Review by New York Times Review
ANYONE who knows children knows they are not timid when it comes to pondering ethical conundrums. Rather, as their routine cry of "No fair!" proves, they live for it. "Brief Thief," by Michaël Escoffier, could serve as the basis for a nursery school moot court. Here are the facts of the case: Leon, a green lizard (some species of chameleon, it appears, though this is unstated), has to "go poo." Unfortunately, he is out of toilet paper. Looking for an alternative - "Leaves? No, they're too prickly. Grass? No, that will be too messy" - Leon spots an old pair of underpants hanging on a tree branch. He pauses momentarily to consider this question of fair use. The briefs, with a red and pink pattern, "might belong to someone," he concedes, but then wonders why someone would leave them in a tree. "And anyway," he concludes, "they're full of holes." In short order, Leon uses the underpants to clean himself, then tosses them into the bushes. This is where things get interesting. I would argue that under the laws of the forest or the jungle or wherever it is Leon lives, he is well within his rights to assume the underwear has been abandoned. Leon, however, is made of squishier stuff. Someone starts speaking to him - his conscience or, as it introduces itself, "the little voice you hear inside your head whenever you get up to something naughty." Leon insists he has a clean bill of moral health but eventually confesses the underwear business. His conscience pounces: "Aha! Now we're getting somewhere! Since when are we allowed to touch other people's things? What do they teach you in school, anyway?" If I were Leon I'd answer, "They teach sharing." But "Brief Thief" has been translated from French (it was published under the more ambiguous and very French-seeming title "Ni Vu Ni Connu" - "Neither Seen Nor Known"), and perhaps France's preschool curriculum is more Randian than our own. At any rate, Leon's conscience orders him to wash the briefs, leave them to dry and "GET LOST!" Leon does this, but Escoffier's story, like a good legal thriller, offers a final twist: Leon's conscience isn't what it appears to be, and in a mostly wordless coda, the book reveals who actually owns the underpants and exactly why they are ridden with holes. The answer made both me and a 5 ½-year-old I borrowed to read the book with (it was her half-birthday) laugh out loud. Truly funny sight gags are a picture-book holy grail, or should be, and Kris Di Giacomo's cartoonish yet painterly illustrations are witty in a way children and adults alike will savor. (Parents who frown on bottom-related humor should be aware that "Brief Thief" could well serve as a gateway drug to "Captain Underpants.") Three other new books delve into equally thorny questions of right and wrong, though with perhaps less Dostoyevskian gusto. "That Is Not a Good Idea!," by the great and prolific Mo Willems - the author and illustrator of the Knuffle Bunny and Pigeon books, among many others - takes the form of a silent movie, complete with title cards. The players: Hungry Fox, Plump Goose and Baby Geese. On-screen, Fox tries to maneuver Goose toward a very large soup pot, while in the audience a flock of hatchlings react to events with a continuing chorus of "That is Not a good idea!" and "That is Really not a good idea!" and so on, which I found Really fun to read aloud. (And I mean loud.) Yet again, there is a nice twist - more Sweeney Todd than D.W. Griffith, but nothing a Grimms-tested child can't handle. I would hope "That Is Not a Good Idea!" might lead to a discussion not just of culinary ethics but also of silent film comedy and, perhaps, for dessert, a Buster Keaton DVD. I was less enamored of "The Highway Rat," by the frequent collaborators Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler ("The Gruffalo," "Room on the Broom"). The titular antihero is an old-school, sword-wielding highway robber, like something out of an all-rodent "Barry Lyndon." Donaldson's rhymes are pleasing to read aloud, but the rat himself turns out to be a rather one-note character and is also, well, a rat. (Please excuse my bias. I was exposed to "Ben" at an early age.) On the other hand, I was glad that for once, a bad guy turns out to be genuinely bad and not merely sad or misunderstood (see: the Grinch and every bully on a Disney Channel). Speaking of misunderstanding, a crucial plot point involving a cave and an echo was too subtly delineated for my borrowed 5 ½-year-old - although the fault may lie with her urban upbringing and an attendant ignorance of cavern acoustics. THE villain of "The Dark" is more abstract: the title character itself is the nightly bane of many children, including this book's young hero, Laszlo. Daniel Handler, writing as Lemony Snicket, does a wonderful job of . . . I was going to write "personifying the dark," but "thingifying" is more like it: "The dark lived in the same house as Laszlo. . . . Sometimes the dark hid in the closet. Sometimes it sat behind the shower curtain. But mostly it spent its time in the basement. All day long the dark would wait in a distant corner. . . . At night, of course, the dark went out and spread itself against the windows and doors of Laszlo's house." The illustrations by Jon Klassen, who just won the 2013 Caldecott Medal for "This Is Not My Hat," are fully up to Handler's lovely-spooky conception, poetic and concrete in equal measure. Their story is set in motion one evening when the bulb in Laszlo's night light goes out; the climax will most likely be the first time young readers are exposed to the old "Uh oh, don't go down the basement steps" horror-movie trope. But as the Gods of Narrative demand, descend Laszlo must. Fortunately, there are no shrieks, no blood, not even a cat leaping gratuitously from a shadow - just a gentle, happy ending as Laszlo and the dark reach a détente. Correction: In the second paragraph, the author should not have made a joke about nursery school moot courts. Any preschool administrator now thinking of instituting a moot court to please parents with visions of Harvard Law School in their eyes should forget anything was ever said. Bruce Handy is a deputy editor at Vanity Fair.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [April 14, 2013]
