The Sea Tiger by Victoria Turnbull

The sea tiger is, well, a sea tiger. His best friend is a young mer-child, Oscar, and the ocean-world is their playground. They explore and play and always do everything together. Really, though, the sea tiger is as much a parent to Oscar as he is friend, looking after him on their adventures, and taking it upon himself to make sure Oscar makes new friends too.

I really wanted to like this book because the illustration on the front cover is lovely and because it’s called, you know, The Sea Tiger. It just sounds really interesting and appealing. The first time I read it, though, I really wasn’t sure. But the second time I read it, I formed a whole new opinion: that it is as nice as I wanted it to be.

The story doesn’t do very much in itself, but the intention behind the story is quite beautiful, and it’s somehow sad and happy all at the same time. Oscar and the sea tiger do lots of wonderful things together, exploring their ocean world, the sea tiger taking care of and looking out for Oscar at every turn. But it feels sad too because why doesn’t Oscar have any other friends? Is he just shy? And where are his parents? I think the first time I read The Sea Tiger, I overthought it, where as the best way to read it is to take each page at a time and think about what is happening there, rather than what the big, grand picture might be or a plotline to come.

The images are really quite beautiful, with a lot to look at and think about, and Victoria Turnbull has created in them a real underwater feel. The pictures are certainly unusual and distinctive, simultaneously magical and surreal. I especially liked the singing turtles, represented by musical notes flowing across the page; the page with all the floaty jellyfish; and the squid-and-seashell hot air balloons at the end. The only thing that grates a bit is the fact that Oscar does whatever the sea tiger does - he doesn’t seem to have a mind of his own and I’m not sure what this says. Obviously kids learn by example and need to have someone to care for them and guide them, but developing your own mind is also important!

But maybe I’m analyzing it too deeply. I’ve read other reviewers comment on this being book about a beautiful friendship, which it certainly could be interpreted as such, but for me it’s such a nice, quiet sort of a book, that it actually doesn’t really need to be ‘about’ anything except the joy and beauty of being alive.

William and the Missing Masterpiece by Helen Hancocks

William – international cat of mystery (whatever, exactly, that means) – has been called to Paris to solve an art theft: the Mona Cheesa. Can he succeed where the local authorities have failed, and find the culprit? Quick enough he finds some clues the police seem to have missed – or dismissed, perhaps – but what do they mean? While he mulls it over, he’s distracted by a strange, heavily cloaked individual walking down the street (minding their own business, to be honest) and decides to stake them out. What are they up to, going in and out of the shops on the high street so brazenly? (er, yes, that is my sarcastic voice).

The most interesting thing about William and the Missing Masterpiece for me are the illustrations. They are not, perhaps, the sort of illustrations that you might normally see in a children’s picture book – which tend more towards the cutesy cutesy variety – but are slightly more reminiscent of the sort of artwork that might adorn the walls of the museum from which the Mona Cheesa has been stolen.

There is a lot of storytelling in this book, too, and again it doesn’t follow the more normal picture book storytelling tropes. I mean this in a positive way, but what holds it back is the fact that the illustrations are mostly background adornment to the story, rather than working in complete tandem with the pictures (like they do in, say, the ingenious This Is Not My Hat by Jon Klassen). And in addition to this, this book is all plot, and all cleverness, the author seemingly trying to fit in as many ‘cheesy’ puns as she can (and yes, they are extremely, ahem, cheesy). What suffers as a result is character. As in, William has none. He’s a cat. He’s some sort of renowned detective. He gets a bit suspicious about things. And that’s about all I got from him.

For a book that is billed as being hilarious I honestly found it rather confusing. The plot works itself out – albeit perhaps a little too fast and a little too easily? – and the drawings are interesting, but I mostly felt like the author is expecting – or giving herself – a big pat on the back for being oh so terribly clever and funny, which ultimately left me feeling rather indifferent. But: if you like cheese and cheesy humour, perhaps this is one for you.

The Dawn Chorus by Suzanne Barton

Peep loves music and singing, and so when he wakes up early one morning and hears beautiful music swaying through the trees he just knows he has to find out where it’s coming from. And when he tracks the singers down - the Dawn Chorus - their conductor agrees to let Peep audition – yay! He has to be there bright and early the next morning, but after practicing late into the night he oversleeps and misses the audition. Will the Dawn Chorus give Peep another chance?

