The Tempest

Enhanced descriptions from Syndetics:

The Tempest is set on a remote island inhabited by Prospero, the banished Duke of Milan, and his daughter, Miranda. Prospero, now a magician, uses his magic to control the spirits of the island. With the help of the spirit Ariel, he conjures a tempest in the sea to draw in his brother, Antonio, and Alonso, King of Naples, who had unlawfully stolen his dukedom. The play revolves around Prospero's attempt to restore himself and his daughter to their rightful position.Also available as part of a 20 book set, including Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, The Tragedy of Macbeth, A Midsummer Night's Dream, A Winter's Tale, The Taming of the Shrew, The Tempest, Twelfth Night, Timon of Athens, The Two Gentlemen of Verona, The Merchant of Venice, Othello, Much Ado About Nothing, King Lear, Julius Caesar, Cymbeline, The Comedy of Errors, As You Like It, Anthony and Cleopatra and All's Well That Ends Well.
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Excerpt provided by Syndetics

introduction Shakespeare creates in The Tempest a world of the imagination, a place of conflict and ultimately of magical rejuvenation, like the forests of A Midsummer Night's Dream and As You Like It. The journey to Shakespeare's island is to a realm of art where everything is controlled by the artist figure. Yet the journey is no escape from reality, for the island shows people what they are, as well as what they ought to be. Even its location juxtaposes the "real" world with an idealized landscape: like Plato's New Atlantis or Thomas More's Utopia, Shakespeare's island is to be found both somewhere and nowhere. On the narrative level, it is located in the Mediterranean Sea. Yet there are overtones of the New World, the Western Hemisphere, where Thomas More had situated his island of Utopia. Ariel fetches dew at Prospero's command from the "Bermudas" (1.2.230). Caliban when prostrate reminds Trinculo of a "dead Indian" (2.2.33) who might be displayed before gullible crowds eager to see such a prodigious creature from across the seas, and Caliban's god, Setebos, was, according to Richard Eden's account of Magellan's circumnavigation of the globe (in History of Travel, 1577), worshiped by South American natives. An inspiration for Shakespeare's story (for which no direct literary source is known) may well have been various accounts of the shipwreck in the Bermudas in 1609 of the Sea Venture, which was carrying settlers to the new Virginian colony. Shakespeare borrowed details from Sylvester Jourdain's A Discovery of the Bermudas, Otherwise Called the Isle of Devils, published in 1610, and from William Strachey's A True Reportory of the Wreck and Redemption . . . from the Islands of the Bermudas, which Shakespeare must have seen in manuscript since it was not published until after his death. He wrote the play shortly after reading these works, for The Tempest was acted at court in 1611. He may also have known or heard of various accounts of Magellan's circumnavigation of the world in 1519-1522 (including Richard Eden's shortened English version, as part of his History of Travel, of an Italian narrative by Antonio Pigafetta), Francis Fletcher's journal of Sir Francis Drake's circumnavigation in 1577-1580, Richard Rich's News from Virginia (1610), and still other potential sources of information. Shakespeare's fascination with the Western Hemisphere gave him, not the actual location of his story, which remains Mediterranean, but a state of mind associated with newness and the unfamiliar. From this strange and unknown place, we gain a radical perspective on the old world of European culture. Miranda sees on the island a "new world" in which humankind appears "brave" (5.1.185), and, although her wonder must be tempered by Prospero's rejoinder that " 'Tis new to thee" (line 186) and by Aldous Huxley's still more ironic use of her phrase in the title of his satirical novel Brave New World, the island endures as a restorative vision. Even though we experience it fleetingly, as in a dream, this nonexistent realm assumes a permanence enjoyed by all great works of art. Prospero rules autocratically as artist-king and patriarch over this imaginary world, conjuring up trials and visions to test people's intentions and awaken their consciences. To the island come an assortment of persons who, because they require varied ordeals, are separated by Prospero and Ariel into three groups: King Alonso and those accompanying him; Alonso's son, Ferdinand; and Stephano and Trinculo. Prospero's authority over them, though strong, has limits. As Duke of Milan, he was bookishly inattentive to political matters and thus vulnerable to the Machiavellian conniving of his younger brother, Antonio. Only in this world apart, the artist's world, do his powers derived from learning find their proper sphere. Because he cannot control the world beyond his isle, he must wait for "strange, bountiful Fortune, / Now my dear lady" (1.2.179-80) to bring his enemies near his shore. He eschews, moreover, the black arts of diabolism. His is a white magic, devoted ultimately to what he considers moral ends: rescuing Ariel from the spell of the witch Sycorax, curbing the appetite of Caliban, spying on Antonio and Sebastian in the role of Conscience. He thus comes to see Fortune's gift of delivering his enemies into his hands as an opportunity for him to forgive and restore them, not be revenged. Such an assumption of godlike power is close to arrogance, even blasphemy, for Prospero is no god. His chief power, learned from books and exercised through Ariel, is to control the elements so as to create illusion--of separation, of death, of the gods' blessing. Yet, since he is human, even this power is an immense burden and temptation. Prospero has much to learn, like those whom he controls. He must subdue his anger, his self-pity, his readiness to blame others, his domineering over Miranda. He must overcome the vengeful impulse he experiences toward those who have wronged him, and he must conquer the longing many a father feels to hold on to his daughter when she is desired by another man. He struggles with these problems through his art, devising games and shows in which his angry self-pity and jealousy are transmuted into playacting scenes of divine warning and forgiveness toward his enemies and watchful parental austerity toward Miranda and Ferdinand. Prospero's responsibilities cause him to behave magisterially and to be resented by the spirits of the isle. His authority is problematic to us because he seems so patriarchal, colonialist, even sexist and racist in his arrogating to himself