A Potion, a Powder, a Little Bit of Magic by Philip Stead

Apr3

A Potion, a Powder, a Little Bit of Magic, or Like Lightning in an Umbrella Storm (a story out of order) by Philip Stead. Neal Porter Books, 2026.

This brand new (publication date: April 7, 2026) piece of ridiculosity and magic reminds the publicists of Kate DiCamillo and Lemony Snicket, according to the Amazon advertising. I’m going with a mashup of Princess Bride and Alice in Wonderland. The story is just about as absurd as Alice with twelve year old orphan Bernadette the Brave going on a rather circular quest to save her best friend, Perseverance the Turtle. And like Alice, she meets a number of quirky characters along the way. However, it’s also cute and witty like Princess Bride, with the author as a sometimes character, a nincompoop tyrant king, and a castle whose foundation is resting on the backs of . . . well, I’ll let you read and find out who’s holding up the castle.

The intriguing thing about the story is that it begins in the middle and circles back to nearly the beginning, meanders along the River of Uncertainty, and ends with the discovery of Chapter One? If that sounds confusing, it is, but the tale told out of order also pulled me into the story as I had to work a little to understand the plot and make sense of the journey/quest that takes Bernadette and her friends all over the kingdom. (They do finally get a map, and so do readers–on the endpapers of the book.)

Philip Stead is the author and illustrator of the Caldecott Award-winning book, A Sick Day for Amos McGee, as well as other picture books, but this is his first children’s novel. I’m impressed. The story also includes twenty-four morals, one for each chapter, (or for each goat?). I’ll share a few of the moral precepts to wind up this review, just to whet your appetite. If you have a rather quirky mind, like mine and Mr. Stead’s apparently, this 2026 middle grade tale is not to be missed.

  • “Never underestimate the strength of a goat.”
  • “Never underestimate the willingness of a fool to follow through on a bad idea.
  • “Have at least a slight idea of what you’re trying to do before you do it.”
  • “Uncareful stories bring trouble to your doorstep.”
  • “Always wear a helmet when riding a bike.”
  • “There’s always tomorrow.”

Those are just a few of the Very Useful morals embedded in this story. The book also includes, for your enjoyment, many Latin phrases (helpfully translated into English, more or less accurately by the author), a Tree Who May or May Not Grant Wishes, a lot of cursing (interrupted before it can get started, as in “B—–“), and a very confused and incompetent author.

Saturdays and Teacakes by Lester Laminack and Chris Soentpiet

Feb24

I used to spend the night with my Mema (grandmother) every Friday night. We watched Jack Benny together and ate pink beans (pork’n’beans) and hamburger patties for supper. And on Saturday morning I got to have Sugar Pops for breakfast! Those Friday night visits were some of the best times of my childhood.

In Saturdays and Teacakes the boy narrator has a similar weekly date with his grandmother. “Every Saturday, I got up early, dressed, and rolled my bicycle out of the garage.” The nine/ten year old boy in the story pedals his bike all the way to grandmother’s house, and:

“Every Saturday Mammaw was there, sitting on her old metal glider–criiick-craaack-criiick-craaack–sipping a cup of Red Diamond Coffee and waiting. She was waiting for me. No one else. Just me.”

The boy goes on to tell how he and Mammaw spent their Saturdays: eating breakfast, mowing the grass, working in the garden, tomato sandwiches for lunch, and baking sweet teacakes together. This sweet and evocative story of a Southern country boyhood never mentions the exact location or setting of the story, but the author grew up mostly in Alabama. So I’m choosing to think this is a story about an Alabama boy and his Alabama grandmother.

The illustrations in the book are full color paintings, showing all of the activities that the boy and his grandmother do together. These vibrant pictures really bring the rural Southern small town and the boy’s family life and love to life. And if you want to extend the story and the learning a little more, Peachtree Publishers has a recipe for Mammaw’s teacakes at their website.

You can find a read aloud version of this story on YouTube, or you can check to see if your library has it. If you live in Houston, you can check out Saturdays and Teacakes from Meriadoc Homeschool Library. It’s a great story for all boys and girls who have a close and loving relationship with their Mema or Mammaw or Grandma or whatever you might call her.

The Nine Moons of Han Yu and Luli by Karina Yan Glaser

Feb23

Chang’An, China, 731: Han Yu sells steamed buns in a bustling market full of whispers about his ability to summon tigers.