The Dawn Chorus is a very simple story with beautiful illustrations that feature lots of different coloured birds, leafy trees and starry nights. They’re bold and clear whilst being endearing and sweet.  I also like that whilst this is a story about animals, the images of them aren’t personified, fitting perfectly with the story that’s being told, which has its basis in nature.

Peep tries really hard to get to his audition and do his best, but he just doesn’t seem to be able pull it off, despite all the practice he puts in. But we soon discover a very good reason for this: he’s a nightingale! So he’s a beautiful singer, but its just not in his nature to sing at dawn. This idea really reminds me of something I heard recently in regards to children who have learning challenges: it’s easy for others to think that because a child isn’t performing well in something that we think they should be to do, it doesn’t mean that they aren’t trying – there might, after all, be another explanation. And: they might not be great at what we think they should be great at, but they will in all likelihood be great at something else. Just like Peep.

My only criticism is that I wasn’t blown away by the text/voice in the book (reading it to myself, I found it a tad stilted somehow – perhaps just a little too careful), but what The Dawn Chorus does do is tell a straight forward story without going around the houses (like a lot of picture books are apt to do today). Suzanne Barton knew what she wanted to say, and she does so with aplomb. A beautifully put together little book that I think will be more fun to read out loud with young children than quietly to one’s adult self.

[This book has been shortlisted for the 2015 Waterstones Children's Book Prize!]

Mine! by Jerome Keane and Susana de Bois

Exactly how artists – and writers – are able to create so much personality from such simple ideas, I really don’t know. Horse and Fox, the stars of our story, are brightly coloured, fairly blocky-looking creatures and yet the way they roll their eyes and the way they stand just tells you everything you need to know about them. In this case, they are bored. Very bored. But then something happens. Actually, something falls from the sky. But who saw it first, and who should get to play with it first?

Picture books to promote the concept of sharing are certainly nothing new, but Mine! is so bright and funny and just says it all, really! Horse and Fox ooze personality practically off the page and you can tell just where their shenanigans are headed – but this doesn’t matter one bit, because you are waiting… waiting… to see it happen.

I loved it; it’s quirky and bright and funny, and doesn’t mess around. I can’t imagine this book losing it’s edge, even over multiple readings – like Jon Klassen's  I Want My Hat Back, I think it’ll probably make you smile every time.

Hattie Peck by Emma Levey

Hattie Peck is an extraordinarily adventurous hen with a one-track mind: Eggs. She loves eggs. She loves eggs so much that she decides she will go wherever she can to get hold of some. And so her travels begin: all around the world, searching high and low for eggs. But when she brings them all home, what will happen?

The front cover of Hattie Peck is very appealing, the illustrations just the sort that appeal to me. And this is a very nicely put together book, the drawings fun and creative, working well with the words and the storyline. But Hattie herself is rather two-dimensional, and... she is a MASSIVE thief! Taking all these eggs without a by-your-leave and stealing them away for herself. She doesn’t seem to realize what it is she’s done, and I felt terribly worried for the families who have lost their offspring. And there are no consequences! Ok, Hattie might have a rather unusual collection of “children” at the end of the story – but she seems perfectly content with her lot.

I wondered at first if I was being a bit too picky about this, but have decided I’m not. I wouldn’t want my child to think that they can go out and take whatever they want from other people, just because they really like it. So, look at this book for the pictures and the adventures of a selfish hen – but then make up your own ending?

The Queen's Hat by Steve Anthony

The Queen (accompanied by loyal Corgi) is off to visit someone very special, but as she steps out of Buckingham Palace, the wind does a great swoosh and blows the Queen’s hat off her head! Can she catch it, or will she have to chase it across London?

I love the idea of the Queen breaking protocol, running through the streets of London to try and catch her hat. Not only the Queen, though: the Queen’s Guard, normally so stiff and erect in their red jackets and furry black bearskin hats, are determined to chase the Queen’s hat down as well. We see them clambering over a lion’s statue in Trafalgar Square, in a mele of animals in London Zoo, racing across Tower Bridge – hundreds of them in tiny detail – scaling Big Ben, and then floating back to the ground with black umbrellas a la Mary Poppins.