the right and responsibility to control others in the name of values they may not share. Ariel longs to be free of this authority. Perhaps our sympathy for Prospero is greatest when we perceive that he, too, with mixed feelings of genuine relief and melancholy, is ready to lay aside his demanding and self-important role as creative moral intelligence. Alonso and his court party variously illustrate the unre- generate world left behind in Naples and Milan. We first see them on shipboard, panicky and desperate, their titles and fi- nery mocked by roaring waves. Futile ambition seems destined for a watery demise. Yet death by water in this play is a trans- figuration rather than an end, a mystical rebirth, as in the re- generative cycle of the seasons from winter to summer. Ariel suggests as much in his song about a drowned father: "Those are pearls that were his eyes. / Nothing of him that doth fade / But doth suffer a sea change / Into something rich and strange" (1.2.402-5). Still, this miracle is not apparent at first to those who are caught in the illusion of death. As in T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land, which repeatedly alludes to The Tempest, self-blinded human beings fear a disaster that is ironically the prelude to reawakening. The illusions created on the island serve to test these imperfect men and to make them reveal their true selves. Only Gonzalo, who long ago aided Prospero and Miranda when they were banished from Milan, responds affirmatively to illusion. In his eyes, their having been saved from drowning is a miracle: they breathe fresh air, the grass is green on the island, and their very garments appear not to have been stained by the salt water. His ideal commonwealth (2.1.150-71), which Shakespeare drew in part from an essay by Montaigne, postulates a natural goodness in humanity and makes no allowance for the darker propensities of human behavior, but at least Gonzalo's cheerfulness is in refreshing contrast to the jaded sneers of some of his companions. Sebastian and Antonio react to the magic isle, as to Gonzalo's commonwealth, by cynically refusing to believe in miracles. They scoff at Gonzalo for insistently looking on the bright side; if he were to examine his supposedly unstained clothes more carefully, they jest, he would discover that his pockets are filled with mud. Confident that they are unobserved, they seize the opportunity afforded by Alonso's being asleep to plot a murder and political coup. This attempt is not only despicable but also madly ludicrous, for they are all shipwrecked and no longer have kingdoms over which to quarrel. Even more ironically, Sebastian and Antonio, despite their insolent belief in their self-sufficiency, are being observed. The villains must be taught that an unseen power keeps track of their misdeeds. However presumptuous Prospero may be to assume through Ariel's means the role of godlike observer, he does awaken conscience and prevent murder. The villains may revert to type when returned to their usual habitat, but even they are at least briefly moved to an awareness of the unseen (3.3.21-7). Alonso, more worthy than they, though burdened, too, with sin, responds to his situation with guilt and despair, for he assumes that his son Ferdinand's death is the just punishment of the gods for Alonso's part in the earlier overthrow of Prospero. Alonso must be led, by means of curative illusions, through the purgative experience of contrition to the reward he thinks impossible and undeserved: reunion with his lost son. Alonso is thus, like Posthumus in Cymbeline or Leontes in The Winter's Tale, a tragicomic figure--sinful, contrite, forgiven. Alonso's son Ferdinand must also undergo ordeals and visions devised by Prospero to test his worth, but more on the level of romantic comedy. Ferdinand is young, innocent, and hopeful, well matched to Miranda. From the start, Prospero obviously approves of his prospective son-in-law. Yet even Prospero, needing to prepare himself for a life in which Miranda will no longer be solely his, is not ready to lay aside at least the comic fiction of parental opposition. He invents difficulties, imposes tasks of logbearing (like those assigned Caliban), and issues stern warnings against premarital lust. In the comic mode, parents are expected to cross their children in matters of the heart. Prospero is so convincing in his role of overbearing parent, insisting on absolute unthinking obedience from his daughter, that we remain unsure whether he is truly like that or whether we are meant to sense in his performance a grappling with his own deepest feelings of possessiveness and autocratic authority, tempered finally by his awareness of the arbitrariness of such a role and his readiness to let Miranda decide for herself. As a teacher of youth, moreover, Prospero is convinced by long experience that prizes too easily won are too lightly esteemed. Manifold are the temptations urging Ferdinand to surrender to the natural rhythms of the isle as Caliban would. In place of ceremonies conducted in civilized societies by the church, Prospero must create the illusion of cere- mony by his art. The betrothal of Ferdinand and Miranda accordingly unites the best of both worlds: the natural innocence of the island, which teaches them to avoid the corruptions of civilization at its worst, and the higher law of nature achieved through moral wisdom at its best. To this marriage, the goddesses Iris, Ceres, and Juno bring promises of bounteous harvest, "refreshing showers," celestial harmony, and a springtime brought back to the earth by Proserpina's return from Hades (4.1.76-117). In Ferdinand and Miranda, "nurture" is wedded to "nature." This bond unites spirit and flesh, legitimizing erotic pleasure by incorporating it within Prospero's vision of a cosmic moral order. At the lowest level of this traditional cosmic and moral framework, in Prospero's view, are Stephano and Trinculo. Their comic scenes juxtapose them with Caliban, for he represents untutored Nature, whereas they represent the unnatural depths to which human beings brought up in civilized society can fall. In this they resemble Sebastian and Antonio, who have learned in supposedly civilized Italy arts of intrigue and political murder. The antics of Stephano and Trinculo burlesque the conduct of their presumed betters, thereby exposing to ridicule the self-deceptions of ambitious men. The clowns desire to exploit the natural wonders of the isle by taking Caliban back to civilization to be shown in carnivals or by plying him with strong drink and whetting his resentment against authority. These plottings are in vain, however, for, like