Book Buds Kidlit Reviews

POETRY FRIDAY Good sports all around

Good Sports: rhymes about running, jumping, throwing, and more
by Jack Prelutsky; illustrated by Chris Raschka

A funny thing happened on the way to reviewing this collection. I went to Jack's poetry reading. He read only a few from Good Sports, but I had an "aha" moment nonetheless. Really, sometimes you need to hear poetry to  get it.

My epiphany came when he described the poems as getting inside the head of kids as they played at a sport. So we're in the moment, when resolve meets the rubber, and the game is made or, more likely, lost.

Because none of these kids are superstars, just regular kids. The untitled poems flit between sports as different as basketball and frisbee, told in first person as a kid tries to catch the ball or score the goal or make the shot. Sometimes they succeed, sometimes they fail, but the real point is to keep trying, right?

In this one, I found one of the better images:

Though I like to swim,
I don't swim very well.
I swim like a fish
That's been sick for a spell.

At first glance, I agreed with reviews this one, or the Publisher's Weekly blurb (on Amazon), which rightly point out the poet's flaws. Perhaps he should give rhyming couplets a rest; abcb gets wearisome after a few pages, and rhymes like ball ... all or won ... fun can grate on grown-up ears.

Prelutsky's at his best when giving us a kid's eye view of the action, matching meter to emotion:

I'm a gymnast,
I can vault,
Swing and spring
And somersault. 

Prelutsky's known for seeding verses with a few choice big words, like epitome or agility, to make kids jump higher or reach further for the right meaning. Most of the poems end in his signature surpise twist, with bonus points for humor:

My dunk will be spectacular--
The greatest of them all.
When I grow three feet taller,
I will dunk this basketball.

If Good Sports sometimes delivers a less-than-perfect performance, Raschka's art sprints to an easy victory. They're great. Amazing, in fact. Raschka's a genius with a watercolor brush. Splash, splash and voila! A masterpiece of movement.

He even experiments with storytelling: a tiny tot grows in stop-action frames to sink the basketball into the hoop, and another page shows a shot from above. A girl's frisbee arm elongates to make the toss; a karate kick lands on the next page.

Broad, watery strokes conjure up simple scenarios, with a flat picture plane as if a child had done this on plain, white paper at home. But there's nothing childlike in how his mishmashed colors jibe and jar and pop out at us at unexpected moments.

Did I mention I got both men's John Hancock's? Raschka was at the reading too. Oh, yeah, I'm the queen. You can all bow now.

Rating: *\*\

THE BOYS OF SUMMER Keep your eye on the ball

Casey Back at Bat
by Dan Gutman; illustrated by Steve Johnson and Lou Fancher

Oooh ... a twofer. It's Poetry Friday and Baseball Week here at Book Buds. I'm celebrating with a rhyming sequel to that song about the sport's most famous loser--you know him, the mighty Casey.

Though I just noticed that other song's about a Casey too! Wow, I'm having mystical moments about a sporting event. And I'm craving peanuts. Is it a sign?

In this version, Casey takes a whack at that ball, and it soars beyond the bleachers into the great beyond. Where it goes and what happens next makes for some out-of-this-world hyperbole, especially when the speedy orb finally makes it back to the ballpark.

The team of illustrators underlaid the pictures with newspapers from the period. As the ball spans the globe, the paper-theme repeats, only the prints change with the locale. A deft touch. Casey's a musclebound type straight out of an old-style comic book, and you gotta love the set to his jaw when he cracks that bat.

Awright, I'll shut up now. Here's what you stopped by for:

"That shot might go five hundred feet!" one bleacher creature reckoned.
"I showed 'em!" cackled Casey as he rounded first and second.
The Mudville fans began to cheer, a roar that started growing
as they watched the ball go o'er the wall,
and then...it kept on going!

It soared by hills and valleys, ever higher in the sky,
past houses, farms, and villages, so swiftly did it fly.
It crossed the great Atlantic, whre it almost struck a bird,
but Casey didn't have a clue, for he was roundin' third.

Hey is it the ex-copyeditor in me or could Gutman have made use of some semi-colons instead of all those full-stops? Just nitpicking.

Fun stuff for the baseball fan in your household. If you need a refresher on the original, here's a version that might, erm, score.

New: Buy it from Powells.

Rating: *\*\*\

THE BOYS OF SUMMER Something to sing about

Take Me Out to the Ballgame
Lyrics by Jack Norworth; illustrated by Jim Burke, with an introduction by Pete Hamill

At one point in our history--before ESPN, before the Internet, before radio--baseball was as close to a national religion as the Constitution would allow. And going out the ballgame was no ordinary day at the park.

Burke takes us back with such authority, even the most diehard enthusiasts should be impressed. We get two stories in one: how Norworth thought up the lyrics to the beloved song. Did you know it was about a girl named Katie Casey? And that her outing was meant as a date with her beau?

And then there's the game itself, the 1908 pennant matchup between her beloved New York Giants and my new home team. The game would end in one of the biggest controversies to ever dog the sport--the notorious Merkle Boner, when a runner neglected to tag second base as fans rushed the field. It cost the Giants big time.