There’s clearly a very British feel to The Queen’s Hat – not just in the images of classic London sights, but in the bright red jackets of the Queen’s Guard as they make their way across the city, enhanced by Steve Anthony’s colouring of the images in predominantly muted blue-grey tones (which matches the greys of the buildings of course). I also enjoyed the changes in perspective in the images, from close-ups with just three or four soldiers in the frame, then sweeping out for a distance view of the London Eye or Tower Bridge. The Corgi can be seen in every image, of course – and someone else too…

The text and voice of this story is quite basic, more action orientated than character orientated, so all of the characterization comes from the pictures. But what the voice does do is introduce a great variety of different descriptive words for where the hat goes and what it does as Queenie chases after it: soared, whoosed, through, along, around, across, over, which is great fun to read and then follow through in the illustrations.

This book is fun for those who both do and don’t live in London, and there’s something solid and identifiable in the fact that the London sites we see in the story belong to me as much as the next person, even though I live way out in the countryside. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside – especially when we find out at the end who the special person is that the Queen has gone to visit!

[This book has now been shortlisted for the 2015 Waterstones Children's Book Prize!]

A Possum's Tail by Gabby Dawnay and Alex Barrow

Young Samuel Drew is off for a walk, accompanied by his little wheeled dog, and we follow him as he heads down the street, past the sights and sounds of London, and into London Zoo. Wending his way around all the different animals, he makes his way to see the little possums. They’re sleeping – but as he turns to leave they awaken, drop from their perch and, seeing Samuel’s little dog’s string tail, grab on tight. So, as Samuel heads back the way he came, he’s unknowingly followed along by this little collection of furry creatures. But what will happen when he gets home and discovers them?

I’m not really sure what to think of A Possum’s Tail – it starts off as one sort of book and then becomes something else! It has quite a traditional sort of feel, with it’s careful rhyming, illustrations that conjure a time just gone by, and straightforward layout, picture above, words underneath. I suspect that much of the content in the pictures are real places, but not being from London I’m only able to recognize the obvious ones. It feels lovely and circular to read – but then, when Samuel Drew gets home and discovers his possummy trail, the tone changes, and the perspective changes, and it suddenly wasn’t quite so comfortable a story anymore. Nothing untoward happens, not in the least, but it just felt a little bit silly after that, after such a lovely beginning. I’m sure, though, that this is probably an adult perspective, and that young children reading the story would most likely give a different response.

The book is a lovely package, and something just a little bit different perhaps from your average picture book. Give it a try and I'm sure you won't be disappointed.

This Is Not My Hat, by Jon Klassen

I love Jon Klassen’s first ‘hat’ book, I Want My Hat Back, the simple tale of a bear who is trying to track down his lost headwear. The bear is so sweet (‘I love my hat,’ he tells us), yet edgy too (check out the ending), while the subtlety of the story and the way it’s told is pure genius - and it never ceases to be funny. Honestly, no matter how many times I read I Want My Hat Back (and that’s a lot), I always laugh.

For This Is Not My Hat, Klassen has taken all the same elements from the first book, refined them, boiled them down and simplified them even further, creating a book that is just as tongue-in-cheek, funny and clever as the first, and with a similar concept to I Want My Hat Back and yet simultaneously entirely different.

Little Fish has, ahem, stolen a hat. The Big Fish he took it from was asleep at the time, and Little Fish is pretty sure Big Fish won’t notice, but just to be on the safe side, he’s going to go over here and hide in these big tall reeds where he’s sure nobody will find him...

The brilliance of this book, for me, lies in the characterization: Big Fish through the drawings; Little Fish through his words. Only Little Fish speaks, but the fabulous illustrations let you know exactly what Big Fish is thinking – all through, pretty much, just Big Fish’s single visible eye.

It’s just… well, brilliant. How Klassen creates so much character in such a simple way is really extraordinary. Not a lot actually happens in the pictures – it’s mostly just black water, a fish, and some plants – and yet it conveys so much all at the same time. This is combined with Little Fish’s words, which tell a story slightly contradictory to the pictures: ‘He probably won’t wake up for a long time,’ says Little Fish above a picture of Big Fish who is very much awake.

The silence at the end of the story – which tells you all you need to know – perfectly reflects the fact that pictures often speak louder than words, and that when it comes to telling stories, less if often more, something that Klassen clearly understands well. This wonderful ability is reflected by a rare double nomination for the 2014 Kate Greenaway Medal: This Is Not My Hat along with The Dark, written by Lemony Snicket but illustrated by Jon Klassen. I like the work that Klassen has done with other writers, but the techniques he applies to his own stories are exemplary, showing his wit and understanding of the world and how people think.