Sebastian and Antonio, the clowns are being watched. The clowns teach Caliban to cry out for "freedom" (2.2.184), by which they mean license to do as one pleases, but are foiled by Ariel as comic nemesis. Because they are degenerate buffoons, Prospero as satirist devises for them an exposure that is appropriately humiliating and satirical. In contrast with them, Caliban is in many ways a sympathetic character. His sensitivity to natural beauty, as in his descriptions of the "nimble marmoset" or the dreaming music he so often hears (2.2.168; 3.2.137-45), is entirely appropriate to this child of nature. He is, to be sure, the child of a witch and is called many harsh names by Miranda and Prospero, such as "Abhorrèd slave" and "a born devil, on whose nature / Nurture can never stick" (1.2.354; 4.1.188-9). Yet he protests with some justification that the island was his in the first place and that Prospero and Miranda are interlopers. His very existence calls radically into question the value of civilization, which has shown itself capable of limitless depravity. What profit has Caliban derived from learning Prospero's language other than, as he puts it, to "know how to curse" (1.2.367)? With instinctive cunning, he senses that books are his chief enemy and plots to destroy them first in his attempt at rebellion. The unspoiled natural world does indeed offer civilization a unique perspective on itself. In this it resembles Gonzalo's ideal commonwealth, which, no matter how laughably implausible from the cynic's point of view, does at least question some assumptions--economic, political, and social--common in Western societies. Radical perspectives of this kind invite consideration of many unsettling questions about exploration, colonialist empire building, and sexual imperialism. The fleeting comparison of Caliban to an indigenous native (2.2.33), although ignored in stage productions of the play until the late nineteenth century, suggests a discourse on colonialism in The Tempest that anticipates to a remarkable degree a doleful history of exploitation, of providing rum and guns to the natives, and of taking away land through violent expropriation in the name of bringing civilization and God to the New World. Stephano and Trinculo, pouring wine down Caliban's throat and thus reducing him to a worshiping slave, show exploitation at its worst, but surely the play allows us to wonder also if Prospero's enslavement of Caliban, however high-minded in its claims of preventing disorder and rape, is not tainted by the same imperatives of possession and control. The issue is wonderfully complex. Caliban is a projection of both the naturally depraved savage described in many explorers' accounts and the nobly innocent savage described by Montaigne. By dramatizing the conflict without taking sides, Shakespeare leaves open a debate about the worth of Prospero's endeavor to contain Caliban's otherness and produces an ambivalent result in which the apparent victory of colonialism and censorship does not entirely conceal the contradictory struggle through which those values are imposed. The play's many open-ended questions apply not only to the New World but also, nearer at hand, to Ireland--an island on the margins of Britain that was regarded as both savage and threatening. The play's discourse also raises issues of class and political justice. The battle between Prospero and Caliban is one of "master" and "man" (2.2.183); even if Caliban's cry of "freedom" leads him only into further enslavement by Stephano and Trinculo (who are themselves masterless men), the play does not resolve the conflict by simply reimposing social hierarchy. Caliban, Stephano, and Trinculo are all taught a lesson and are satirically punished for their rebellious behavior, but Caliban at least is pardoned and is left behind on the island at the play's end where presumably he will no longer be a slave. In political terms, Prospero resolves the long-standing hostilities between Milan and Naples by his astute arranging of the betrothal of Miranda to Ferdinand. However much it is idealized as a romantic match presided over harmoniously by the gods, it is also a political union aimed at bringing together the ruling families of those two city-states. Prospero's masque, his ultimate vision of the triumph of civilization, transforms the myth of the rape of a daughter (Proserpina) in such a way as to preserve the daughter's chaste honor in a union that will repair the political and social damage done by the ouster of Prospero from his duke- dom of Milan. For these reasons, the betrothal of Ferdinand and Miranda must have seemed politically relevant to Shakespeare's audience when The Tempest was performed before King James at Whitehall in November of 1611 and then again at court in 1613 in celebration of the marriage of James's daughter Elizabeth to Frederick, the Elector Palatine. The play's ending is far from perfectly stable. Antonio never repents, and we cannot be sure what the island will be like once Prospero has disappeared from the scene. Since Prospero's occupation of the island replicates in a sense the process by which he himself was overthrown, we cannot know when the cycle of revo- lution will ever cease. We cannot even be sure of the extent to which Shakespeare is master of his own colonial debate in The Tempest or, conversely, the extent to which today we should feel ourselves free to relativize, ironize, or in other ways criticize this play for apparent or probable prejudices. Not even a great author like Shakespeare can escape the limits of his own time, any more than we can escape the limits of our own. Perhaps we can nonetheless project ourselves, as spectators and readers, into Shakespeare's attempt to celebrate humanity's highest achievement in the union of the island with the civilized world. Miranda and Ferdinand have bright hopes for the future, even if those hopes must be qualified by Prospero's melancholic observation that the "brave new world" with "such people in't" is only "new to thee," to those who are young and not yet experienced in the world's vexations. Even Caliban may be at last reconciled to Prospero's insistent idea of a harmony between will and reason, no matter how perilously and delicately achieved. Prospero speaks of Caliban as a "thing of darkness I / Acknowledge mine," and Caliban vows to "be wise hereafter / And seek for grace" (5.1.278-9, 298-9). Prospero's view is that the natural human within is more contented, better understood, and more truly free when harmonized with reason. Excerpted from The Tempest by William Shakespeare All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.

