Review by New York Times Review
WHEN I WAS 5, I knew that everything interesting happened after we were sent to bed. Adults brought out chocolates with fancy centers, drank liqueurs from tiny glasses, told jokes they didn't want us to hear. My brother and I would lie in our beds fuming with indignation at being excluded from the nocturnal world of grownups, determined to stay awake and spy on them, until invariably our bodies betrayed us with sleep. Three new nighttime, but not necessarily bedtime, books explore in turn comical, comforting and unsettling nocturnal worlds. With its rhythmic onomatopoeia, cacophony of fonts and screeching palette, everything about "Noisy Night," by Mac Barnett, illustrated by Brian Biggs, is gleefully loud. A child is woken by sounds coming from upstairs. "What is going LA LA LA above my head?" We see a cross-section slice of the floor above: a glimpse of dapper shoes and coattails. A page turn shows an opera singer belting out an aria. But wait, what's going MA MA MA above his head? Each entertaining spread reveals a different noisy tenant and a new mystery to be solved. Who or what is going HAW HAW HAW, CAW CAW CAW or RAH RAH RAH? Page by page, floor by floor we discover a diverse bunch of residents in a city apartment building, laughing, cheering, dancing, or in the case of a sheep, talking to themselves, until we reach the BLAH BLAH BLAH coming from the top floor. An old man is hollering for everyone to go to sleep. And they do. Presumably. (We never see the child again. Possibly he's lying awake fuming.) There's a lot to enjoy in Biggs's illustrations. I appreciate the impeccable continuity in the details, the infectious joy of the cowboys, the mixed genders of the cheerleaders. I can't help wishing, though, that the form of the book was more playful. I'm thinking of Peter Newell's "The Rocket Book" from 1912, which is also a journey from a basement to the top floor of a building, connected by a die-cut hole that disrupts each page and its inhabitants. I wanted to turn "Noisy Night" 90 degrees counterclockwise in the beginning so we might rise vertically through the apartment. But small children probably won't be so demanding. Instead they'll enjoy returning to the cover to pick out each character in the building, no doubt noisily resisting their own bedtimes. CONSIDERABLY QUIETER, Akiko Miyakoshi's "The Way Home in the Night" begins with a sleepy rabbit child being carried through empty city streets in its mother's arms. There is something immensely comforting in viewing the world over a parent's shoulder. When I was 7, I feigned sleep in the car so that my father might lift me out and carry me inside, knowing deep in my bones that this ritual would soon end. (Partly because I was getting too big, partly because my parents were getting divorced.) In Miyakoshi's subdued text, originally written in Japanese, we encounter the sounds, smells and sights of an urban neighborhood at day's end, observed by a family on their way home. In her tender illustrations we see a grainy, charcoal night, punctured with windows of soft light, populated by figures with human forms and gentle animal heads. Somehow her characters, which defy racial and gender stereotypes, are poignantly, heartbreakingly human. They are preparing dinner, watching TV, answering the phone. Staring wistfully at photographs as they brush their teeth. Hugging their favorite one goodbye. When mother and child are almost home, the father joins them. The child is transferred to his arms, and even though we see the threesome only from behind, I imagine the mother's simultaneous relief and sorrow. I remember staggering under the weight of my sleepy, long-limbed son, wanting to put him down to walk, knowing that day would come soon enough. "The Way Home in the Night" is a small story set in the shadowy, philosophical time before sleep - the end of the day when we consider what we achieved, if the hours were well spent, what on earth we're all doing here. I can't help thinking that reading a picture book like this with a child at bedtime could redeem any day. STILL RESISTING SLEEP at 11, I would sit up for hours each night, filling notebooks with self-conscious confessions in alternating colored pens, falling asleep before I put all the lids back on. In Lorena Alvarez's beautiful, strange, enticing graphic novel, "Nightlights," the moments before sleep are magical. Lying in the dark, a lonely, wide-eyed girl called Sandy catches floating bubbles of light and transforms them into enchanting flowers and birds, dewdrops and sea creatures. Come daytime during recess, she draws this vivid world in her notebooks, away from the surveillance of the nuns at her Catholic girls' school. Habitually alone, she nonetheless makes a friend one day in the yard. The new girl, Morfie, admires Sandy's doodles, but with her pale eyes, silvery mauve hair and ready compliments, Morfie is a little creepy. That's even before she appears in Sandy's room, or perhaps her dreams, that night, asserting a cloying control over Sandy and literally devouring her drawings. Sandy must weigh her desire for a friend against her artistic freedom, and eventually, she cleverly draws herself out of a dangerous underworld and back into the light. This delightfully unsettling tale is told with humor and imagination and is illustrated with jewel-like panels and lots of white space. There are rewarding details to be found in every scene, especially in the lush landscapes, both real and imagined, and in the drawings within drawings. The palette embraces purples, from berries to bruises, but even in the unnerving scene where Morfie entices Sandy out of the house at night, there's an underpants joke to keep things from becoming too menacing. Young readers, especially young artists, will gobble this up. Having resisted sleep my entire childhood, I now chase it with middle-age desperation. Thank goodness for the company of books. ? SOPHIE BLACKALL has written and illustrated many books for young readers, including "Finding Winnie," winner of the 2016 Caldecott Medal.
