Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton, holding pistols, face each other, ready to duel.“Aaron and Alexander could have been friends. They were alike in many ways. But the ways in which they were different made them the worst of enemies.”

So begins Don Brown’s fascinating comparison of Aaron Burr and Alexander Hamilton, culminating in the events that led to their infamous duel. Brown’s language is solid and serious–as befits a topic like this–but his art has an unpolished, slapdash quality to it that keeps the book from miring. The first spreads are carefully constructed to always show us Aaron on the left side, compared to Alexander on the right side. Brown shows the many similarities between the two even while he points out the differences in personality between them.

The careful design of the book in the first spreads actually ended up confusing me at the climactic moment, when Burr decides he must issue a challenge to Hamilton, because for the first time, the illustration shows Hamilton on the left and Burr on the right. I had to go back to figure out which one was which.

The spreads with the duel are very carefully designed, with each character at the extreme edge of his page, facing the other over a wide expanse of empty page. We turn the page and see a close-up of each gun, pointing across the gutter of the page at the other gun, exploding “Bang!”

The book ends with Burr’s quiet regret: “I should have known the world was wide enough for Hamilton and me.”

I would have liked to have the sources of the quotations (used very effectively in the text!) in the back matter, but even with that lack, I loved this book.

Don Brown’s website.

Aaron and Alexander: The Most Famous Duel in American History, by Don Brown. (Roaring Brook Press: 2015)

dessert

A Fine Dessert has such a simple but absolutely perfect structure! It begins with four spreads showing a girl in 1710 working with an adult to acquire the ingredients, make, and eat a blackberry fool. Those four spreads are repeated four times, each set in a different century.

The repetition invites–demands!–comparing and contrasting the experiences of all the children.  Where did the blackberries and cream come from? How did they whip the cream? How did they cool it? What did they eat for dinner before dessert? Who sat at the table? What did they wear?

To top things off, there’s a recipe for blackberry fool in the back, and the end papers are painted–gorgeously!–with blackberry juice.

This is a book my kids and I spent a long time bent over. Beautiful!

(And just for fun, the illustrator, Sophie Blackall, admits here to a mistake she didn’t know she was making in the illustrations. Did you catch it? I didn’t, and I lived in California for years.)

A Fine Dessert: Four Centuries, Four Families, One Delicious Treat by Emily Jenkins, illustrated by Sophie Blackall. Schwartz & Wade: 2015.

Red Bird Sings  It’s only 32 pages long, but this biography of a Native American artist and activist is dense and wordy, coming in at over 3500 words. It’s obviously not targeted at the youngest readers. I hope older readers won’t dismiss it out of hand, though, because it uses its primary sources in really innovative ways. As the “Author’s Note” explains:

We have adapted three serialized semiautobiographical stories she wrote for the Atlantic Monthly in the early 1900s…we have woven additional primary and secondary sources into the text. We have reworked her language.

The book isn’t an autobiography, but the first person narrative voice has authority, coming from Zitkala-Ša’s own writings, that usually is missing from first person nonfiction picture books. I love the innovative ways the authors used the primary sources (and that they turst us enough as readers to tell us about what they’ve done!).

Each spread of the book, each with a new title and date, tells a different incident from Zitkala-Sa’s life, almost as if each spread is a new chapter. The book opens with the dramatic story of how she lost her braids. The final spread tells about her work as a lobbyist in DC, working to improve the lot of Native Americans.

This little-known hero deserves to be better known.

Red Bird Sings: The Story of Zitkala-Ša, Native American, Author, Musician, and Activist, by Gina Capaldi and Q. L. Pearce. Carolrhoda Books: 2014.

Anna and Solomon     I firmly believe that every family has a story that its children need to know, and I love nonfiction picture books that grow from those stories. This delightful book came about when the New Yorker artist, Harry Bliss, finally convinced his mother-in-law to put her family story on paper. It is a beautiful collaboration.

The story itself, as with so many family stories, is simple and not heavy-handed: Solomon moves from Russia (to escape pogroms) and works to bring his wife to the New World, too. But Anna feels an obligation to her extended family and over and over sends other family members in her place. We feel Solomon’s deep love and longing for his wife, and his wife’s strong sense of loving duty. The story ends in a beautiful celebration of family.

Snyder uses page turns brilliantly over and over to build up suspense: will it be Anna getting off the ship this time?

I also admire the adroitness with which the  historical context was handled:

Shortly after Anna and Solomon’s marriage, a calamity befell the Jews of Vitebsk. The ruler of the land, called the Czar, sent his soldiers on horses to the streets where the Jews lived. The soldiers entered their homes, broke their windows and furniture, stole their brass candlesticks, and destroyed their holy books. Solomon decided that he no longer wanted to live in a place where his people were persecuted and harm might come to Anna.