Reviews provided by Syndetics

Library Journal Review

Two of the bard's heavy dramas join Yale's wonderful "Annotated Shakespeare" series. Along with a heavily annotated text, each volume includes a scholarly introduction plus notes on the annotations. All that for the price of a Happy Meal; how can you go wrong? (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Publishers Weekly Review

Prospero-like in their artistry, Spirin's dazzling watercolors dominate this retelling of Shakespeare's final play. Shaped like altar panels fit for a Renaissance church or palace, the illustrations are romantic, regal and magical, richly interpreting the play's themes of betrayal, revenge and all-conquering love. A wispy ethereal air pervades island scenes, beautifully suggesting the atmosphere of enchantment, while Antonio and the King of Naples are pictured in brocade and velvet, the stench of power upon them. The other characters, too, are both otherworldly and very much flesh and blood. Especially well rendered is the monster Caliban, shown here as part man, part beast, part mythical creature, a sense of evil glee lighting his features. While this prose adaptation does not, of course, retain the full magic of the Bard's work, Beneduce nonetheless provides an intelligent, gripping story. Several passages from Shakespeare introduced at key points give a taste of the original. Symbols and small pictures integrated into the text further enhance the lavish presentation. All ages. (Mar.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved

School Library Journal Review

Gr 3 Up‘The play is set circa 1610. Spirin expands Beneduce's retelling by basing his lavish watercolors on Italian Renaissance paintings. Though the pages are carefully framed, highly ornate, and formally structured, there is plenty of leeway for individual imagination to make itself felt. Ariel is a decorative Renaissance angel. Caliban is given piscine characteristics and expressions that evoke the longing as much as the brutishness in his character. And the human characters have the complexity of portraits. Spirin's illustrations highlight the fantastic while Ruth Sanderson's landscapes for Bruce Coville's version of the play (Doubleday, 1994) focus on the effects of nature. Both are valid. Coville's simpler retelling is easier to follow. Beneduce, too, eliminates some of the subplots in order to avoid confusion, but her fuller text manages to incorporate most of the romantic, magical, and political elements. Within the main text, she modernizes the dialogue. This works smoothly for the most part, though it's hard to see how "What a wonderful new world I am about to enter..." is an improvement over "O brave new world..." A few passages of original text are set off in isolated frames, for a sense of the poetry. Readers and potential playgoers will need to see the play performed to experience the comic scenes of Caliban and his cronies. Brief appendixes explain the context in which the play was written and the reteller's choices and give an overview of Shakespeare's life. This is a case in which an acceptably graceful text plays a supporting role to the illustrations. They are worth the price of admission.‘Sally Margolis, formerly at Deerfield Public Library, IL (c) Copyright 2010. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

CHOICE Review

Dymkowski's volume marks the fifth in the estimable "Shakespeare in Production" series. In her ample introduction, the editor (Univ. of London) ably chronicles salient differences among interpretive treatments of The Tempest on international stages. She draws on accounts of more than 100 productions from the 17th through the 20th centuries to delineate a broad range of performative representations, remarking that The Tempest "is a play whose 'charms crack not' (5.1.2), its protean nature finding ever new ways to voice contemporary social, political and cultural concerns and to voice them powerfully." The marrow of this potent resource tool resides in Dymkowski's bounteous footnotes keyed to printed text of the full play. The notes enrich understanding of the play's performance possibilities by providing concise and informative glosses detailing how selected productions staged particular moments (e.g., the opening storm at sea), framed interpretive emphasis (like treatment of Ariel's liberation), cut or transposed lines, substituted words, integrated music, or somehow inflected alternative meanings on the script with gesture or other signifying devices (variations on Caliban's "business" abound). Though Dymkowski astutely allocates more annotation space to problematic cruxes, the overall coverage of detail will impress readers. A valuable tool for readers of Shakespeare as well as stage practitioners and playgoers. Highly recommended for all collections. P. D. Nelsen; Marlboro College

Horn Book Review

Illustrated by Robert Roth. In a brief but spellbinding picture book based on an ancient Mayan legend, raindrops falling in the dense forest are transformed into the "ebony markings of a nightly jaguar." The magnificent, mysterious cat stalks the jungle, past chattering monkeys and the "winding rivers of crocodile eyes," until "that one magical moment when this cat of the night bursts into the morning sun and rises a glorious red . . . once again." The minimal text is effective in presenting the jaguar as the mystery, power, and promise of night bursting into daylight. Translucent watercolors in rich hues and broad forms move this tale from abstract to concrete, giving shape to the story and what it implies. Text in a deep purple, slightly asymmetrical typeface is placed on roughly textured earth-toned paper, anchoring each double-page spread. A handsome book that points out the godlike status of the jaguar in the Mayan world and its contrasting precarious position as an endangered species today. m.b.s. Philippa-Alys Browne, Author-Illustrator A Gaggle of Geese: The Collective Names of the Animal Kingdom g "A charm of finches flirting / A pride of lions lazing / A gam of whales squirting / A herd of zebras grazing" are among the creatures of air, land, and sea included in this boldly designed picture book. Riveting, stylized illustrations, executed in unabashedly brilliant colors and strong black outlines, pulsate with life and demand attention. The central figures, authoritatively delineated, stand out against striking textural backgrounds remininiscent of handsome fabrics. The familiar concept - the interpretation of the collective names of animals - is given a new and unusually vital treatment, extended by the mnemonic features of the understated rhymed text. Appended notes on the origins of these nouns, including their classification into four groups - appearance, characteristic, habitat, and onomatopoeic - add depth and dimension to the compilation. m.m.b. Jan Carr Dark Day, Light Night Illustrated by James Ransome. Early one evening, while 'Manda is playing with her friends, Bobby snatches the ball out of her hands. Now she feels that the whole world is "hateful, colorless like rain clouds, murky as mud." Aunt Ruby attempts to prevent her niece from spending the day sulking under the bedcovers by asking her to make a list of the things she likes. 