Sherm's Just a Dog Who Can't Say No

I'm just a girl who can't say no. That's not to say that, like Oklahoma's Ado Annie, I'm helpless to resist the advances of overeager suitors - though I've never really been tested in that regard so it's hard to say. You see, I suffer from an almost crippling lack of gumption, so when someone makes a request of me, it's hard for me to refuse, even if complying doesn't make much sense. I'm forever in need of some powder milk biscuits, which Garrison Keillor promises "gives shy persons the courage to get up and do what needs to be done." Seems I have something in common with the affable canine protagonist of Laura Numeroff and Nate Evans' Sherman Crunchley.

Sherman is a police officer in Biscuit City, a town entirely populated by dogs. But he's not just any cop. He's the son of the chief of police. And the grandson. And the great-grandson. Yes, this line of police chiefs extends back for generations, so he knows his future is laid out for him, and he's going to have to come to terms with it soon, since his father is retiring in a month. Many pooches would be excited about taking on such a prestigious position. But Sherman, much as he loves his father, hates being a cop. He's so non-confrontational, he lets parking violators slide, he breaks up fights by distracting dueling dogs with free doughnuts, and he always gets stuck with the paperwork because he's the only one on the force who hasn't the nerve to refuse, even once in a while. So if he's unhappy (and often ineffective) in his current position, he's sure he'll be even more miserable as the chief. But how can he share those misgivings with his dad?

Not only does Sherman not have a passion for policing, he does have a passion for a particular pursuit: making and collecting hats. As in Miss Fannie's Hat, we are treated to a wide range of headgear, from Sherman's own snazzy police hat and the silly chicken hat he wears while ordering an instructional video called Must Say No to the even sillier birdhouse hat on his head when he reads about a hypnotist and the turban the hypnotist wears while attempting to put Sherman into a trance in which he will be able to refuse his father.

Tim Bowers's richly detailed illustrations are gorgeous, full of vibrant color and humor. Sherman is a brown and white hound dog whose hesitation and kindness Bowers conveys beautifully. We meet other dogs as well: the Chihuahua hypnotist with half-circle spectacles, the Poodle who serves as administrative assistant at the police station, the vast array of Collies, Labs, German Shepherds, Huskies and others that show up for his father's retirement dinner. Bowers is a fantastic artist who reminds me of C. F. Payne, who provides the back-cover illustration for Reader's Digest and collaborated with John Lithgow on the enchanting Micawber and amusing The Remarkable Farkle McBride, and I'm eager to check out the other books he has worked on.

Sherman Crunchley is an affirming book that emboldens those of us who suffer from a surfeit of shyness to speak up when being led into an uncomfortable situation. Sherman's solution is marvelously creative without being cruel, and the ending is satisfying for all concerned. If a timid dog can pluck up that kind of nerve, maybe a lass in sore need of powder milk biscuits can as well.

A Treat for Young Musicians Everywhere

The Remarkable Farkle McBride is John Lithgow’s first book and first collaboration with C. F. Payne. Although I’d heard of it, I just read it for the first time yesterday. I enjoy Lithgow’s style very much, so I would like to read all of his books, but Farkle particularly intrigued me because Payne did the illustrations. Lithgow has written five books, but Payne has worked with him on only two. This story concerns a young boy named Farkle whose prodigious musical talents leave him unsatisfied with each of the instruments he masters.

The narrative style of Farkle is similar to that of Micawber, the first Lithgow book I read. Lithgow creates an aurally appealing story with a recurring pattern of rhyme. Most of the book features a 3-page cycle: Farkle picks up a new instrument (ABAB), Farkle plays the instrument (AAA (musical sounds) BAAAB), Farkle discards the instrument (ABAAAB). Although it includes a few upper-level words – prodigy, beseeching, rhapsodical, notwithstanding - for the most part the vocabulary is fairly simple. I would say that this easier, more predictable narration places this book toward the lower end of the picture book age range, while Micawber is geared toward the higher. Both books have a slightly PBS-ish quality about them, trying to get children interested in art and music. Another of his books involves the American Museum of Natural History, while the other two feature two unusual animals: a kangaroo and a manatee. Lithgow’s passion for entertaining seems to be coupled with a passion for education.

Payne’s illustrations are enjoyable and entertaining, though Farkle isn’t nearly as cute as Micawber. I suppose I’m prejudiced, though… He’s actually a rather odd-looking boy, who is somewhat reminiscent of Alfred P. Neuman, particularly in his cover appearance. His head often seems disproportionately large, but maybe that is supposed to be a visual nod to his genius. Up until the last few pages, each two-page spread contains a picture on one side and text, with a backdrop of musical notes, on the other. Payne captures Farkle’s endearing mix of dedication to his instrument and frustration with its insufficiency. His exasperated tantrums remind us that in spite of his talent, he’s still just a kid.