In four sentences, Snyder explains what a pogrom is, shows us how wrenching it is, and makes it clear why Anna later in the book will feel obligated to help rescue her extended family members. This is historical scaffolding at its best.

It’s a heart-warming story and may inspire you to call up your grandma so you can hear the story of your family, too.

Anna & Solomon, by Elaine Snyder, illustrated by Harry Bliss.  Farrar Straus Giroux: 2014.

 

 

It’s hard to find a new angle on topics that have been written about before. Over. And. Over. But Selbert does so charmingly:

Rufus’ best friend, Winston Churchill, is a busy man, but most days Rufus and Winston share a walk.

From this auspicious beginning, we watch Churchill save the Western world from the perspective of his poodle. Selbert never, however, slips into cloying cuteness. This is carefully-crafted nonfiction, and she sticks to the facts. Most pages include a quotation from Churchill. Rather than incorporating the quotes into the text, they are worked into the art, appearing as card tacked onto bulletin boards.

An inspiring look at a great man.

War Dogs: Churchill and Rufus by Kathryn Selbert. Charlesbridge: 2013

This brilliantly written book explores the differences and similarities between Thomas Jefferson and John Adams and how they helped shape their cooperation in making a new nation. The book starts with a strong opening:

The true story of how one gentleman–short and stout–and another–tall and lean–formed a surprising alliance, committed treason, and helped launch a new nation.

Kerley uses that lively narrative voice through the book. She chooses strong, interesting words that make the text leap to life:

He lunged, parried, and skewered the policies of King George and his government.

Her quotations, deftly woven in, make the two men spring to life:

“You should do it,” Tom told him. “Oh! No,” John exclaimed. Any declaration he wrote would be severely criticized, for some delegates, he conceded, found him “obnoxious.”

I felt weepy by the end of the back matter, stunned with gratitude for the foolish and human but visionary men who built the United States.

Those Rebels, John and Tom, by Barbara Kerley, illustrated by Edwin Fotheringham. Scholastic: 2012.

This book, about a landmark moment in jazz history, is written with a jazz-inspired narrative voice, playing with literary convention–there’s no end punctuation in the entire book–and dabbling with different poetic devices, like rhyme, alliteration, and onomatopoeia, without ever committing to one. The story’s told with staccato phrases in shotgun bursts. Ransome uses rich and vivid words. She describes sound “rippling and rumbling” and describes the experience of watching a performance:

Fast fingering

Drums thumping

Trumpets trumping

The back matter is longer than the text itself, which I always love when a book has intrigued me like this one did. I’m anxious to get more of the story and can usually find it in the back matter. Here, Ransome tells us “More about Benny Goodman and Teddy Wilson,” provides a time line, and gives a “Who’s Who in Jazz.”

Benny Goodman and Teddy Wilson: Taking the Stage as the First Black and White Jazz Band in History, by Lesa Cline-Ransome, illustrated by James E. Ransome. Holiday House: 2014.

Sometimes historical fiction is the closest we can get to the past. In an “Author’s Note,” Angela Johnson explains the limitations she was under in writing about the day slaves were emancipated:

I’d love to know how my great-grandparents celebrated when told they were free. But that tale has been lost to time, so I can only hope that this one will do.

In her tender, lyrical text (accompanied by beautiful watercolor illustrations), Johnson shows us the day, morning to night, when slaves far from the battle line received word that they were free. The text doesn’t overclaim, showing how in emancipation how daily life would remain full of work and demands but would nonetheless be “all different.”

Once in a while, historical fiction is the closest to nonfiction we’ll ever get.

All Different Now: Juneteenth, the First Day of Freedom by Angela Johnson, illustrated to E. B. Lewis. Simon & Schuster: 2014.

This is an inspiring story with haunting art. It tells of three slaves who escape to the shelter of a Union fort during the Civil War and what follows their brave action. Van Hecke’s language is spare and evocative. She even leaves out articles to distill the language . We get unadorned image:

May moon gleams bright as Colonel’s buttons. Three slip out unseen.

She tells the whole story in just 668 well-chosen, carefully-placed words.

Under the Freedom Tree by  Susan Van Hecke, illustrated by London Ladd. Charlesbridge: 2014.

Tomorrow is Election Day here. I’ll be going to the polls, grateful that I have the right to cast a ballot.

This book is the story of Susan B. Anthony’s illegal vote in 1872 when she cast a ballot in the presidential election. The book tells an important story and it’s beautifully constructed. Malaspina doesn’t try to tell us about all the great things Anthony did in her long life; the book tells just about that one vote and its dramatic consequence (spoiler: the consequence was NOT women getting the vote!).