Chinatown, New York City, 1931: Luli Lee gazes out from the roof of her parents’ restaurant, dreaming of dim sum and Chinese art.

Two places, two times, and two main characters. It could be confusing, but author Karina Van Glaser does a masterful job of telling and intertwining the stories of these two children, both of whom are trying to help their families through a hard time. Han Yu must travel the trade routes (Silk Road) to learn money for his quarantined family and find the healing grasses that might heal his little sister from her life-threatening illness. Luli’s family is about to lose the restaurant that is their dream and livelihood as the Great Depression squeezes all businesses in its financial collapse.

The story has a slight amount of “magical realism”, as a secretive, ghostly, guardian tiger appears and disappears, seeming to protect Han Yu on his journey. (For me, the tiger is reminiscent of the figure of Aslan in the Narnia books, but that may be my own eccentric reading.) For the most part, however, the stories are engaging, well written, and well researched straight historical fiction. The histories of Han Yu and Luli intersect in a believable way, and the story becomes a sort of ode to Chinese food, especially dim sum, Chinese art, Chinese history, and Chinese culture.

This book would be a great read aloud. Each chapter ends on something of a cliff-hanger which impels the reader to hurry on to see what will happen. And the chapters switch back and forth between Han Yu’s story and Luli’s, a device that adds to the suspense and interest. I can see why this book won a Newbery Honor. I would have chosen it for the Newbery Award.

Once a Castle by Sarah Arthur

Feb17

I found this second book in the Carrick Hall series hard going at first, but perhaps I just started when I was tired and not in the mood. When I finally got several chapters in, I began enjoy this story, sequel to Once a Queen, which I reviewed here.

In this book, Frankie the gardener boy’s younger siblings–Jack, Tilly, Elspeth, and Georgie Addison– take center stage, along with the mysterious and silent Arash Tasbari, an immigrant/refugee from Iran whose Shakespeare-quoting grandfather owns a bookshop in the village. More characters join the cast: Charlie and Aurora Heapworth, Tilly’s crush and Elspeth’s best friend respectively; Paxton and Mrs. Fealston, the family servants or perhaps guardians; and from Ternival, a fisherman and his granddaughter, Zahra. Indeed, there are so many characters and so much movement from scene to scene and setting to setting, that I almost got lost several times as I struggled to remember who was who and where they all were and who knew what and when.

And I wasn’t the only one in a muddle. The characters themselves lose each other and find each other an amazing number of times before the story is resolved. The only stable (but actually unstable and crazy) character is the evil enchantress, Mindra, who always shows up where she is least wanted with the singular purpose of reclaiming the crown and the gems of Ternival along with her power in order to make a mess of everything, I suppose. (What else do archvillains want power for?) Even Mindra travels back and forth between worlds a few times, but wherever the crown and the gems are, there she is, too.

A map and a list of characters at the beginning of the book help the reader to make sense of it all, and it is a grand adventure. Talking animals, dryads, giants, dwarfs, centaurs, and a whistle-pig fill out the cast of characters. And the plot moves along at a fast pace. I would recommend reading the first book in the series before tackling this one, but Once a Castle can stand alone. I know because I couldn’t remember much of anything from the first book when I sat down to read this one, and I managed to enjoy this rather rollicking fairy tale fantasy anyway. There is to be a third book, titled Once a Crown, and I look forward to reading and enjoying that one, too. It’s not The Lord of the Rings, but it will do.

The Black Fawn by Jim Kjelgaard

Jan30

Jim Kjelgaard was a prolific author of over forty novels for children and young adults, mostly animal stories. His most famous and best-selling book was Big Red, the story of an orphan boy and his beloved Irish setter.

The main character in The Black Fawn is also an orphaned boy, Allan “Bud” Sloan. Bud comes to live with Gramps and Gram Bennett in an attitude of guarded fear and determination.

“With his little bundle of belongings wrapped in a spare shirt and tucked under his right arm–the orphanage did not furnish suitcases when they farmed you out–Bud started up the drive with his head held high and with what he hoped was a fearless, manly tread. But his insides felt like jelly that has stood too long in a warm place and his feet seemed to weigh five hundred pounds each. If he had been sure no one was looking, he would have burst into tears. He could not be sure, and not for an instant must he forget that weakness made him easy prey for whoever saw it.”