Hey, this is what they did to aggravate fans before steroids were invented, okay?

As the fictional Katie and the game's history collide at home plate, I got a little tingly. I did! It's owing in no small part to Burke's meticulous realism. He captures it all: The ladies' fashions with their frills and plumage, the men's straw boaters, the easy formality and politesse you can see in every pose and gesture.

His oil paintings are set off with a white border across from both the lyrics and the historical narration. Within each frame is a masterpiece of classical composition and light; each a study in period detail, and each is what artsy types call a "storyteller"--a stand-alone narrative.

I'd even say they were elegant, except for Katie's wonderfully manic expressions; the picture of her making frustrated, scrunched-up faces behind the much-abused umpire is straight out of Norman Rockwell.

We get to meet a real a hero in Christy Mathewson, "The Christian Gentleman" because he promised his Momma he wouldn't play on Sundays. Do they make 'em like that anymore?

Anything else? Ah, yes, the origin of crackerjack. The fate of the famed Polo Grounds where the Giants played. And whatever happened to that poor Merkle fellow.

Rating: *\*\*\*\

THE BOYS OF SUMMER Three books about baseball

Spring training has come to my beloved Florida. Cubs season will soon blossom in Chicago. That means peanuts, crackerjack, the National Anthem and lots of water cooler talk about stats and steroids.

Ahh, baseball. I'm not obsessed, but there's something thrilling about the stadiums and the warm, summery air, the organ music and people waving and the players in their tight uniforms. Oooh, especially that.

I have three books up at bat about America's favorite pastime. They're all fun--not a bad hitter in the bunch. Today, the most controversial one's up first:

Out of the Ballpark
by Alex Rodriguez; illustrated by Frank Morrison

Oh, I know all about the BACA folks who don't like celebrity kidlit authors. I'm on the fence about the whole thing, but the sports hero known as Arod's come up with a pretty decent story. Why hate him because he's beautiful?

This purports to be a story he wrote his very own self about his childhood in the Dominican Republic. There's a Spanish version out too. My son, who is learning Hebrew in school, only likes the Spanish version read to him. Go figure.

The story isn't exactly true; it's that dreaded "based on" idea. The young Alex works his little tush off. He's a dedicated tyke; he practices catching a ball off his bedroom wall, even, which drives his Mama nuts--she works as a cleaning lady (not anymore, I bet). And, yeah, he scores the winning run in the big game. Okay, so he doesn't get big points for originality.

But he's a cheerful, green-eyed kid, and if you don't root for him, it's 'cuz you're eating sour grapes instead of peanuts.

Morrison's acrylics are super-charged with light and energy; I've seen his illustrations for Queen Latifah's Queen of the Scene and there's no one who captures athletic kids with more verve, from the swatches of electric colors to the exaggerated lankiness of their limbs.

The lesson: it didn't come easy. Arod worked for it. And at the end? A tribute to his wife and son. Now that's hot.

Rating: *\*\

A very special kid

A Very Special Athlete

by Dale Bachman Flynn; illustrated by Emilio Soltero

Ms. Flynn emailed me some time ago and asked if I’d review this book about her son, a former Special Olympics runner. I was busy with a new baby then, but I’m glad she kept me on her list and emailed again recently.

Flynn’s a creative writing instructor, which means she knew to steer clear of sentimentality in this story about pluck and optimism in the face of adversity. She focuses on a single day in her mentally disabled son Adam’s life: the day of his big race. He was 12, and a little envious of his younger sister, who could read and tell time. But the day of the race was to be his special day, however, and Flynn skillfully pulls us along with the winsome Adam as he gets ready for his big moment.

When he falls during the race, we feel the audience’s disappointment. When he picks himself up and charges ahead, we’re with him. He’s a good kid, that Adam, the kind you want your own kids to meet so they have warm feelings toward the disabled and understand that they sometimes have unique gifts – and lessons we could all learn.

Rating: *\*\*\

lord of the ring

The Champ: The story of Muhammad Ali

by Tonya Bolden; illustrated by R. Gregory Christie

Controversy dogged the boxer born Cassius Marcellus Clay Jr., much of it invited. It’s all here – the rhyming brags and swagger that earned him headlines and ruffled opponents, his conversion to the Nation of Islam, his refusal to serve in Vietnam and subsequent court battle.

He was either an inspirational symbol of defiance against injustice, or a loudmouth buffoon who overstayed his welcome in the ring, depending on your perspective. Nor does Bolden shy from his pathetic decline from too many blows to the head, leaving a palsied echo of the proud and loud pugilist.

She captures his heyday as a fierce and unstoppable force with her staccato rhythms:

Oooooh! –he moved so smooth! Ooooooh!—so fast! Oooooooh! He boxed like nobody else: with his chin not tucked in and down, but up and out – and proud; not with his gloved fists up bunched up around his face, but with his long arms low, near his waist.

Christie sums up entire bouts in a few expressionistic squiggles, and in the next frame can capture both the champ’s grace and grit. The acrylic colors are bold, the brushstrokes bolder, as if any canvass – including the ones Ali fought on – could ever capture a character so much larger than life.

Rating: *\*\*\