'Manda's initially negative response - "Nothing" - leads Aunt Ruby to explain how she goes about feeling better during a "dark day." She produces her own list, which includes such things as fruit salad on a hot summer night, music, and sunshine. Aunt Ruby then reveals the most important item on her list: 'Manda. Aunt Ruby's appreciation of her niece's friends and "all the many-shaded skins we're born to" finally turns 'Manda's mood around; now she can affirm herself, rethink her annoyance with Bobby, and, with a "light night" mood, rejoin the ball game outside before it gets too dark to play. In the end, 'Manda is also able to verbalize her happy feelings: "I'll tell you what I really like. I like my Aunt Ruby." Children who have been down in the dumps will quickly recognize themselves in this high-spirited picture book. Bursting with the exuberance of people enjoying life, Ransome's accomplished oil paintings explore the intensity of Aunt Ruby's supportive relationship with 'Manda. Ransome pays careful attention to the use of light and shadow in his pictures, extending the image implicit in the title. ellen fader Judith Caseley, Author-Illustrator Slumber Party! A birthday party sleepover - what could be better? A great many things, as practically anyone who has ever attended or given one knows. This story has it all: the weepers, the nonsleepers, the strange frightening noises magnified by "very very very scary" stories. In her usual engaging style, Caseley employs line and design to focus the reader's attention on the humorous detail of a party gone awry. Young viewers will be quick to find the small gray tiger cat that appears on nearly every page, mirroring the mood of the group. The text skims along smoothly, exuding cozy good humor before and after the discovery of the scary noise source. As most slumber-party veterans will attest, when morning comes, all woes are forgotten, and everyone is sure that "it was the best birthday party ever." A truthful tale that can prepare youngsters for their first slumber parties. e.s.w. Nina Crews, Author-Photographer I'll Catch the Moon g Crews uses a photo-collage technique to create a spectacular backdrop for a dream story in which the young heroine imagines climbing a ladder to the moon. A charming fantasy à la Moonbear (Simon) and Harold's Trip to the Sky (Harper), illustrated with an actual mix of photographs from NASA and by the author. Both the photographs themselves and their placement in the overall design are outstanding. Inky hues of the night sky - sometimes crystal-clear and still, at other times blurred as if spun by a planetarium projector - constantly change from spread to spread, providing texture and depth to the illustrations. The simple story is a first-person narrative told in a beautifully rhythmic cadence by an engaging seven-year-old complete with missing front tooth. Our heroine's cosmic adventure comes full circle to a satisfying conclusion: "From my window I'll wave to the moon passing above me at night. That's how it will be. I think I'll go soon. And then I'll catch the moon." A knockout in both concept and execution. e.s.w. Jane Cutler Mr. Carey's Garden Illustrated by G. Brian Karas. Mr. Carey's garden differs from the other gardens on Blackberry Lane, remarkable for their seedless watermelons, huge milk-fed pumpkins, and tall sunflowers. Mr. Carey's garden is full of snail holes. When his neighbors offer him their unsolicited, green-thumb advice for ridding his garden of the pesky snails, Mr. Carey tells them that he sees it "in a different light." Then, late one moonlit night, the neighbors are lured to Mr. Carey's garden by the sound of nibbling and crunching. There they see the snails' "glistening trails that shine like silver ribbons in the moonlight." With new understanding, they join Mr. Carey on his porch and admire his garden. "Now they see the garden in a different light. Same as Mr. Carey does." The soft, pellucid illustrations, executed in gouache, acrylic, and pencil, capture Mr. Carey's humble, unassuming character and illuminate the quiet magic of his filigreed garden. marilyn bousquin Tomie dePaola, Author-Illustrator The Baby Sister This warm, homey story centers on the feelings of exclusion Tommy suffers with the coming of his new baby sister. At first, Tommy's understanding mother lets him paint pictures for the walls of the baby's room and feel the baby kicking. But later, when his mother goes to the hospital to have the baby, Tommy's very conservative Italian grandmother, Nana Fall-River, comes to care for him. Old-fashioned and fussy, Nana Fall-River will not discuss how babies are born, insists that Tommy "eat up all nice," and keeps him in when it rains. What's worse, he cannot visit his mother in the hospital because chicken pox is going around. But Tommy is comforted when his mother talks to him from her hospital window, and later, when Nana Fall-River lets him be the first to hold his new baby sister, Tommy is "the happiest boy in the world." A pleasantly realistic and reassuring book for anxious siblings-to-be. a.a.f. Faye Gibbons Mountain Wedding Illustrated by Ted Rand. Ma wears a bravely refurbished hat and Mr. Long wears his brother's too-small suit as they stand before the preacher in the bright sunshine of a Georgia spring. But the children, seven Longs and five Searcys, who clearly take exception to the marriage and to each other, stand in two opposing lines, prepared for battle. The skirmishing escalates from glum looks and angry faces to scattered scuffling. But before actual war breaks out, a swarm of honeybees appears on the scene and the farm animals begin to flap, hiss, and growl. The mules hitched to the wagon break loose and run off, tilting and toppling both families' possessions onto the road. Everyone runs after them, and the children join forces, picking up the pieces and helping one another in the unexpected crisis. When all are finally gathered together again, the wedding takes place with all parties holding hands. This pleasant and unassuming story of family solidarity unexpectedly achieved is splendidly augmented by Rand's watercolor illustrations. The rows of children - the girls with their hand-me-down and patched dresses and the boys in