Slowly, over the course of the novel, Bud responds to the open-hearted love and care of Gram Bennett and the measured and careful teaching and example of Gramps, and the three become a family even as Bud learns to be a man. The black fawn is something of a touchstone that Bud first saves when the fawn is almost orphaned in infancy, and then watches in brief glimpses as he grows to be a mighty buck that Bud reluctantly hunts along with Gramps. 

So the book showcases the love of animals, but also the thrill of hunting and the satisfaction to be found in farming and animal husbandry. Bud learns “the ways of nature and the meaning of true sportsmanship.” It’s a balanced view of all three of these ways that man interacts with nature and the animal world.

I’m just starting a re-read of James Herriot’s All Creatures Great and Small, and I couldn’t help comparing the two books. Herriot’s Yorkshire farmers care for their animals, but they also know that farm animals are meant to be of use, sometimes for food. The attitude in Kjelgaard’s story is the same. The deer are meant to be respected and admired for their beauty and animal sense, but also to be hunted for food and for sport as well. Gramps sees the black buck as a magnificent and wily adversary, and himself as an elder with lessons worth teaching to young Bud. Some of those lessons come through the medium and process of deer hunting.

The ending to the story is perfect for hunters and animal lovers both, although animal welfare activists and vegetarians might not love it so much. Kjelgaard balances a respect for wildlife and nature with a deep appreciation for the sport of hunting and the lessons that it teaches. This blog post by Daniel Schmidt, a deer hunter, explicates the basic idea contained in this story: Humble Appreciation: A Deer Hunter’s Prayer.

Incident at Hawk’s Hill by Allan W. Eckert

Jan14

Benjamin MacDonald is the six year old younger son of William and Esther MacDonald. The year is 1870, and the place is somewhere to the north of Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. In this prairie land the MacDonald family own a farm, and Ben, a child who in today’s parlance would certainly be called “neurodivergent”, has lived his life so far on that farm, exploring those prairie lands. In 1870, folks just say that Ben is “dreadful queer,” “some sort of monster or throwback, an animal-boy.” Ben seldom speaks to people even in his own family, and he has a strange attraction to and affinity for all sorts of animals–farm animals, wildlife, even birds and insects. He spends most of his days following, observing, and mimicking the creatures he finds on the farm and out on the prairie. And the animals seem to respond to Ben and accept his overtures of friendship, even kinship.

So, this Newbery Honor book from 1972 is a nature story with lots of close description of wild creatures and how they live. Although the Newbery Award and Newbery Honor are intended to be awards for children’s literature, Incident at Hawk’s Hill was originally published as an adult novel. Many older children would still appreciate the book. However, sensitive readers should be warned that the Nature pictured is indeed “red in tooth and claw.” Eckert doesn’t shy away from describing–in detail– predators hunting and eating their prey, animals fighting and and defending their young, and eventually the deaths of some of those predators at the hands of men.

The author prefaces his story with this note, “The story which follows is a slightly fictionalized version of an incident which actually occurred at the time and place noted.” An historical magazine, Manitoba Pageant, in 1960 published an article entitled “The Boy Who Lived in a Badger Hole”. The article tells about an 1873 reported incident of a lost boy, found after ten days living in a badger hole. Eckert may have based his Ben’s story on this magazine report. In the book, one day in June, Ben becomes lost on the prairie, and the story becomes a tale of his survival. It’s a somewhat grisly and nearly unbelievable survival story as a wild badger befriends Ben and shares its den and its food with him, and ultimately Ben almost forgets his humanity as he becomes absorbed in badger life.

The ending is a bit disturbing, too, with a fight between two men, almost to the death. If violent death and threats of death, for both animals and people, are too much for you or your child reader, this book is not for you.

Nonetheless, I found this 1972 Newbery Honor book to be fascinating thought-provoking, and quite well written. The language is descriptive and evocative of a prairie world, almost a fantasy world. In fact, at one point in the story, the storyteller writes about Ben’s getting lost, “It was certainly well past midafternoon now but still nothing looked at all familiar to him and he had the momentary panicky feeling that somehow, like the little girl in the story his mother had read to him, he had stepped into another world.” (Alice in Wonderland, published in 1865?)

