Available:*
Library | Call Number | Status |
|---|---|---|
Searching... Hardwood Creek Library (Forest Lake) | EASY FRE | Searching... Unknown |
Searching... Oakdale Library | EASY FRE | Searching... Unknown |
Searching... R.H. Stafford Library (Woodbury) | EASY FRE | Searching... Unknown |
Searching... R.H. Stafford Library (Woodbury) | EASY FRE | Searching... Unknown |
Searching... Stillwater Public Library | EASY FRE | Searching... Unknown |
Bound With These Titles
On Order
Summary
Summary
"Tender, comforting, and complex." -- Kirkus Reviews (starred review)
"Drawn with exquisite precision and quiet dashes of humor." -- Publishers Weekly (starred review)
"A lovely, ruminative selection." -- School Library Journal (starred review)
"A blueprint for mindfulness and gratitude for the homes in which we...live." -- The New York Times Book Review
Deborah Freedman's masterful new picture book is at once an introduction to the pieces of a house, a cozy story to share and explore, and a dreamy meditation on the magic of our homes and our world.
Before there was this house,
there were stones,
and mud,
and a colossal oak tree--
three hugs around
and as high as the blue.
What was your home, once?
This poetically simple, thought-provoking, and gorgeously illustrated book invites readers to think about where things come from and what nature provides.
Author Notes
Deborah Freedman once was a child who liked to swing on swings. Now, she is an author-illustrator of picture books for children. She lives in a colorful house in Connecticut, where, from her favorite writing chair, she has watched blooms, storms, and moons come and go. You can learn more about Deborah and her books--including Blue Chicken ; The Story of Fish & Snail ; Shy ; This House, Once ; and Is Was --at DeborahFreedman.net.
Reviews (4)
Publisher's Weekly Review
Freedman (Shy) lyrically meditates on the origins of a house. "This door was once a colossal oak tree about three hugs around and as high as the blue," she writes, opposite a spare, clean drawing of a door against a white backdrop. A page turn reveals the giant oak, the door traced within its trunk to show where it used to be. The stones that make the house's foundation "were once below, underground, deep asleep," and readers see a cross-section of the ground the stones were dug from. While the house takes shape, a kitten, frog, and yellow bird play as the leaves fall; fog overtakes them, and gray wash and muted textures herald the arrival of winter. The door opens, and readers join the kitten indoors: "Lights, doorknob, bookshelf, under-the-stair... What were these all, once?" Freedman's gentle inquiry is drawn with exquisite precision and quiet dashes of humor, and it will leave children thinking about the way their own houses are an extension of the natural world, with "memories" of the resources used to bring them into existence. Ages 4-8. Agent: Stephen Barr, Writers House. (Feb.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Booklist Review
Combining lyrical language and cozy mixed-media artwork, Freedman celebrates the elements of the natural world (oak, stones, mud, rocks, and sand) used in the construction of a house. Spreads alternate between simple drawings of isolated house parts (This door was once a colossal oak tree about three hugs around and as high as the blue) and full-page spreads depicting the object in its original natural setting. Structural features are added as the story progresses: a stone foundation appears under the oak door, followed by mud brick walls, a slate roof, and finally glass windows. When the house is completed, listeners are treated to welcoming interior views that include a roaring fire, a child reading under the stairs, and a playful kitten who has also appeared in many of the earlier spreads. An author's note invites readers to consider the building materials used in their own houses. Dreamy and imaginative, this makes a good read-aloud, especially paired with Jonathon Bean's Building Our House (2013).--Weisman, Kay Copyright 2016 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
BUT FOR THE fact that it has corners, it would be easy to mistake a well-built picture book for an egg. How so much life lives in such small quarters is a wonder that never grows old. So, what a joy to find these sturdy morsels in my nest: four picture books that remind us anew that inspiration is a fledgling of process. If Neal Layton were a bird, he'd be part of that genus that includes John Burningham and Quentin Blake, because it is with similar delight and abandon that he warbles and flits about his own branches. It's blue dawn as we glide toward the cozy conifer at the center of Layton's lovely new book, "The Tree." You likely don't yet hear the rumble of the pickup winding down the road, or the distant echo of Robert Burns's "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men" bouncing off a purple yawn of mountains. And we still can't read the tilted sign next to the tree . . . until the sun has risen. "land for sale." Layton arranges two squinty clouds and a frowning fence around his giant nose of a tree to let us know how to feel about this. But the sadness is fleeting, because we soon discover the lovable families who call this tree home. It's filled with googly-eyed rabbits, sheepish owls, eager squirrels and birdsong. And then the pickup pulls up with its rumpled passengers, and their wooden crates, and their giant saw and their "wonderful plan" for a dream home of their own. When their sawing causes a bird's nest to fall, the newcomers stare thoughtfully at the chicks singing at