overalls and bunched-up socks - expressing their obvious distaste for each other and the marriage are both funny and appealing, and the reader rejoices at the happy conclusion. A winning combination. a.a.f. Sally Grindley Peter's Place Illustrated by Michael Foreman. This tragic story makes the plight of wild creatures faced with polluted habitats very real and touchingly personal. Peter is a contemplative child who relishes the seashore near his home and befriends the sea creatures. When a grounded tanker's oil spill turns the shore into a death trap for wildlife, Peter joins the rescue effort and ultimately helps save a special eider duck. The healing nature of time passing is credited, and the book ends with partial restoration of a safe habitat. The story is told in a clear unemotional tone, the effect of which underlines the sorrow. No blame is placed; no moralizing is apparent - but the message is clear nonetheless. Foreman's watercolors effectively range from sleepy, placid seas and village scenes to the powerful violence of the storm that wrecked the tanker. The helplessness of the threatened creatures is perfectly evoked by the haunting picture of a young gray seal coated with oil. The author and illustrator keep a commendable balance between the horror of the slick and the reassurance that both men and nature can work to restore the earth; the story is by no means hopeless, but rather a warning and an unspoken call to action. e.s.w. M. C. Helldorfer Carnival Illustrated by Dan Yaccarino. In a vibrant blend of words and pictures, the carnival experience is captured for the youngest first-timer. Rollicking romp-'em, stomp-'em antics accompany one long sentence of text that directs the reader to "Get ready to . . . / Tie it / Fly it [a balloon] / Toss and roll it [a basketball] / Wish for it / Fish for it [games] / Giddy giddy giddy-up-it [a pony ride]." Variations in design - some double-page spreads, some pages divided in half or even thirds, with some divisions horizontal and others vertical - prevent the book from becoming monotonous. The book nears the end with a question - "Are you ready for a ride?" - followed by a giddy evocation of rollercoaster, Ferris wheel, and bumper car rides, and then sends the reader back to the beginning with another question: "Hey . . . want to do it again?" The illustrations are bold, flat, and brilliantly colored in primary hues; larger than life in some cases, but easily understood, they convey the richness and excitement of carnival to a tee. e.s.w. Tana Hoban, Author-Photographer Just Look Trying to find fresh laudatory adjectives to describe Tana Hoban's photographs is like finding new phrases to describe the sunset. The bestÿones have already been used: imaginative, stunning, brilliant, spectacular - but never pretty, for her work eschews clichés and every composition suggests another dimension. This latest in her series of visual puzzles again uses a die-cut geometric shape centered on a black page to isolate a salient detail of the subject, which is pictured in its entirety, and then in a larger context, on succeeding pages. Thus, a geometric spider web is transformed into the Eiffel Tower; what might be a fleshy melon is revealed as a rabbit's ear. Her ability to syncopate her compositions with unexpected detail - like the fly on the horse's rump in the final sequence - adds humor and invites a closer look for something that might otherwise be missed. A picture book for older children rather than preschoolers, this certainly has a place in the development of visual literacy. m.m.b. H William H. Hooks Freedom's Fruit Illustrated by James Ransome. Hooks, author of The Ballad of Belle Dorcas (Knopf), retells a conjure tale he learned during his childhood in the Carolina Low Country. An avaricious and conniving slave owner commands one of his slaves, a conjure woman named Mama Marina, to put a spell on his grapes to deter the other slaves from eating them. He is scornful of her spells but knows that the slaves believe in her power. Mama Marina, in hopes of saving enough money to buy her daughter Sheba's freedom, takes her master's gold piece and puts a curse on the grapes that does indeed frighten her fellow slaves. Then, strangely, she asks Sheba and Joe Nathan, the man her daughter loves, to eat a bunch of the conjured grapes. After the harvest, Sheba and Joe Nathan mysteriously begin to fail and age as the grapevines wither and die. By the middle of the winter, with the grapevines lying dormant, the two lovers are so weak and sick that they are worthless to Master Alston, and Mama Marina is able to buy their freedom. With the coming of spring, Sheba and Joe Nathan slowly become young and strong again, just as the grapevines do. Hooks weaves a hopeful, poetic story about the ability of the oppressed to outwit those with power. Ransome's full-page paintings are lush and vivid, using light and shadow to convey the magic of Mama Marina's conjuring against a backdrop of the grim realities of slavery. m.v.k. Pat Hutchins, Author-Illustrator Titch and Daisy g Titch is back as a reluctant guest at a birthday party. Since he doesn't know the other children, who seem to be older than he is, and since he doesn't see his best friend Daisy, he moves from one hiding place to another while the other guests play games, sing, and dance. When birthday-cake time comes, he crawls under the table only to find Daisy hiding there, too, because she couldn't find him. The party ends happily with good things to eat and everyone joining in the fun and making new friends. The gouache illustrations, effectively set against white space, are vintage Pat Hutchins; the perceptive reader will spot Daisy in her own hiding places in each double-page spread. A pleasant portrayal of young children's dilemma when facing a new situation. h.b.z. Holly Keller, Author-Illustrator Geraldine First Like many older sisters, Geraldine is frustrated that her younger brother, Willie, is forever copying her. Just as she loses what little patience she had, Geraldine has an epiphany and turns her brother's admiration to good use. At Geraldine's suggestion, Willie copies Geraldine until he has inadvertently cleaned up her room. Geraldine and Willie are well-drawn characters, and their actions and emotions are true to childhood and sibling relationships. Readers will empathize with Geraldine's feelings of frustration and then of pride and confidence that she is indeed first in her own, and sometimes in her brother's, eyes. Keller expertly captures shades of emotion in her watercolor-and-ink illustrations. In a particularly wonderful double-page spread, Geraldine watches her brother struggle with piles of her blocks. Geraldine's smug expression and Willie's toddlerlike