Preserve the jacket at all costs, for on it begins a remarkable visual sequence that continues inside: A bearded man in the costume of a Renaissance dandy flourishes a plumed quill pen and an inkwell shaped like a boot; on the title page, three mice are climbing over the boot, sitting near blank parchment; on the verso, a pool of ink is flowing from the overturned boot, and tiny black tracks scurry off the edge of the page. This pictorial mini- drama perfectly symbolizes the richness and mischievous wit of the Italian story tradition, distilled here in 12 of 20 elegant retellings from Vittorini's Old Italian Tales (1958, o.p.). There are fables, pourquoi and cautionary tales, stories of lightning wit and Solomonic wisdom, and cognates of ``Cinderella'' and ``The Three Sillies,'' all warmly couched in the unhurried, slightly formal prose of this truly master storyteller. Utterly distinctive art by GrandPrÇ (who illustrated Jennifer Armstrong's Chin Yu Min and the Ginger Cat, 1993) encompasses a virtuosic range of effects, from portraits as rigidly posed as the faces on playing cards to an explosion of rats fleeing a cat in a centrifugal double-spread composition. Every character's face is strikingly individual right down to the curl of a lip. Her palette is centered on a seemingly infinite range of shades of purple and orange, from deep blue-violet to pale pinky-lavender, and rich russet to golden peach. Regrettably, the graceful introduction from the 1958 edition, enumerating sources from the Decameron to the late 19th century, has not been reprinted; included is an affectionate forward by Vittorini's son. (Folklore. 8+)
Pub Date: Sept. 1, 1995
ISBN: 0-517-59594-X
Page Count: 80
Publisher: Crown
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 15, 1995
Simple, bella, un regalo permenente: simple and beautiful, a gift that will stay.
Renowned Latin American writer Alvarez has created another story about cultural identity, but this time the primary character is 11-year-old Miguel Guzmán.
When Tía Lola arrives to help the family, Miguel and his hermana, Juanita, have just moved from New York City to Vermont with their recently divorced mother. The last thing Miguel wants, as he's trying to fit into a predominantly white community, is a flamboyant aunt who doesn't speak a word of English. Tía Lola, however, knows a language that defies words; she quickly charms and befriends all the neighbors. She can also cook exotic food, dance (anywhere, anytime), plan fun parties, and tell enchanting stories. Eventually, Tía Lola and the children swap English and Spanish ejercicios, but the true lesson is "mutual understanding." Peppered with Spanish words and phrases, Alvarez makes the reader as much a part of the "language" lessons as the characters. This story seamlessly weaves two culturaswhile letting each remain intact, just as Miguel is learning to do with his own life. Like all good stories, this one incorporates a lesson just subtle enough that readers will forget they're being taught, but in the end will understand themselves, and others, a little better, regardless of la lengua nativa—the mother tongue.
Simple, bella, un regalo permenente: simple and beautiful, a gift that will stay. (Fiction. 9-11)Pub Date: March 1, 2001
ISBN: 0-375-80215-0
Page Count: 160
Publisher: Knopf
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Jan. 15, 2001
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
BOOK REVIEW
Not for the faint-hearted—who are mostly adults anyway—but for stouthearted kids who love a brush with the sinister:...
A magnificently creepy fantasy pits a bright, bored little girl against a soul-eating horror that inhabits the reality right next door.
Coraline’s parents are loving, but really too busy to play with her, so she amuses herself by exploring her family’s new flat. A drawing-room door that opens onto a brick wall becomes a natural magnet for the curious little girl, and she is only half-surprised when, one day, the door opens onto a hallway and Coraline finds herself in a skewed mirror of her own flat, complete with skewed, button-eyed versions of her own parents. This is Gaiman’s (American Gods, 2001, etc.) first novel for children, and the author of the Sandman graphic novels here shows a sure sense of a child’s fears—and the child’s ability to overcome those fears. “I will be brave,” thinks Coraline. “No, I am brave.” When Coraline realizes that her other mother has not only stolen her real parents but has also stolen the souls of other children before her, she resolves to free her parents and to find the lost souls by matching her wits against the not-mother. The narrative hews closely to a child’s-eye perspective: Coraline never really tries to understand what has happened or to fathom the nature of the other mother; she simply focuses on getting her parents back and thwarting the other mother for good. Her ability to accept and cope with the surreality of the other flat springs from the child’s ability to accept, without question, the eccentricity and arbitrariness of her own—and every child’s own—reality. As Coraline’s quest picks up its pace, the parallel world she finds herself trapped in grows ever more monstrous, generating some deliciously eerie descriptive writing.
Not for the faint-hearted—who are mostly adults anyway—but for stouthearted kids who love a brush with the sinister: Coraline is spot on. (Fiction. 9-12)Pub Date: July 1, 2002
ISBN: 0-380-97778-8
Page Count: 176
Publisher: HarperCollins
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: June 15, 2002
SEEN & HEARD
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