School Library Journal Review
PreS-Gr 4--In simple language, Yipei Huang, a young girl in a ghostly white wheelchair, explains how her cerebral palsy may have originated, spends quiet days watching others run around playing, sees her sister romp with their puppy, and wonders what it might be like if she could sing. The authors never dip into pathos, but give the story strength with a matter-of-fact approach. In illustrations that have the look of gouache dreamscapes, readers will observe a woodpecker who soars through every frame, a white bunny, and the solitary days of our heroine. An art teacher, observing the movements of her head, fits her with a band and a brush she can dip into colors and dot onto pages, and then the narrator soars, too. It is exhausting to create in this manner, she tells us, but it is what she loves, and it makes her forget everything else. Only in the back matter do we learn that Yipei Huang's story is true and that her classmates named her "Woodpecker Girl" after watching her work. The illustrations incorporate Yipei's own pieces, and it should surprise no one if the children who come across this book want to try being woodpeckers themselves. VERDICT The art-filled lesson that "an imperfect body can also lead to a perfect life" excludes no one from its net. A wistful, wondrous work.--Kimberly Olson Fakih, School Library Journal
Kirkus Review
A physically disabled girl paints by using a brush attached to a headband. This Taiwanese import ostensibly crafted by three creators--two authors, one illustrator, no translator--actually has four creators: Huang Yipei, the model for the protagonist, made paintings that Doll integrates into the illustrations. Doll's breathtaking paintings, with Huang's work seamlessly incorporated, shimmer with swaths of soft and rich colors, warm and harmonious. Angles are steep, scale dramatic--the protagonist is often miniscule. Canvas texture under the paint adds depth. On one spread, the protagonist sits in her wheelchair, half-hidden behind a door, at the faraway end of a stark path of light; a storm cloud unleashes rain onto her head while, in the foreground, un-rained-upon children play with a puppy. She can't play with the puppy because her chair's wheels "might roll onto him," but why can't someone lift him onto her lap? The text's tragic view of disability--"All I can do is sit quietly"--shows some uplift with the introduction of assistive technology (a headband-brush to paint; a computer to speak), bringing the girl freedom and joy. But the text doesn't let her do it for herself; even though she loves making art, it hurts, but she will do it to bring happiness to others. Her specific disability--cerebral palsy--goes unacknowledged until the backmatter, where notes from all three creators and Huang's mother overcorrect the tragic viewpoint, framing Huang as an inspiration. Gorgeous artwork within a disappointing framing of disability. (Picture book. 4-9) Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