This Is Not My Hat is succinct, clever, funny and immensely enjoyable no matter how many times you read it, a picture book that is as much for adults as it is for children. My (metaphorical) vote is cast.

The Day the Crayons Quit, by Drew Daywalt and Oliver Jeffers

Disaster has struck: Duncan’s colouring crayons have gone on strike. They are missing in action, gone into hiding, leaving behind just a pile of letters detailing their grievances.

Pink is sick of being thought of as a ‘girly’ colour, Black would like to be used for more than just drawing outlines, Orange and Yellow are having a show-down about who should be used to colour the sun, while Blue is tired out and would really like a rest, please. What can Duncan do to stop the arguing and make all the crayons happy again?

The Day the Crayons Quit (written by Drew Daywalt and illustrated by Oliver Jeffers) is a lovely idea to get both adults and children thinking outside the box. Why have we stereotyped our crayons? Why do we - by habit? by social decree? – only use certain colours for certain things? Who says that art has to be based directly on reality?

This is a really simple idea, very effectively done. The bulk of the story constitutes, on one side of the page, a letter written by the crayon in question, with crayoned drawings on the opposite page demonstrating the letter’s grievances. Many of the drawings are wonderfully child-like, and are accompanied by a characterized image of crayon itself either looking huffy or tired or grumpy, depending on why they’re upset. Who knew you could make crayons look emotional?

I also like how the letters have been written out in real letter form with crayon and then photographed for the book, showing contrast between the letter and the rest of the image, as well as blending together the words of the story into the illustrative style. I think it’s probably quite unique.

So how does Duncan solve the problem and get he’s crayons talking not just to each other again, but to him too? Well, by colouring things in a little differently, of course. Turn to the penultimate page to see the result, which is a bright and eclectic image of lots of different things all happening at once, including a pink dinosaur, a white sea-cat, a black rainbow, and multi-coloured hearts. Something for everyone. Brilliant.

Time to get your colouring crayons out and see what you can come up with that is outside the box…

The Dark, by Lemony Snicket and John Klassen

The Dark is one of those books that is kind of reassuring yet still somehow kind of creepy. Even though the eponymous character, the dark, turns out to be quite helpful and kinda friendly it’s still a little nerve-wracking and I’m still a little worried about ‘him’. Which, when you think about it, is pretty true to life. I know that the dark itself cannot harm me, but despite supposedly being a gown-up, if I wake up in the middle of the night after a bad dream, the first thing I do is reach out for the light, flipping the switch to shatter the darkness from around me.

Much about The Dark is true to life. Dark hides in the corners of rooms, behind doors, in the basement; and Laszlo is afraid of it. Mostly Laszlo is afraid that the dark will visit him in his own room. And then it does. “I want to show you something,” the dark says, leading Laszlo around the house and down into the dark’s own room, the basement. “Come closer,” says the dark. What is it going to do? What does it want?

… But the dark only has the best of intentions for Laszlo, showing him not a big black hole or a scary monster, but where to find a new light bulb for the nightlight in his room. Phew.

Right from the beginning Lemony Snicket treats the dark as a character, describing how it lives in the same house as Laszlo, how it hides in cupboards and spreads itself out at night as if it is a decision-maker with a will of it’s own. This construct is taken the next level when the dark sneaks into Laszlo’s room and speaks to him. The thing about it is even though the dark is quite friendly – it never hurts Laszlo and is helpful more than anything else – I think just the idea that the dark is alive and breathing and waiting is in itself creepy. Thus the story is ultimately reassuring – the dark, although it’s always there, does not have ill intentions – but still makes the hairs on the back of your neck stick up.

Jon Klassen’s striking illustrations have earned him a place on the shortlist for the 2014 Kate Greenaway Medal. Simultaneously soft and sharp, they represent the same mix of reassuring versus slightly odd as Snicket’s story. At first glance the images appear quite plain and simple, with straight lines, a plain colour palate and muted tones, but on closer inspection you can see the detail that he has worked into them to create the atmosphere of things being ever so slightly off. Everything is very angular, the rooms often viewed from slightly unusual angles, light and shade travelling across the spaces he has drawn in not entirely predictable ways.

