ALMA AND THE BEAST

A beast-girl and a girl-beast become friends in a hairy landscape.

“Alma’s day began like any other.” The big-eyed galumph covered in flowing gray fur picks “one butter breakfast tulip” and tends to her trees that are in need of braiding, the grass that needs combing, and the roof that needs a pat. Alma is sitting in her garden, a white “plumpooshkie butterfly” perched on her head, when a “little beast” comes to disturb her. Readers will quickly realize that the “beast” is a child like themselves, a very prim white girl in a yellow dress, but “Alma was frightened. She had never seen a hairless, button-nose beast before!” The girl, Mala, shouts that she is “TERRIBLY, TREMENDOUSLY, STUPENDOUSLY LOST,” and after some hesitation, Alma decides to help. The two become friends (Alma confused about the hairlessness of the girl’s environment), and “Mala’s day ended like any other.” Busy, lush paintings illustrate the strangeness of Alma’s thoroughly furred world, contrasting with the slightly long but well-paced and neatly structured story. While the overarching conceit—getting children to question their definition of “beast”—is clever, the meat of the story is somewhat lacking; tepid prose and weak characterization mean that most of the story is carried by the rich illustrations and the assumptions about beasts and not-beasts.

A solid but ultimately unexciting entry in the who’s-the-beast genre.