happiness at being allowed to play with his sister are made apparent with subtle line and posture. Readers will be pleased to discover another story about the endearing and very human pig family. m.v.k. Denizé Lauture Running the Road to ABC g Illustrated by Reynold Ruffins. Six children - Dyesèl, Milsen, Preneyis, Loud, Kousou, and Toutoun - "begin to run long before the sun even thinks of rising." Where do these boys and girls go in such a hurry? Up and down sloping hills, through dew-drenched weeds, past local people, they run barefoot to beat the rising sun to their school. As they run, the children "dream of . . . one more word and one more line . . . and one more page of their little songs, their little songs in the great and beautiful books on the Road to ABC." Though there is little story, the rich lyrical language used by the author, a Haitian poet, creates a strong sense of place. The imagery and patterns of the text build tension as the children rush toward the promise of a better tomorrow. The lush, green country and sense of hope are reflected and enhanced by stylized, warmly detailed gouache paintings. Illustrations are carefully placed to propel the reader to the next page in this satisfying, poetic, and optimistic glimpse of Haitian children running, rushing, working for a brighter future. m.b.s. Pat Mora Uno, Dos, Tres: One, Two, Three g Illustrated by Barbara Lavallee. A shopping trip to a Mexican market provides the setting for this counting book in both English and Spanish. The jaunty rhyme and repetition are a celebration of the sounds of the words and an introduction to the folk art of Mexico. Two moon-faced girls search the market for gifts for their mother's birthday and come home loaded down with ten presents, including pottery, a marionette, castanets, and a piñata. Each time the sisters meet a vendor, they add to their collection and the reader is introduced to a new number: "cinco, five / Puppets dance as if alive." The stylized paintings in muted reds, blues, and yellows give a warm glow to the setting. The illustrator re-creates designs from Mexican art and uses pattern to highlight the number sequence: the girls stop to watch six soldiers raising the Mexican flag in front of a building adorned with six windows, six awnings, and six flowerpots. The cheerful illustrations also visually develop the characters of the little girls; their faces express curiosity and pleasure at finding so many wonderful gifts for Mamá. The subdued dust jacket belies the bright, winsome story within. m.v.k. Jill Paton Walsh Connie Came to Play Illustrated by Stephen Lambert. This gentle story presents a peaceful and innovative solution to the common childhood problem of sharing toys with someone who comes to visit. Connie, the visitor, responds toÿeach of Robert's declarations that "it's mine" with a wonderful imaginary adventure. When Robert won't give up his toy train, Connieÿbecomes an engineer chugging along through the countryside in the cab of an imaginary train. In response to Robert's refusal to shareÿhis hobby horse, Connie goes galloping along the seashore on a horse with mane and tail flying. When Robert, in defiant possession of all his toys, confronts Connie, saying she can't share the adventures she is having in her head, Connie responds, "Yes I can . . . I can tell you a story." And the two children are on their way together on an adventure. The simple figures of the two children against a stark white background are in delightful contrast to the exciting, double-page spreads of Connie's imaginary escapades. h.b.z. Marisabina Russo, Author-Illustrator Grandpa Abe When Sarah is born, her grandmother's boyfriend, Abe, sneaks into the hospital to meet the new baby by pretending to be her grandfather. As Sarah grows, Abe marries her grandmother and becomes an important member of Sarah's family. This gentle story follows the unfolding relationship between Sarah and her grandfather, a man who shares Sarah's love of spaghetti and finds candy behind her ear. When Sarah is nine years old, Abe dies, and the story and illustrations focus on the gifts Abe has given her. She keeps Abe's memory close to her by wearing one of his sweaters because "it smelled like Abe" and by showing his magic thumb trick to the rest of the family. The quiet, realistic story is filled with details of everyday life. The reader comes to care about the characters in great part because they care for each other. The use of framed, flat paintings and past-tense narration gives the feeling of a photo album. Each painting is a snapshot of Sarah's life with Abe, and the facing text describes the vignettes. An effective and warm story about the best kind of sympathy, Grandpa Abe celebrates the special connection between a grandparent and a child. m.v.k. Cynthia Rylant The Old Woman Who Named Things Illustrated by Kathryn Brown. Loneliness is a perennial problem whether one is eighteen or eighty; it simply comes in different guises at different stages. Many succumb; others triumph, as does the feisty old woman who, having outlived all her friends, resorts to naming the inanimate objects on which she depends for transport, food, comfort, and shelter. A creative alternative to solitude, this device allows her to call things by name - but only those things that she feels certain will survive her. Then one day a shy, brown, homeless pup presents itself at her gate. Day after day she feeds it but refuses any closer ties, fearful that the pup won't last as long as her car, house, or chair. But love triumphs over reason in the satisfying denouement of this upbeat and unusual portrait of aging, complemented by full-color illustrations in a pastel palette. The colors are particularly suited to the handsome landscapes but are equally adaptable to characterization of the independent lady - who wears cowboy boots and clamdiggers rather than the more staid costumes of less flamboyant elders. m.m.b. H William Shakespeare The Tempest Retold by Ann Keay Beneduce. Illustrated by Gennady Spirin. Shakespeare's culminating work, The Tempest, incorporates many historical references as well as widely held beliefs of the English Renaissance. As the victim of intrigue in his own court, Prospero, the former Duke of Milan, sketches for his daughter, Miranda, his companion in exile, the conflicts among the Italian city-states. The creatures who inhabit their enchanted isle, from the earth-bound evil Caliban to the spirit Ariel, represent polarities on the great chain of being and reflect widespread acceptance of supernatural phenomena. But it is the playwright's genius that melds all these elements into a drama of romance, revenge, and incredible beauty as the terrible storm raised by Prospero to destroy his