parts of the story his unreliable narrators omit or evade. "There is someone who saw me already," admits the little fish, about a goggle-eyed crab. "But he said he wouldn't tell anyone which way I went. So I am not worried about that." The spread tells another story; the crab betrays the small fish in a heartbeat, pointing to its hiding place, "where the plants are big and tall and close together." Readers hope for the best, but after the big fish darts in, only one of them emerges, sporting the hat. It's no surprise that the dominant color of the spreads is black. Tough times call for tough picture books. Ages 4-8. Agent: Steven Malk, Writers House. (Oct.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
K-Gr 3-The narrative tension between text and art is as crystalline as the water at the bottom of the sea is murky in this tale of underwater mischief. The little fish in the stolen hat is absolutely sure he is going to get away with his crime, but attentive children will holler, "Look behind you!" (c) Copyright 2013. 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
The eyes have it in Klassens latest hat book (I Want My Hat Back, rev. 11/11). Klassen manages to tell almost the whole story through subtle eye movements and the tilt of seaweed and air bubbles. The wide-eyed little fish on the cover looks guilty. He is. He has taken the tiny bowler from the head of a large sleeping fish and pleads his case to the reader. He explains why he will never be caught -- the fish is asleep; he wont wake up or notice the missing hat; and he wont know who took it or where the thief has gone. The culprit continues to flee the scene of the crime, moving to "where the plants are big and tall and close together." Once he reaches his destination, the reader sees the little guy for the last time, disappearing amidst the "safety" of the seaweed. The final spread is laugh-out-loud funny: the large fish now sports the teeny hat, eyes closed and relaxed in slumber. The seaweed wafts innocently, and the air bubbles are calm. Since every claim the little fish makes is belied by the pictures, the reader is in on the joke, by turns rooting for him to get away and nervously hoping he is caught. Klassen continues to be the master of black and brown, and the viewer will not tire of the palette. Little eyes will pore over the end pages, looking for evidence of foul play, but all the interaction between the two characters takes place where the plants grow tall and close together, obscuring the view. Darkly hilarious. robin l. smith (c) Copyright 2012. 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
Klassen combines spare text and art to deliver no small measure of laughs in another darkly comic haberdashery whodunit. While not a sequel to I Want My Hat Back (2011), the story does include a hat, a thief (a little fish) and a wronged party (a big fish). This time, first-person narration follows the thief, whose ego far outstrips his size as he underestimates the big fish's tracking abilities. Meanwhile, much of the art follows the big fish on his hunt, creating a pleasing counterpoint with the text. For example, a page reading "he probably won't notice that it's gone" shows not the thieving piscine narrator but the big fish looking up toward the top of his own bare head; he clearly has noticed that his hat is gone, and the chase is on! Sublime book design exploits the landscape format, with dogged movement from left to right across the double-page spreads. This culminates in a page reading "I knew I was going to make it," as the little fish disappears on the recto into plants evocative of Leo Lionni's setting in Swimmy (1963), while a narrow-eyed big fish enters the verso. The little fish is clearly doomed--a fact coyly confirmed by wordless page turns revealing the big fish swimming away, now from right to left, hat firmly on head. Hats off! (Picture book. 4-8)]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
