TWO WHITE RABBITS

"When we travel, I count what we see," this little girl tells readers. 

She counts hens, cows, "one little bored donkey," and a russet mutt that her father calls a chucho and that joins the two on the road. That one Spanish word and a sign for the frontera constitute some of the few textual clues to the pair's circumstances. Adult readers will see Latin American migrants, probably without papers to judge by the raft they ride across the river and the soldiers they flee. Children will see an adventure that's sometimes thrilling, sometimes boring, sometimes terrifying—how much will depend on how familiar readers are with this perilous trek, but even those from the coziest of homes will detect some. They ride atop boxcars, and they stop while Papá works to make money for the next leg of the journey. They are dark-skinned; their fellow migrants range from pale to dark. The only constants are the chucho, the girl's stuffed bunny, "the way people we meet on the road look at us," and the current of affection that runs between father and daughter. The story does not conclude; it simply ends with the companions "back on the road," now with the titular rabbits. Like the creators' previous book, Jimmy the Greatest (2012), it's a masterpiece of understatement.

In leaving readers with much to wonder about, the book packs the most powerful of punches.