enemies becomes an instrument of reconciliation. Beneduce has captured the essence of the story in a flowing prose retelling that incorporates some of the more famous passages, such as Prospero's speech and Ariel's songs. Spirin's full-color illustrations, with emphasis on curvilinear compositions and carefully modeled figures, echo the paintings of the Italian Renaissance while adapting them to the text. The resulting introduction to Shakespeare is as beguiling as the source. m.m.b. H Jessica Souhami, Reteller-Illustrator Old MacDonald Designed by Paul McAlinden. In this fresh, humorous portrayal, a dapper, long-legged Old MacDonald strides across the pages in his perky bow tie and elegant suit operating conveyances of increasing size. Flaps open to reveal the animal being transported in each vehicle: a duck in a little wagon, a baby carriage containing a pig, a sheep in a pick-up truck, a plane for a cow, and a rocket ship for a surprise visitor to Old MacDonald's farm - a small, green Martian. Imaginative layout of text and illustrations of painted paper collage with charcoal are used in bold, dramatic designs ending with a triple-page spread in which all the characters reappear in the cozy setting of the farmer's house. A sure-fire favorite for very young audiences. h.b.z. William Steig, Author-Illustrator The Toy Brother "Magnus Bede, the famous alchemist, and his happy-go-lucky wife, Eutilda, thought they had a harmonious family." Yorick Bede, however, considers his younger brother, Charles, "a first-rate pain in the pants." As his father's apprentice, Yorick dreams that he will eventually surpass his father's achievements, while Charles chases the chickens and argues with the goat. Yorick thinks very little of his brother until the time he finds he desperately needs Charles's help and protection. One day, while their parents are out of town, Yorick sneaksÿinto his father's laboratory, invents a new potion, and reduces himself to the size of a cockroach. Charles enjoys his new role as big brother, but he quickly realizes the many dangers for Yorick: hailstones and field mice are threats; a bucket of milk is an ocean. Try as he might, Yorick cannot prepare the proper antidote and is forced to tell his parents the shameful story upon their return. Magnus sets out to concoct the cure, but he is thwarted by one missing ingredient. In the end Yorick remembers the critical element, his father runs to the lab, and Yorick is restored. The Bedes resume their lives, essentially remaining themselves. "The two brothers sincerely appreciated each other now. Except when they were having a fight." Steig's tongue-in-cheek language is sophisticated and playful. The story's medieval setting provides a perfect forum for Steig's full-color, cartoonish illustrations. Expressive, slightly frumpy, rounded characters are contained on single and double pages by a thin black line to echo the lines of the drawings. Each illustration is bordered by deep lavender to focus and pull the viewer into the image. The result is a knee-slappingly funny book that will appeal to a broad range of readers. Once again, Steig has created a memorable complement of text and illustration. m.b.s. Melanie Walsh, Author-Illustrator Do Pigs Have Stripes? g In this delightful preschool read-aloud, a series of questions with illustrations prompts young listeners to guess the answers. "Does a bird have a big black wet nose?" is illustrated with an anonymous nose and muzzle. Turn the page to find a picture of a complete dog and the words, "No, a dog does." The juxtapositions of animals and characteristics are very silly and childlike. Children will delight in knowing that a mouse does NOT have a green spiky tail and a fish does NOT have a long tongue. In a final reversal, the text queries, "Does a giraffe have a long thin neck?" This ending allows the child who has learned the pattern of the book to enthusiastically and confidently break it. The flat, simple paintings done in bright bold colors call to mind the work of Lucy Cousins. The book design adds to the effect of the guessing game; animals are often too large to be contained within the confines of the page - the giraffe neck is painted horizontally along three pages to express its length. This beautifully executed debut picture book begs to be shared aloud and will have children clamoring to participate. m.v.k. Douglas Wood Northwoods Cradle Song: From a Menominee Lullaby g Illustrated by Lisa Desimini. "The far-off Thunder beats his drum. / We are safe here, should he come. / Safe." Douglas Wood's quiet, poetic adaptation of a traditional lullaby is filled with images of the natural world. The Menominee mother cradling her "sleepy head" baby points out "the songs the night winds play," including those of the homeward whippoorwills, golden bees, marsh hens, and the loon. Deep tones of rust, green, and gold glow in soft light against the midnight blue sky filling the double-spread pages. The strong, spare views of the Menominee woodland life are luminous. Lisa Desimini does note simplifying costume details to achieve "a more universal feel," but the tepees softly lighted by night fires along with the short refrain "Sleep, little warrior, sleep. / Go to sleep. / Go to sleep" anchor the piece to its particular origins. The tender tone and quiet, respectful references to nature beautifully convey the timeless sense of night and lullaby. Douglas Wood originally adapted the piece from early sources for singing, and although he does not include music here, the poetic lines nearly sing themselves. m.a.b. From HORN BOOK, (c) Copyright 2010. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Kirkus Book Review

Beneduce (A Weekend With Winslow Homer, 1993, etc.) retells Shakespeare's play in a text that reads like a fairy tale. This version emphasizes first the love story between Miranda and Ferdinand and then Prospero's forgiveness of his enemies. Some of the subplots have been eliminated (for reasons given in a careful author's note), but several songs and speeches have been folded into the story, much of which is told in dialogue. Spirin's beautiful watercolors are done in the manner of Renaissance paintings, even to the effect of old varnish affecting the tones. The scenes echo the narrative's focus on the enchantments of the play, presenting beasts worthy of Hieronymous Bosch and gentle spirits to rival the angels of Botticelli. This gorgeous picture book will be particularly useful in high school collections, for the story in the art sets the stage for this Renaissance drama. Recommended for public and school libraries: Not only does it work as a read-alone story but will prepare theatergoers for a performance of the full play. (notes) (Picture book. 8+)