Klassen plays with the dark and the light in the same way that Snicket does with his words as well, the dark ever-present on the edges of the drawings. Laszlo’s torch-light cuts through the dark in clear lines; the dark speaks from boxes of black that fill doorways and stairwells. But Laszlo himself remains mostly expressionless throughout the story, staying on the sidelines of most of the illustrations, thus allowing the dark to be characterized much more strongly than the little boy, to dominate many of the pages.

The Dark is a great book to read as an adult, but it’s just that little bit too sinister for me and I don’t think I would personally but for it young children unless they were extremely hardy! It is remarkably clever: the dark doesn’t use any words that in any way could be construed as threatening or sinister, yet as the reader I cannot help but feel creeped out, that it is very sinister – but when I stop and think about, I realize that I only feel like that because I already believe that the dark is bad. If you came to this story not pre-conditioned to feel like this, would it still be scary?

Mr Tiger Goes Wild, by Peter Brown

“Now, children, please do not act like wild animals,” says the very upright horse to her small charges at the beginning of Mr Tiger Goes Wild.

Mr Tiger – even though he’s a grown up – is bored of being proper. Of wearing dull clothes, of his top hat, of being terribly terribly polite to everyone that he meets, of keeping to the societally accepted rules. “And then one day Mr Tiger had a very wild idea…”

Mr Tiger’s first step to becoming wild could in some ways be seen as quite a small thing. But thing with a first step is that it’s usually the hardest step to take – and it usually leads to more steps in the wrong – or right? – direction. Each day, Mr Tiger subverses the unwritten rules a little further, each day getting a little wilder. From walking on all fours, prancing across rooftops and roaring, soon his friends decide they’ve had enough, but Mr Tiger doesn’t mind: he’s having fun! He feels alive! He feels… normal. But is he cut out for the wilderness?

Quite how author and illustrator Peter Brown manages to covey such perfect expressions on Mr Tiger’s simple face, I don’t know. The pictures say so much you barely need the words and, in fact, the text itself is very simple yet the story is crystal clear. The pictures are so lovely, the colours getting brighter as Mr Tiger gets wilder and wilder. And I love that when Mr Tiger starts to miss his friends and returns to the city, he finds that his earlier actions haven’t been completely ignored.

I want to tell you that my favourite page is the one where “Mr Tiger went a little too far,” (it’s so funny), but my favourite page is also “Roar!” (it’s so freeing), and it’s the page where he is stalking through the tall grasses too (it’s so peaceful). Which could leave me in a bit of a conundrum – but who says I have to choose just one page as my favourite? It’s much more fun to live on the wild side.

Mi and Museum City, by Linda Sarah

I think that ‘whimsical’ is the best way to describe the drawings by Linda Sarah in Mi and Museum City. They are quite small and dainty and detailed, with touches of humour in places and weirdness in others, and because of this there is just so much to look at on every page that I’m pretty sure you’d have to read the book a hundred times before you saw everything.

Mi lives in a city of museums. I hope that sounds exciting. But the museums in Mi’s city are all rather boring – like the Museum of Shhh and the Museum of Upsidedown But Still Boring. So Mi is pretty lonely. But one day he hears something he’s never heard before, a happy sound that he follows though the streets and across the river until he finds Yu. And Yu changes everything.

The pictures get more and more ridiculous and more and more crazy as the story develops, with more and more little details to pick out. The only downside is that a lot of what makes these teeny details are the annotations that go with them – annotations that small children wouldn’t be able to read or whose subtlety would be lost in the interpretation. So really, while there is a lot to see and the basic story is quite sweet, the funniest parts make this a picture book more for the grown-ups than the littlies. But it’s fun and sweet and different and made me go ‘ooo’ when I unpacked it from its box.

The Crocodile Who Didn't Like Water, by Gemma Merino

It’s true that our eponymous crocodile doesn’t like the water. He’s not afraid of it, really, he just. Does. Not. Like it. He wishes he did, because he’d really like to join his brothers and sisters in swim club, so he comes up with a plan to get himself in the water. It’s a good plan, but he’s still not terribly happy about being in the water, no matter how hard he tries to like it. But maybe there’s a reason why he doesn’t like the water… maybe he’s not a crocodile at all…

The Crocodile Who Didn't Like Water is a lovely story that says it’s good to try and overcome your fears, but ultimately it’s ok to be different. That it’s more than fine to say, ‘you know what, this thing and me just don’t mix’ - and this usually this means I can do different things instead. Which is exactly what the little crocodile in this story figures out.