The cover blurb calls Incident at Hawk’s Hill “a poignant story of human courage and change, a simple fable rich with wonder.” I’m not so sure about the “fable” part, but the story is rich with wonder. Several characters call Ben’s survival a miracle and attribute it to God’s intervention. I like the way the story points, without preaching, toward tolerance and understanding for people whose engagement with the world does not fit inside the “normal” template. Those readers with an interest in nature, wildlife, and natural history will also find the descriptions of the habits and ways of various animals in the story to be quite engaging and informative.

Marge’s Diner by Gail Gibbons

Oct28


Gail Gibbons has written and illustrated a multitude of nonfiction picture books about everything from road building to quilting bees to spiders, penguins, and trucks (oh, my!). I have many of her books in my library, and I love them all. But my favorite Gail Gibbons book is Marge’s Diner, the story of a simple, small town diner restaurant run by a lady named Marge.

“Everyone in town knows Marge. She runs Marge’s Diner.” The book continues after these opening sentences to tell about and show how a twenty-four hour day at Marge’s Diner plays out. It’s not only a book about how a restaurant works and about the people who work in a 24-hour diner, but also about community and how all different kinds of people come through Marge’s Diner. The diner is an old-fashioned community hub, and readers get to see how a small business, like a diner, can be a service to people as well as provide jobs and support to the people who work there. It’s capitalism in action.

As an adult, I like to see how businesses and organizations work, behind the scenes. I think children enjoy that kind of story, too, which is why Marge’s Diner is one of the books in “Week 45: Food”of Picture Book Preschool. Marge’s Diner is, as I said, about more than just food, but it does give children a bit of an idea of where our food comes from and what it takes to run a restaurant. Maybe reading this book together as a family could make us a little more grateful for the people that cook and clean and serve us food in our own favorite eating places.

For other picture books about diners or restaurants or food service, check out:

Picture Book Preschool is a preschool/kindergarten curriculum which consists of a list of picture books to read aloud for each week of the year and a character trait, a memory verse, and activities, all tied to the theme for the week. You can purchase a downloadable version (pdf file) of Picture Book Preschool by Sherry Early at Biblioguides.

The Eustace Diamonds by Anthony Trollope

Oct21

This three-volume, more than 700 page novel is one of the best of Trollope’s works that I have read so far. Thankfully, I have many more Trollope novels yet to read, since he wrote and published over fifty. I think I’ve read about ten. And I have yet to finish The Palliser novels, which series includes The Eustace Diamonds.

The Eustace Diamonds, especially the character of Lizzie Greystock Eustace, owes something to Thackeray’s Vanity Fair and to Becky Sharp. Lizzie is Becky Sharp, with money to spare and not quite as much sharp intelligence. The money comes from Lizzie’s conveniently deceased first husband, and her lack of foresight and basic intellectual capacity shows itself as the story progresses after the death of her husband, Sir Florian Eustace. Lizzie certainly has beauty and charm, but she gets herself into a tangled mess over the Eustace family diamonds, a mess that Becky Sharp could surely have avoided had she been blessed with as much money and station as Lizzie.

According to the introduction to my edition of The Eustace Diamonds, Trollope’s novel was also influenced by Wilkie Collins’ The Moonstone. Both books are named for their MacGuffin, a jewel or set of jewels, and the jewels become a symbol of the ridiculous materialism and greed that drive most of the characters in the book. The very expensive Eustace diamonds, worth more than 10,000 pounds, are hidden, displayed, argued over, stolen, hidden again and stolen again in the course of this story, but now that I’ve finished the book I can hardly remember what actually happened to them in the end.

What I do remember is what happens to Lizzie and to her various friends, enemies, and suitors. I suppose that’s what is meant by a “character-driven novel.” I didn’t like Lizzie, and most of the other characters in the book were not sympathetic either, but I did find them to be very intriguing. What happens when a community of people get themselves into a web of lies and deceit and play-acting and and gossip and broken promises and mercenary motives and actions? Well, The Eustace Diamonds happens.

I’m surprised that more people haven’t mined Trollope for dramatic purposes. There are TV mini-series of Doctor Thorne and The Way We Live Now, as well as one called The Pallisers and another called The Barchester Chronicles. I suppose the latter two try to smush all of the books in those series of half a dozen novels into one TV mini-series? Methinks it would take a lot of smushing and crushing.