Copyright (c) The New York Times Company [April 9, 2017]
Review by Booklist Review
A child's sleepy perspective brings insightful wonder to a typical evening in this cozy picture book. A little bunny is carried in its mother's arms as they walk through the streets of a city winding down at night. The little bunny sleepily imagines the activities taking place around them as they pass window after window on their way home, its senses of sight, sound, and smell still alert even as sleepiness comes on. These senses allow the bunny to ponder about the neighbors behind the lit windows the meals shared, the occasions celebrated, the good-byes. For some, it is an ordinary night (a bookseller falls asleep reading on the couch), and for others, special (noise from a party filters onto the streets). The chiaroscuro of the nighttime streets, rendered in pencil, charcoal, and acrylic gouache, dominates while remaining comforting. Pockets of color, like light spilling from windows, break through, adding warmth to the illustrations. This is a lovely book about experiences which are universal and universally shared.--Dean, Kara Copyright 2017 Booklist
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
A mother carries her child home at nightfall through quiet city streets. They're rabbits-rabbits who wear clothing and walk upright-and the city is populated with other assorted animals, all going about their business. "I hear a phone ring," the child rabbit says. Through a window, readers see a ram in shirtsleeves answering the phone. "A light flickers. Maybe someone is watching TV." Through another window, a bear sits in front of a television. Other animals are seen, each with its own story. Once the child rabbit is home and in bed, her thoughts wander. "Is the person on the phone getting ready for bed?" she wonders. Miyakoshi (The Storm) shows the ram in his bathroom, toothbrush in hand; she revisits the others, too. A web of enchantment draws readers into this affecting story. The chance to see adults going about their lives unobserved, the arresting combination of animal features and human surroundings, the classical proportions of Miyakoshi's charcoal drawings, and the way that a day's events replay and trigger thoughts in the moments before sleep all combine in a distinctive nighttime treasure. Ages 3-7. (Apr.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by School Library Journal Review
K-Gr 2-A mother rabbit walks home carrying a small, sleepy bunny in her arms. As they walk, the bunny thinks about the city at night. Familiar shops and restaurants close, and apartments with lights inside shine brightly in the darkness, giving glimpses into the lives of those inside. A flickering light makes the bunny wonder if someone is watching TV, an open window shows two mice hugging goodbye, and the sounds of a party spill into the evening. After being tucked into bed, the bunny thinks about what is happening to each of the animals seen on the walk home: "Snug under my covers, I think about the way home. Are the party guests saying goodnight? Is the person on the phone getting ready for bed?" Although the bunny's thoughts range far and wide, the final message emphasizes the safety and familiarity of home. Miyakoshi's textural charcoal and gouache paintings are perfectly suited to portray a dark urban setting, evoking the quiet magic of walking along the street, with lights glowing out of unshuttered homes. As in The Tea Party in the Woods, the characters are drawn as humanoid figures with different types of animal heads. They generally have wide, round, unblinking eyes; some readers may find this detail unsettling, but it helps create an otherworldly effect for this dreamy tale. VERDICT This contemplative story is a fresh addition to the bedtime shelf and a worthy offering for most collections.-Anna Haase Krueger, Ramsey County Library, MN © Copyright 2017. 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
A mother bunny carries her sleepy bunny through the darkened streets of a quiet downtown as the child remarks on the ordinary occurrences shown through windows. Restaurants are closing, TVs are flickering, a phone rings, parties are underway. Arriving home and tucked into bed, the bunny wonders about the scenes they passed by--is the restaurant chef in the bath, is the party over?--and drifts off safe in the knowledge that every night, we all go home to bed. Miyakoshi (The Storm, rev. 5/16) works in heavy pencil and charcoal on deeply textured paper, with spots of muted, dusky color. Her dark, atmospheric images, with orderly composition and serene illumination, evoke the stillness of the night; the animal characters old-fashioned attire and the quaint city streets recall a bygone time. Peaceful, particular, and just a little somber, this contemplative evocation of the closing of the day may provide the sort of indelible reading experience that children remember well into adulthood. thom barthelmess (c) Copyright 2017. 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
A fully anthropomorphic mother rabbit carries her sleepy bunny home as the youngster contemplates the comforting sights and sounds of the city at night. Illuminated windows glow like portals into other worlds, capturing reassuring vignettes on Miyakoshi's pages. Steam rises around a restaurant chef; bookstore displays are taken in; a TV light flickers, and the scent of pie beckons. When father lovingly tucks his bunny in bed, the heaviness of sleep, the warmth of the blankets, and the gentle night air are so deliciously palpable young readers will be lulled into a soporific state. Through the artist's use of perspective and environment, she cleverly makes readers feel like observers, much like the bunny narrator. Done in pencil and charcoal on textured paper, this combination suggests the illusion of film grain; in addition, the use of rounded panels offers a cinematic feel, like frames in a moving picture. A mostly monochromatic palette highlights the warmth of the bunny's home and the evening lights, and Miyakoshi's use of singular images creates a calming pace. Originally published in Japan, this reflective, dreamy tale with its timeless art is a must for the bedtime shelf. (Picture book. 3-7) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
