What a sweet book celebrating the power of music to move us! Based on a true story, it tells of a young boy who is non-verbal, rarely speaking, accompanying his grandfather on an outing to the symphony. When the music ends, in that moment of silence, Ronin bursts out with his first, “Wow!” Obviously impacted by the music he’s just heard, his Wow is a celebration, which further impacts the rest of the audience in its genuine, uninhibited joy. Ronin returns to being quiet, but the final page of the book shows him going to sleep night, and ponders what he may still be listening to in his dreams.

It’s all about the power of a cat to worm its way into our lives whether we like it or not. The narrator professes to not like cats, and when one starts coming around every day, she says she doesn’t like it, even though she gives it food, and she names it Not My Cat so that every knows it’s not her cat. She says she doesn’t know where the cat lives, or what it does at night, even though she wonders about it sometimes. But when Not My Cat doesn’t show up for several days in a row, she’s worried, and all her normal routines feel empty. When she does return, our narrator doesn’t know where she’s been, but she know she looks hungry and curious, and she looks like she’s hers. The logical, responsible pet owner in me wishes there was some sort of little afterward to comment that now she’s claimed the cat it will mean taking her to the vet and keeping track of where she is because there are so many dangers for cats left to stray, but the mushy side of me just feels warm and fuzzy, which is what the kids will feel.

Some kids have a hard time with change, but it’s something we all have to face in life. As this author shares her own experiences of change, she weaves through a thread that keeps things connected. The story opens with her sharing her memories of time spent with her grandfather in his big garden, but then a time comes when he needs to move into a smaller apartment, and though he no longer has space for a big garden, he doesn’t leave all his plants behind. When the time comes that she must move far away from her grandfather, she shares that her new home feels lonely, until her grandfather sends her a gift in the form of a favorite plant from her childhood. Eventually, when she is grown, we see her returning to visit her grandfather’s little apartment with her own daughter in tow, and even though his potted plant garden is smaller than the big one from her own childhood, she is still able to share some of the same kind of experiences, so it still feels like home. It’s a comforting, reassuring kind of story as kids (or grown-ups) face changes, reminding us it’s still possible to maintain the ties that are important.

In the Pacific Northwest we can too easily fall into the habit of associating rain with words like cold and gloomy and dreary. But this book celebrates rain. The colors are bright and cheerful. It dedicates several pages to the anticipation of the rain, when so many creatures (including kids) hurry home when they sense it coming, but instead of a sense of dread, it offers a sense of the cozy. It mentions the dogs who don’t hurry home but wait to feel the drops just for the fun of it, and the ducks who are happiest of all enjoying a glorious day in the rain. It reminds us that rain is good for everybody, filling bird baths and creeks and helping things grow.

It’s a charming book that tells of four sisters who grew up in southern California in the early 1900s, and each followed their own interests, right into careers that were uncommon pursuits for women of that era. As adults they brought their individual strengths and skills together to build cottages that captured the magic they remembered from the fairy tales they read as children. The end note in the back is just as well-written as the book itself, adding depth and detail to round out the story. I just wish kids actually read those parts.

I was prepared to be hard on this one, thinking to myself, “Do we really need another book encouraging kids to learn to read? There are so many good ones out there already.” But who can resist a library fish who gets wrapped up in the joy of the library, watching books come and go, watching patrons search for just the right book, listening in during story our and getting caught up in the wonder and excitement and humor in books? When a book is shared during story time about a dog who learned to read, Library Fish is determined she can too. As soon as she’s alone in the library, “With plenty of hard work, determination, and, of course, imagination…” she creates a water bubble for herself around her head (think old-time diver’s helmet) that lets her venture beyond her bowl and explore the library, starting with the alphabet, building up to words, practicing night after night, until she’s ready to share all she’s learned with her book-mobile friend. It’s full of delight and determination and celebration. The illustrations are full of personality and express the joy found in persistence. I now want a library fish.

It’s a book written with a definite purpose in mind, and it’s a purpose we need: to encourage more children of color to consider futures in the professions where we need more people of color (in this case specifically, doctors). It tells of a kid who loves his grandpa who is always telling him he can be anybody he wants to be, and encourages him to think beyond his neighborhood. But he also gets the sense from his peers that it’s not cool to be a wannabe. But when a medical emergency hits and his beloved grandpa is in the hospital, he’s grateful to the doctor who cares for him, and who grew up in his own neighborhood, re-energizing his dreams of being the kind of hero he sees around him.

It’s a philosophical sort of book, intended to teach mindfulness to kids. It’s not necessarily the kind of story kids are going to pick up to read again and again as a favorite, but it could be useful as a teaching tool. The subplot that runs through the illustrations, showing a child on an excursion to visit grandparents at a summer lake cabin and enjoy the company of extended family while swimming in the lake and watching fireflies is not necessarily something every child will be able to relate to, but the sentiments expressed through the words will certainly by familiar to all — the way time goes so fast sometimes and drags at others, the joys of good food and laughter, the misery of having a joyful moment suddenly disrupted by a bee sting. Kids will probably ignore the extra information in the back offering tips one what to do when anxious or appreciating the here and now, but adults might use them intentionally with a child they know needs it.

The illustrations are really fun, with a cute little dog with great big eyes who sucks you in immediately. The story is one that will be familiar to anyone who has a short-legged dog, but from the dog’s perspective: he really wants to climb “Comfy Mountain” (i.e. the back of the couch), but he just can’t manage it. When finally realizing all he needs to do is ask his human for help, the rewards prove better than his imagination. It ends with a gentle reminder that though it’s great to do things by ourselves, sometimes doing them together is even better. Some kids need a reminder that it’s okay to ask for help when you need it.

The illustrations are vibrant and joyful and celebratory, even as the story is describing events born of poverty. Many students used to making the most of hand-me-downs may relate to the power of recreating something beautiful from that which has been discarded by others. They may be perplexed though at the idea that the narrator and his mother had to sneak through the night to scavenge the fabric scraps before they were set afire. Reading the author’s note at the end helps to give context, explaining that the book is based on his own childhood experiences growing up in St. Lucia, where wealthy factory owners made a point of having their scraps burned so that poor families couldn’t steal their trash, but that sometimes a kind worker would give them time to rummage before starting the blaze. We say books can sometime serve as mirrors, reflecting the reader’s own experiences, or sometime a window, showing the reader some aspect of the world beyond. This one may do both at the same time for some readers.

It’s not a story to be read straight through from start to finish. It’s a poem to be read and pondered in bits and pieces — would be a really good conversation starter. It’s a series of rhyming couplets, each making a statement that seems on the surface to be self-contradictory, yet the accompanying illustrations sets forth a scenario in which it makes sense after all. “Just because I’m finished, doesn’t mean that I’m done” is matched with illustrations that show a girl all tucked up in bed, saying goodnight to the parent at the door, followed by the same girl reading with a flashlight under the covers once she’s alone; “Just because I’m sitting still, doesn’t mean that I’m not busy,” is illustrated with a girl sitting in a yoga pose. Some of them work better than others, and some could be argued, but that’s what gives it such potential to start meaningful discussions.