Gemma Merino’s illustrations are very endearing – you just want to give the crocodile a hug and tell him everything will be ok – and the twist in the story is so wonderfully unexpected I laughed out loud the first time I read it. Of all the books on the Waterstones Children’s Book Prize 2014 shortlist, I think this is my favourite.

Penguin in Peril, by Helen Hancocks

Three hungry cats have hatched a cunning plan to make themselves a fishy feast. Step one: capture a penguin. Step two: recapture the penguin. But finding a runaway penguin on the city streets is easier said than done… Especially when he blends in so well with nuns and policeman and waiters.

To be honest, I am far from taken by Penguin in Peril. I’m not really sure what the author was trying to do (other than be clever) or what the point of the story was (other than the fact that the cats wind up in jail, so get a kind of comeuppance). It was all rather pointless; there's no real sense of characterisation, the drawings aren’t terribly interesting or appealing, and we're never actually let in on the cats’ cunning plan. What exactly were they going to do with the penguin once they caught him? Just get him to catch fish for them? It would have made a lot more sense for them to just spend their money on food in the first place.

Harold Finds A Voice, by Courtney Dicmas

Harold is an excellent imitator, copying and repeating all the sounds he hears in the apartment where he lives, from the bleep of the alarm clock to the whooshing of the washing machine. But there are only so many sounds to be heard in one small apartment, and he can’t help wondering what other beautiful and interesting noises exist out in the world. So when the window is left open one morning, he decides to find out…

Harold is not disappointed by all the wonderful sounds he finds, but it opens up a new question: does he have his own voice that’s his and his alone? How can he find it? What will it sound like?

Bright and colourful, Harold Finds A Voice is great fun to read – there are so many different noises to make and imitate – and even when his voice isn’t quite what he expected, finding it brings all sorts of lovely new things into his life: other parrots like him! Courtney Dicmas has taken a basic idea – the importance of being yourself – and put it across simply and beautifully.

Open Very Carefully, by Nick Bromley & Nicola O'Byrne

You should do as the title of this book suggests: open very carefully, because what you find inside might surprise you – a crocodile! What is he doing there?

Wait a minute… Oh, no! He’s eating the letters of the story! This is no good; we can’t be having this. It’s a book for goodness’ sake! What can we do to stop him? Rock the book to see if we can make him fall asleep… Shake the book to see if he’ll fall out… Oh, gosh, now he’s going to try and eat his way out. Yikes!

Open Very Carefully is certainly an original idea, with lovely, bold illustrations, but I’m a little worried about where the crocodile has gone to now he’s escaped the book – what if he’s hiding under my bed?

I hope small children won’t find this book scary. I particularly like the interactive nature of the story – with the shaking and rocking of the book to help the crocodile on it’s way – and it’s a fun, fresh idea. I just hope that something a little friendlier will be able to sneak in through the hole the crocodile’s made – a fluffy bunny perhaps?

Time for Bed, Fred, by Yasmeen Ismail

You know how difficult it can sometimes be to get young children to go to bed? Well, dogs too. On hearing those three innocent little words, “Time for bed!” Fred’s anti-bed instincts kick in. Where can he hide so that he won’t have to go to bed? Among the flowers? Up a tree? What about under the rug? With any luck all this crazy running about will tire young Fred out…

Fred seems like a really nice dog, with shaggy ears that are just asking to be tickled, and a playful, mischievous character that shines through Yasmeen Ismail's colourful illustrations. The pictures are full of movement and activity, and the story is so simple and fun it’s impossible not to enjoy it and appreciate the not-so-subtle metaphor. Time for Bed, Fred is sure to be one of those books you’ll get asked for again and again – especially, perhaps, at bedtime.

Weasels, by Elys Dolan

The weasels are planning to take over the world and today is the big day. But just as everything is ready to go, disaster strikes. “Machine status: It’s Broken”. What’s wrong with their world domination machine? Can they fix it? They’ve got a few ideas, like adding a clothes hanger, installing batteries, or buying a new machine. Perhaps the best solution is the simplest one?

