Sleator (The Night the Heads Came, 1996, etc.) stretches plenty of catgut in this latest shocker about physical dismemberment. When 15-year-old Doug learns that his botanist father plans to relocate the family to the local forest, he isn't pleased about leaving school or having only his ten-year-old sister, Colette, for a buddy. His unease blossoms into full-blown anxiety when the family reaches their isolated home, a postcard from Twin Peaks, including the housekeeper, Mrs. Slosh, who sports a Halloween mask to cover the nose she can't afford to fix. Colette is unfazed, however, and when the pair discover a trapdoor in their backyard, she jumps down and makes friends with the beasties—or "the family," as they call themselves—subterranean sub-human life forms forced to borrow body parts from humans in order to survive. Fingers, the blind second-in-command, explains that the family's health is linked to the woodlands, which are being deforested by a logging company (Sleator is vague on the details). The plot moves quickly, and soon a war between the beasties and the loggers erupts: All too soon, the remaining beastie tribes are licking their wounds and Doug donates one of his eyes to make Fingers the new queen. The only authentically bizarre moment comes when the children must explain to their parents what happened to Doug's eye. Lots of cheap tricks add up to a rushed and silly sideshow. (Fiction. 11-13)
Pub Date: Oct. 1, 1997
ISBN: 0-525-45598-1
Page Count: 192
Publisher: Dutton
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Oct. 15, 1997
In this abridged and illustrated version of his Short History of Nearly Everything (2003), Bryson invites a younger crowd of seekers on a tour of time, space and science—from the Big Bang and the birth of the solar system to the growth and study of life on Earth. The single-topic spreads are adorned with cartoon portraits of scientists, explorers and (frequently) the author himself, which go with small nature photos and the occasional chart or cutaway view. Though occasionally subject to sweeping and dubious statements—“There’s no chance we could ever make a journey through the solar system”—Bryson makes a genial guide (“for you to be here now, trillions of drifting atoms had somehow to come together in a complicated and obliging manner to create you”), and readers with even a flicker of curiosity in their souls about Big Ideas will come away sharing his wonder at living in such a “fickle and eventful universe.” (index) (Nonfiction. 11-13)
Pub Date: Oct. 27, 2009
ISBN: 978-0-385-73810-1
Page Count: 176
Publisher: Delacorte
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Sept. 1, 2009
Miranda’s book counts the monsters gathering at a birthday party, while a simple rhyming text keeps the tally and surveys the action: “Seven starved monsters are licking the dishes./Eight blow out candles and make birthday wishes.” The counting proceeds to ten, then by tens to fifty, then gradually returns to one, which makes the monster’s mother, a purple pin-headed octopus, very happy. The book is surprisingly effective due to Powell’s artwork; the color has texture and density, as if it were poured onto the page, but the real attention-getter is the singularity of every monster attendee. They are highly individual and, therefore, eminently countable. As the numbers start crawling upward, it is both fun and a challenge to try to recognize monsters who have appeared in previous pages, or to attempt to stay focused when counting the swirling or bunched creatures. The story has glints of humor, and in combination with the illustrations is a grand addition to the counting shelf. (Picture book. 3-8)
Pub Date: Aug. 1, 1999
ISBN: 0-15-201835-2
Page Count: 32
Publisher: Harcourt
Review Posted Online: May 19, 2010
Kirkus Reviews Issue: Aug. 1, 1999
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