It tells the tale of a tiny boy. It never really specifies exactly how small he is, but the illustrations suggest his is maybe an inch or two tall, small enough to sleep in a matchbox, climb a mountain of legos, ride on the back of a grasshopper, and stretch out on a lily pad. It describes the struggles he faced when he started school: being too small for his desk, racing away from being squashed by a basketball, and avoiding being trampled by his classmates. It says he preferred to spend time alone and draw. It says he teacher worried about him, wondering what would become of him. But just as the reader is starting to wonder how would this small one survive and manage in our big world, the story tells us he did grow up “(But not much bigger.)”. We see the house he built himself, under the shade of a tomato plant that stretches over the roof like a tree, and a stool made of a matchstick and bottle cap. And it reveals what job he finds that just suits his size: he draws stamps. The final page declares, “One can never be too small to be a GREAT artist!” It’s fanciful and fun.