Review by Booklist Review
*Starred Review* What if the dark meant more than the absence of light? What if the dark were someone? Laszlo, dressed in blue footie jams, his hair precisely parted, is afraid of the dark. Mostly, the dark lives in the basement, but one night, when his night-light fails, it arrives in Laszlo's room. The dark leads Laszlo through the rickety house and down to the basement, and bids him to open the bottom drawer of an old dresser, where he finds night-light bulbs. Laszlo is emboldened, peace is restored, and Laszlo and the dark, presumably, live happily ever after. Snicket's atmospheric narrative personifies the dark with indelible character, its voice as creaky as the roof of the house, and as smooth and cold as the windows. Klassen renders the expansive, ramshackle house in mottled sepia tones, visible in the sharp beam of Laszlo's flashlight as it interrupts the flat, inky black. Even the dialogue respects the delineation, with Laszlo's words set in the swaths of light and the dark's written in the dark. But just as important are the things Klassen omits: rooms are empty of furniture and people. Laszlo feels alone. In its willingness to acknowledge the darkness, and the elegant art of that acknowledgment, The Dark pays profound respect to the immediacy of childhood experiences. HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: Snicket and Klassen? This'll be huge.--Barthelmess, Thom Copyright 2010 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by School Library Journal Review
PreS-Gr 2-Snicket and Klassen present a picture book that tackles a basic childhood worry with suspense, a dash of humor, and a satisfying resolution. Laszlo, clad in pajamas, is afraid of the dark, which spends most of the day in the basement but spreads itself throughout the boy's rambling home at night. Every morning, he opens the basement door, peeks down, and calls out, "Hi, dark," hoping that if he visits the dark in its room, it will not return the favor. However, when Laszlo's night-light burns out one evening, the dark does come to call, declaring in a voice as creaky as the house's roof, "I want to show you something." The youngster, who bravely shines his flashlight into the inky night, is slowly coaxed down to the basement and a forgotten-about chest of drawers ("Come closer. Even closer"). Here, Snicket keeps readers teetering on the edges of their seats, taunting them with a lengthy and convoluted aside. Finally, the boy is instructed to open the bottom drawer, where he finds. a supply of light bulbs. There's a sense of closure, as Laszlo comes to terms with the dark, which still lives in his home but never bothers him again. The understated illustrations keep the focus on the emotional context, showing a serious-faced protagonist, a stark setting, and shadow-filled corners. Faded hues contrast with the ominous blackness, providing visual punch and adding credence to the boy's fears. Fresh, kid-savvy, and ultimately reassuring.-Joy Fleishhacker, School Library Journal (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
Leave it to Lemony Snicket to craft a story personifying "the dark" -- an idea all too real and frightening for children afraid of what lurks in the shadows. But they will find a kindred spirit in Laszlo, a scared boy living with the dark in a big house. Though the dark occasionally resides in the house's hidden places and outside every night, "mostly it spent its time in the basement." When the comforting glow of Laszlo's bedroom nightlight goes out one night, the dark comes to visit and speaks to Laszlo: "I want to show you something." So Laszlo, with his trusty flashlight in hand, follows the dark's voice downstairs. Though the mood is ominous as the dark lures Laszlo into its basement room, a page of narration about the dark's function serves to break the tension before the bright, satisfying, and funny resolution. With his command of language, tone, and pacing, Snicket creates the perfect antidote to a universal fear. Klassen's spare gouache and digital illustrations in a quiet black, brown, and white palette (contrasted with Laszlo's light blue footy pajamas and the yellow light bulb) are well suited for a book about the unseen. Using simple black lines and color contrasts to provide atmosphere and depth, Klassen captures the essence of Snicket's story. If you're reading this one at night, be sure to have your trusty flashlight handy -- just in case. cynthia k. ritter (c) Copyright 2013. 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
Are you afraid of the dark? Laszlo is. The dark mostly keeps to the basement, but sometimes it hides in the closet or behind the shower curtain. Every morning Laszlo greets the dark when it is safely back in the basement, calling "Hi, dark," down the staircase. He hopes that this acknowledgement will keep it from coming to him in the night, when a night light illuminates his bedroom as he goes to sleep. He keeps a flashlight at the ready on his pillow, just in case. And one night, the dark does come--presumably the night light has gone out. Laszlo answers the dark's call to the basement, where he sees a small dresser. "Bottom drawer," the dark says, and inside he finds light bulbs. The next scene shows his bedroom now illuminated by the returned soft glow of the night light, and Laszlo no longer fears the dark. Klassen's artwork outshines the text, which, although poetic and begging to be read aloud, falters in its pacing and delivers an anticlimactic (if friendly) resolution to its initially creepy tone. The gouache-and-digital illustrations make the most of the references to light and dark, however, confining the palette to muted tones that contrast satisfyingly with the inky black. Laszlo, though a new creation for this story, somehow seems satisfyingly familiar. A lovely if uneven offering about a common childhood fear. (Picture book. 3-7)]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