Anyway, I recommend The Eustace Diamonds as a book, either along with the series of Palliser novels or as a stand alone read. Unfortunately, I found a bit of myself in Lizzie, and I was motivated to take that part of myself that tries to justify and cover up my sins and subject it to a bit of repentance. You may not find a moral reckoning for yourself in The Eustace Diamonds, but I do believe you will be entertained and reminded of some home truths, such as “The love of money is the root of all sorts of evil,” or perhaps, “What a tangled web we weave/ When first we practice to deceive.“

Time and Time Again by James Hilton

Oct1

James Hilton was the author of the best-selling novels Lost Horizon, Goodbye, Mr. Chips, and Random Harvest. These three were his 1930’s pre-WW2 novels and his most successful. Time and Time Again was published in 1953 when Hilton was 52 years old, and it was his final published novel. The story takes place in the time in which it was published, the early 1950’s, and its protagonist, Charles Anderson, is 52 years old, looking back on his life and diplomatic career with a very British outlook that combines measured judgment, some regret, and overall contentment.

It would seem that Charles Anderson is James Hilton to some extent, but the differences are as obvious as the similarities. James Hilton was married and divorced twice and childless. Charles Anderson has a college romance with a lower class Cockney office worker, and later marries and has a son. If the book has a theme or a set of ideas, it’s about those two kinds of relationships: upper middle class and lower class, and fathers and sons. Even though Hilton moved to California, became a screenwriter in Hollywood and an American citizen, the concerns in Time and Time Again are very British.

Anderson is never very sure of his place in society, in the diplomatic corps, and even in his own family. The entire story is told from Charles’ perspective, so we’re never entirely sure whether his insights and evaluations are completely accurate. In fact, Charles, although he knows his own worth and intelligence, is never sure whether his view of life, his own life in particular, is accurate or not, which ends up making him a very endearing character.

I tried to think, while I was reading, of other writers that this book reminded me of. The only one that came to mind is Nevil Shute, who is also very British, with books set in the 1940’s and 50’s. Hilton’s novel has the same sort of gentle, unhurried exploration of British society and British mores and the changes that manifested themselves in the first half of the twentieth century that Shute writes about. Someone wrote that Hilton gives readers an idealistic, unrealistic picture of Britain in his books, and maybe he does in other books. However, Time and Time Again seems realistic in its portrayal of an ordinary, average upper middle class man and how he comes to terms with his own capacities and limitations.

It’s not an exciting read, more contemplative and somewhat thought-provoking. Like the man Charles Anderson, it’s a modest story about a modest Englishman and his interaction with the events and changing culture of the first half of the twentieth century.

Rain Makes Applesauce by Julian Scheer and Marvin Bileck

Sep22

“The stars are made of lemon juice . . . and rain makes applesauce.

The wind blows backwards all night long . . . and rain makes applesauce.

Salmon slide down a hippo’s hide . . . and rain makes applesauce.”

I used to read this book to my kindergarten and first grade classes many moons ago when I was a school librarian. The children would soon join in on the chorus: “Rain makes applesauce!” It only takes a few pages for kids and grown-ups to get the idea of this ridiculously nonsensical picture book poem. Take a modicum of rhythm, maybe a rhyme or some alliteration, and add the refrain “rain makes applesauce,” and you can play this word game all day long. After you finish reading all the silly sentences in the book, you and the kids can make up your own.

(Z-baby saw me looking at this book, and she had to have me read it to her. She says, “Rain doesn’t really make applesauce; rain makes WATER!”)

The odd thing about this book (well, one odd thing) is that it was written by a NASA public relations guy? Mr. Scheer definitely had a bit of whimsy in his character as well as space science and journalism. And Rain Makes Applesauce became a Caldecott Honor book, an award given for the excellence of the illustrations.

Those pictures by Marvin Bileck are delightfully busy, harlequin-like pictures of children and giants and clowns and fairies and gnomes doing all sorts of silly things. Some of the pictures look as if they’ve been washed over by the rain that makes applesauce. And in every illustration there is a very significant tree.

At the end of this nonsensical story-list of impossible events, actions, and observations, we visit The Sea of Applesauce and realize that rain really does make applesauce. No apples without rain, no applesauce without apples, falling from the tree.

(Oh, you’re just talking silly talk. I know I’m talking silly talk, but RAIN MAKES APPLESAUCE!)