Instruments appear on each page, and when Farkle is playing, he seems to be in perfect concert with those around him. Not only do we see him playing with the orchestra, we see a bird sing along with his flute and a butterfly perch on his trombone. I love the perplexed expression on the family dog’s face as it inspects Farkle’s smashed violin and the sad open mouths of the fish that welcome Farkle’s flute to the bottom of the lake. The illustrations are rich and detailed, a perfect combination of astonishing realism and amusing caricature. Farkle in general seems to grow more cartoonish in his looks as the book progresses.

Although I did not enjoy it quite as much as Micawber, I nonetheless found Farkle to be a story of high quality and both educational and entertainment value. I hope these two collaborate again. I would recommend Farkle for younger children, particularly those interested in music. They may find inspiration in a reflection of themselves – let’s just hope it doesn’t inspire anyone to smash their violin!

Lithgow and Payne Set the Stage for a Squirrely Good Time

I love squirrels. I’ve spent leisurely mornings at my grandparents’ house gazing out their sliding back door at the squirrels scampering through the trees and fighting over space in the birdfeeder. I’ve accompanied my dad on the four-hour drive to his faculty senate meetings in State College just so I could spend the hour or so during his meeting outside tossing peanuts to the insatiable rodents, which are so used to people in that location that they sometimes take nuts right out of my hand. I’ve been the proud but frustrated owner of a squirrel feeder since middle school. For some reason the bushy-tailed bandits don’t like to venture into our yard; it may have something to do with the cats…

At any rate, I am magnetically drawn to these critters, so when I first spotted Micawber, John Lithgow’s delightful tale of an artistically inclined squirrel, I was enchanted. At the time, my only familiarity with Lithgow was as an actor, and I wondered whether his authorship had more to do with the perks of his fame than any particular writing talent. My fears were immediately allayed as I settled into the cadence of his cleverly rhymed story. I have always been a fan of books in rhyme, and Lithgow has particular skill for this brand of writing. He begins with a simple ABAB scheme, which he works from throughout the remainder of the tale, expanding it when appropriate. There is a musical quality to his lines, their intricate internal rhymes, alliteration and rhythm providing a feast for the ears to match the visual glory of the illustrations.

Authors such as J. K. Rowling refuse to shy away from the use of advanced verbiage in writing intended for children; Lemony Snicket even manages to work in overt vocabulary lessons in his Series of Unfortunate Events. Despite the brevity of this book and its placement in the young children’s section of the bookstore, its lexicon is befitting a book concerning itself with the fine arts. Delicious terminology leaps out from the page, some of which I’d never even encountered before. Rare is the picture book that will incorporate such words as appraise, scrutinize, beguiler, cadmium, vermillion, alizarin, transom and the incomparable peregrination, not to mention the squirrel’s unusual nomenclature.

C. F. Payne’s delightful artwork has graced the back page of Reader’s Digest for months, and his engaging blend of detail, emotion and humor brings to mind Norman Rockwell. The comparison is especially appropriate here, as the book’s final image is a brilliant parody of Rockwell’s famous self-portrait, with Micawber peeking at his reflection in the mirror, glasses and all. Payne has a knack for capturing ordinary moments with extraordinary splendor, and Micawber springs to life under his worthy hand. The squirrel’s bright eyes and beguiling face grace the cover, his paint-dipped tail providing a clue as to the direction the book will take.

Several two-page spreads feature a full-page illustration facing a white page containing only a few lines of text and several spatters of paint. Micawber appears in every picture, though it is sometimes hard to spot him, sneak that he is. We watch as his eyes light up with inspiration after witnessing a local artist imitate the works in the art museum he loves. His innate sense of mischief is most perfectly displayed towards the middle of the book, when he discovers color. His hands clasped together gleefully, face set in a slightly demonic smile, he surveys the results of squeezing several tubes of paint onto a waiting palette. Payne also charmingly captures the oblivious nature of his benefactor, a bespectacled woman with plenty of art supplies to spare.

This book sold me on Lithgow and Payne. Their combined talents create one of the most beguiling books I have encountered recently, and I commend them both. Micawber is sure to delight rabid squirrel fans like myself and appreciators of fine art, but its witty style and lavish illustrations are sure to draw in fans from all walks of life.