Instead of using wordy transitions between scenes in the book, Malaspina heads sections with their time and place: “Rochester, New York, November 1, 1872.” She also repeats a refrain to keep the book organized and connected: “Outrageous. Unvelievable. True.”

The book comes alive with the richly-textured sensory detail she uses: she “jumped up to grab her purse and wrap”; they “hoisted their skirts”; “Miss Anthony’s heels tapped faster and faster.”

After you cast your ballot, sit down and share this book with a child.

[booknet booknumber=9780807531884]

Heart  on Fire: Susan B. Anthony Votes for President by Ann Malaspina, illustrated by Steve James. Albert Whitman, 2012. 

Joe DiMaggio’s hitting streak is an amazing story in itself, but Rosenstock puts the streak in its historical context. We see how DiMaggio struggled to achieve the record and how his brilliant success gave hope to a nation facing a world war. Rosenstock sets the stage deftly on the first page where she talks about the first hit in DiMaggio’s streak:

It wasn’t news. Instead, the headlines in 1941 shouted about the war spreading like a fever through Europe.

She keeps her focus on DiMaggio, but with a few words here and there, we’re reminded of that war threatening in the distance.

Rosenstock’s verbs quiver with life: “whip,” “scuff,” “roar,” “soak,” “surge,” “yell,” “grab,” “rub,” “pound,” “trot,” “dance.” Her narrative voice is muscular and nimble. It’s a fun book to read aloud.

The back matter is satisfyingly hefty. She writes more than 500 words about what happened next, gives us memorable quotes and statistics, as well as providing quote attributions and explaining the sources of the newspaper headlines shown in the illustrations.

I admire Rosenstock’s ability to shape real life into a compelling, vivid story. She’s on her own streak with with creating great nonfiction picture books.

Here’s the one minute trailer, which focuses on the mystery aspect of the book: can DiMaggio break the streak without his beloved bat?

The Streak: How Joe DiMaggio Became America’s Hero by Barb Rosenstock, illustrated by Terry Widener. Calkins Creek: 2014.

 

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Who was the first person to fly an airplane? This book profiles Alberto Santos-Dumont, the Brazilian contender. It’s a charming story of sophisticated Parisian life in 1903, despite clunky invented dialogue and an awkward shift in point of view in the middle of the book.

Louis Blériot, the hero of Alice and Martin Provensen’s Caldecott winner The Glorious Flight, appears here in a less-than-glorious light. Reading the two books together could lead to a fascinating discussion about the different perspectives writers bring to their subjects. Which also makes it a great Common Core pairing for fourth graders, who are supposed to integrate information from two texts on the same topic.

Don’t miss Griffith’s fantastic author’s note at the end. It has it all-how she got interested in the story, more details about events in the story, what happened next, and a discussion of Santos-Dumont’s legacy in the worlds of flight and fashion.

The Fabulous Flying Machines of Alberto Santos-Dumont by Victoria Griffiths. Abrams: 2011.

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I don’t think I’ve sung a picture book since Iza Trapani’s Itsy Bitsy Spider, but I found myself singing page after page of this wonderful picture book. Murphy traces America’s civil rights debates since colonial times by showing how the lyrics to “My Country, ‘Tis of Thee” have been changed over and over to address new challenges to equality and justice.

This book is a great example of a thesis-driven argument. It’s great analytical writing, and it’s a wonderful, engaging, inspiring story. Plus you can sing your way through the book!

Murphy’s back matter is excellent. In her source notes she writes a paragraph about each spread in the book, giving her sources and interesting tidbits that didn’t make their way into the main text of the book.

My Country, ‘Tis of Thee: How One Song Reveals the History of Civil Rights by Claire Rudolf Murphy, illustrations by Bryan Collier. Holt: 2014.

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How do you tell a life in picture book format? The most obvious story structure–birth to death–often flattens the historical character. It can be boring.

Zeroing in on a single moment in that astonishing life, though, makes that character spring to life. In Hot Dog! Eleanor Roosevelt Throws a Picnic Leslie Kimmelman writes about Eleanor Roosevelt by focusing on a single picnic in 1939. In the process of telling us the story of this outdoor feast, she shows us Eleanor Roosevelt’s personality and her passions, as well as giving us glimpses of FDR, the king and queen of England, and everyday American life at the time.

Kimmelman’s dive into primary sources shows in the book. We hear the voice of the outraged public in well-chosen quotes from angry letters and Eleanor Roosevelt’s measured response in her newspaper column (I only wish the quotes were attributed in the back matter!).

Victor Juhasz’s political cartoon-style illustrations are a great match for the easy-going, conversational voice of this book.

Pull out the mustard and relish and dig into this book!

Leslie Kimmelman. Hot Dog! Eleanor Roosevelt Throws a Picnic by Leslie Kimmelman, illustrations by Victor Juhasz. Sleeping Bear Press: 2014.