Weasels is a lot of fun to read as an adult – Elys Dolan’s illustrations fill every page and are packed full of little details, quirky asides and tongue-in-cheek references – like the chief weasel villain overseeing his lab weasels with a pet white mouse curled up on his lap, the coffee debate going on in the background, and a quick pause to make sure everything is health and safety compliant. How much of this would small children appreciate, though? Perhaps little, perhaps more than I would give them credit for.

Either way, Weasels is an amusing tale with tonnes to look at and a nicely ambiguous ending – what will happen once the weasels manage to fix the problem? They’re not really likely to let a little technical difficulty get in their way. They are weasels, after all.

Mabel and Me, Best of Friends, by Mark Sperring & Sarah Warburton

This little book really, really appeals to me. It’s funny and cute and funny and clever and, oh did I mention? Funny.

‘Me’ is a little mouse with remarkably big ears (literally, not metaphorically), and he and his best friend Mabel are taking a stroll through their rather cosmopolitan town. In fact, Me tells Mabel that she is his bestest bestest friend, but Mabel’s response is - in a way that is so typical for a small child - “Why?” which leaves Me a bit stumped for an answer. As they continue on their walk, they encounter some people that make Me forget all about Mabel’s question, but ultimately the events that ensue remind him of one of the reasons why Mabel is his bestest bestest friend...

There’s a little bit of everything in Mabel and Me - a French photographer, a Prima Ballerina, dancing in a “boom-box, tap and jazz kind of way”, a counting page, ice cream, and a noisy photo booth. There are pigeons and pussy cats and a beautiful pond. The story is witty, with language that is both typical and atypical of a picture book. “Flash! click, flash! click, chugga, chugga, chugga,” goes the photo booth, but with words such as ‘diabolically’, ‘bristle’, and ‘extraordinary’, neither do the writers pander or look down upon the reader. In fact the language and the rhythm of the words has a lovely variety, chopping and changing and moving around the page to reflect the activity of the story.

And the pictures do the same: from a street overview with cars and buildings and an old-fashioned postbox in the background, to a closer image where you can peer in the windows of the houses behind (cute kitty alert on this page), to being focused even further on just the prancing photographer. The illustrations are lovely and detailed, full of character and very expressive. They have a slightly old-fashioned feel and a slightly European feel to them, conjuring idyllic yet real parks and streets. And they have a light feeling to them, even as Me gets progressively more riled by the things that people are saying. The dancing page is my favourite - it makes me want to boom-box and tap and jazz my own way down the street.

Mabel is very serene and doesn’t seem to be at all affected by the events of the story, while Me shows off a range of emotions. Rather beautifully though, when he gets very angry he quietly counts to ten until he has suitably composed himself, and then, instead of getting very upset and storming off when Mabel says something he wasn’t expecting, he is able to shake it off and laugh about it.

The End, happily ever after (with ice cream). I hope this is just the beginning of Mabel’s and Me’s adventures.

Small Bunny's Blue Blanket, by Tatyana Feeney

I am absolutely loving Small Bunny’s Blue Blanket!

Small Bunny has a very special friend, Blue Blanket. Blue Blanket goes everywhere with Small Bunny and does everything that Small Bunny does. But, oh shock and horror, one day Mummy announces that she wants to wash Blue Blanket. Noooo! As anyone who had an item similar to Blue Blanket whilst growing up will know, washing is bad. Very bad. Aside from the separation period, Blankets are never the same once they are clean.

Confession time: one reason why I love this story so much is clearly because I have a Blue Blanket equivalent. My ‘Blue Blanket’ - or just Blanket - is not blue so much as whiteish grey. Granted, it doesn’t go everywhere with me anymore, but it still doesn’t get washed as often as perhaps it should. And yes, I am 32 years old. However, that said, there is more to this charming picture book from new author Tatyana Feeney than just a mutual love for Blankets. It is simple and sweet and Small Bunny is very very cute. It is especially cute when Small Bunny watches Blue Blanket going round and round in the washing machine. For 107 minutes. (Don’t worry, it doesn’t take 107 minutes to read the book.)

But wait... it all turns out ok: Blue Blanket returns from the washing safe and sound, and in almost no time at all, it is back to its old, dirty, well-loved self.

Irresistible and appealing, this is a storybook that is going to the top of my recommends list for younger toddlers. Even the tagline - A Tale of Love and Laundry - is inspired. And did I mention it’s cute?