their feet, much as Burns must have stared at that mouse's nest he turned up with his plow two centuries earlier, and which inspired his poem. But what follows aren't simply words of regret (or sympathy) about nature's vulnerability in the face of progress. "The Tree" turns out to be Layton's unapologetically hopeful plan for how mice and men (and bunnies and owls and squirrels and birds) might live happily together going forward. The tree at the center of Deborah Freedman's dreamy "This House, once" is "a colossal oak tree about three hugs around and as high as the blue." It is now the small wooden door of a pointy little house. Freedman (who was once an architect) is not offering us a plan for some future home, however. Instead the book is a blueprint for mindfulness and gratitude for the homes in which we already live. With the wooziness that comes from sitting close to a fire, and in a whisper of colors that have the hypnotic allure of bruises, Freedman deconstructs and rebuilds her toasty house. "These stones," she says, laying the foundation, "were once . . . deep asleep, tucked beneath a blanket of leaves." "These bricks," she adds, framing the door, "were once mud that oozed around roots." We turn the page to find a small cat we've been tailing from the title spread playing in the mud with a giddy frog, a shy turtle and a bird. The cat ends up back at its home, where a tiny person holds the door open. I started to feel lightheaded when the house began dreaming about its own deconstructed past, but so long as the embers of Freedman's incantation continue to glow, I'm in no rush. Which is a good thing, because if there's anything Kevin Henkes loves to do, it's make you wait. Following in the wake of his award-winning "Waiting," Henkes's latest confection, "Egg," is the story of four henless pastel eggs, laid safely inside a big brown border, which houses the warm white of each spread. Three eggs adorably hatch on cue into adorable chicks. one remains a green mystery. Peck. What's inside? Peck peck. Even the chicks want to know. It is only through patience . . . peck . . . and persistence . . . peck . . . that the fourth egg finally reveals its secret: a smiling baby alligator! Without visible teeth! Who needs teeth in a world seemingly made of marzipan? still, the minty interloper looks like it could bite, so the chicks fly off and the alligator finds itself adorably alone and miserable. It's only after the chicks realize the alligator poses no threat that they decide they could maybe be friends. Which is exactly what happens. In the hands of someone less generous and wise, "Egg" might taste like a pack of Easter Peeps with a Cracker Jack surprise and a paper fortune, but Henkes makes it a candy-colored koan, equal parts kaiseki and comic strip. Though its appearance may seem as familiar as the setting sun, this book's full flavor is as toothsome and elusive as tomorrow. On its effortless surface - a white page peppered lightly with wildflowers and weeds - the exuberant "A Greyhound, a Groundhog" is about exactly what its title suggests: a delectable groundhog and a lithe greyhound. But what Emily Jenkins and Chris Appelhans's lyrical collaboration is really about is the intoxicating thrill of friendship, and the boundless joy of play: play between improbable friends; play between color and empty space; play between language and meaning; and play between author and illustrator. In her dedication Jenkins, who wrote the words, credits Ruth Krauss and her "A Very Special House" as being the seed from which her own text took root. What Jenkins surely knows but doesn't say is that Krauss had a very game dance partner in some guy named Sendak, and that it is in the drunken waltz between Krauss's words and Sendak's pictures that their book's real magic resides. Which is equally true of the fetching footwork Appelhans and Jenkins have cobbled together . . . together. Four cheeps and cheers for life's green mysteries! ROWBOAT WATKINS is the author and illustrator of "Rude Cakes." His next picture book, "Pete With No Pants," comes out in May.
School Library Journal Review
PreS-Gr 2-In a story that's more poetic than technical, select pieces of a home are highlighted to emphasize the idea that a house remembers. A domicile is constructed with natural elements that began as something much different. "This door was once a colossal oak tree about three hugs around and as high as the blue." The images start simply, with mostly white space and three or four lines of prose. The next spread illustrates the previous page's text with softly muted blues, purples, and oranges and lightly placed lines. This pattern continues until the middle of the book, where the visuals and text combine. The pages become more crowded and rich with color, proclaiming that a house remembers and bringing the tale full circle with the conclusive phrase, "which once was an oak." If readers look closely, they will also notice a cute kitten and/or a bright contrasting red doorknob in most of the illustrations and a change in seasons. Freedman has created a cozy offering to share that will spark curiosity. Conversations centered on questions such as, "How was our house made?," "Where did the various materials come from?," and "What function does it serve?" between a caregiver and child will carry on the ideas presented in this title long after it has been set down. VERDICT A lovely, ruminative selection, best shared one-on-one or in a small group setting.-Mindy Hiatt, Salt Lake County Library Services © Copyright 2017. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
