Each time I open Stone Soup, my son recites the first line with a gentle, low voice, mimicking the folktale voice I always use with this book: “Three monks, Hok, Lok, and Siew, travel along a mountain road.” The monks, each named for a Chinese deity, visit a village accustomed to war and famine and help a community of suspicious villagers open up to one another. This is a traditional European folktale where a soup that starts with a rock (or a nail or coin) ends up being, through the generosity of the community, a tasty dinner. Muth's version, which he illustrated with gentle and detailed watercolors, is particularly warm. He shows a selection of villagers, from the tea merchant and scholar to the seamstress and carpenter, working only for themselves and unwilling to even open their windows to the monks. A little girl wearing a yellow blouse (a color worn by Emperors) is the only person who will approach the three monks, who begin to help the villagers discover what it means to be happy by starting a soup in the middle of the deserted village center. She helps them find three perfect stones, then gives, on behalf of her mother, a giant pot. The sight of the steaming, enormous pot attracts the villagers, whose curiosity is stronger than their hostility. When each monk suggests something that has always made this kind of Stone Soup good, villagers one by one dart off to fetch it: salt and pepper, carrots, onions, mushrooms. The list goes on to include ginger root, bean curd, dumplings, and lily buds. This is a culturally rich book with much to discuss with children, and a refreshingly honest story of sharing. While Muth makes the point that a community drawing together helps to build happiness, it is hard not to notice that it is by the action of one brave little girl, acting alone, that this community sharing happens in the first place. Stone Soup is a favorite text in the Born to Read curriculum. (Diane Magras)
Everywhere Babies is a wonderful children’s book that gently shares the idea of differences through rhythmical narrative and beautiful illustrations. In this book, babies’ lives are shown—they are short, they are tall, they climb, they crawl, they eat, play, talk...all the many things babies do and are! Young children love the colorful pictures that remind them of all that they do and the people that care for them. In addition, it is a wonderful tool with which to talk to young ones. This makes it particularly apt as one of the books in the Born to Read Volunteer Reader program. There are so many nuances to this book that every child can find something they identify with; it will quickly become a favorite. In fact, my 16-month-old is so entranced by the book she pulls it off the shelf EVERY night with the exclamation “Baby!” (Martina Duncan)
Why another bicentennial book about Lincoln and Darwin? The author himself says it best: “The proliferation of writing about both men, in the past decade especially, means that it may be hard for the amateur reader to pick through it all, and I hope to make the job easier. […] I want to help with the hard, embarrassing, but necessary question, which scholarship, strangely, can pose but can’t in its nature help much to resolve: what were they like?” (14-15).
I picked up this book in anticipation of the Lincoln Symposium on March 21, hoping for a crash-course refresher on the president, but I got much, much more. In a mere two hundred pages, Gopnik manages to distill the glut of biographical exegesis that surrounds these two figures into a plausible hypothesis about their lasting impact. I wouldn’t want to reveal it here, even if I could trust myself to paraphrase it, because I don’t want to discourage anyone from reading the book. You will learn from it even if you’re an expert on one or both men, you will understand it even if you’re a novice, and you won’t regret the time you spend on it. (Brita Zitin)
This is a particular apt old book to read these days, as all of its characters and subplots revolve around a shady financier. Augustus Melmotte’s reputation of fantastic wealth and business acumen reaches London before he does, and so on the eve of the first ball he hosts, everyone who is anyone attends, especially those who want a piece of his money. That includes Sir Felix Carbury, Baronet, son of Lady Carbury, who is what George Eliot would call a “lady novelist.” Sir Felix has squandered his family fortune through gambling and dissolute living and now seeks to use his good looks and title to win the affection and staggering fortune of Melmotte’s only child, Marie. Sub-plots abound. Sir Felix’s sister Henrietta Carbury, one of the few characters with a true moral sensibility, is pressured by her mother to marry her much older bachelor cousin, a country squire, for the security it will provide the family. Instead, she falls in love with his ward, Paul Montague, a young engineer. Montague has his own subplot when he involves Melmotte in a plan to create a railway between Utah and Mexico and eventually realizes that Melmotte’s railway only exists on paper. Montague’s subplot becomes even more intense when a previous romantic entanglement with an American woman with a questionable past comes to Henrietta’s knowledge. Meanwhile, Marie Melmotte has fallen in love with Sir Felix, but her father will not consent to their union due to Sir Felix’s poverty. Melmotte reaches high in his quest to conquer London, becoming a Member of Parliament and almost acquiring an aristocratic country estate. His excuse for his deceptions is always that it is “the way we live now,” and that mantra runs through the book with nearly all of the characters. (Diane Magras)