If I Were a Sheep

If I Were a Sheep

A "touch and feel" book by Anne Wilkinson

Let's begin by defining the genre of "touch and feel." This is not an overly emotional and sappy story of a sheep who helps old ladies cross the street or stops bullies from picking on the uncool kids at school. The "touch and feel" part refers to the various pieces of carpet fuzz, construction paper bits, and corduroy fabric scraps that are rudimentarily pasted throughout the illustrations. This apparently allows for your child to have a "broader experience" when enjoying the aforementioned whimsical imaginings of just what life would be like if you were an intellectually challenged ovine.

On to the review:

Wilkinson clearly has her work "cut out" (bahahaha - a "touch and feel" pun!) for her in this one as she begins the story with an open ended phrase followed by ellipses - "If I were a sheep..." 

Again, much like Laura Numeroff did with "If you give a mouse a cookie..." our imaginations are left to run wild with the innumerable adventurous paths that this story could take. For me personally, my first thought was "Man. That would really suck. Aren't sheep like the dumbest animals on the planet?" Also I thought about the few times that I had actually been around the creatures - their horrific odor was probably the most memorable thing from my limited experience. Additionally, on the front of the book, we have our first tactile element. At the top of the picture of the sheep's face (see picture above) there is a cloud-shaped piece of low-grade berber carpet which can only be assumed to represent an exposed portion of the sheep's poorly developed brain, or a cute woolly bowl cut. 

As you turn the page, you will find a center-fold of a rather voluptuous sheep who appears to be "putting out the vibe" similar to this:

 At the top of the page is scribbled a disappointingly predictable answer to the initial open-ended phrase from Wilkinson, which reads "My coat would be woolly." Um. Duh. Sheep are woolly. That's pretty much their thing. Here we also have our second tactile element which is an even lower grade and again cloud-shaped piece of berber carpet, crudely pasted on the sheep's hindquarters. This is inaccurate on two accounts. A) I don't think a sheep's nether-regions are woolly. B) If they are, there are bound to be some brown poop stains, of which I see none!

The next page is easily my favorite in the whole book. As we flip the berber-covered sheep's butt over, we are confronted by another ovine center-fold, although this one is slightly less voluptuous and appears to be an elderly sheep. At the bottom is written "My knees would be knobbly..." No, that is not a misprint. I had the same thought. "WTF is 'knobbly?!'" Did she mean "Knobby?" "Wobbly?" You can't just combine those two. Wilkinson is clearly drunk. Either that, or she is an agnostic and believes God is dead, so we can just do whatever the heck we want. For the tactile element here, there are included over the knee areas of the sheep, four circles of some towel-like material which I am sure would be described any blind, old sage as the perfect example of "knobbly." 

As the page turns, there is an alarmingly turkey-like sheep with the face at the center of the two adjacent pages. At the top of the illustration is written "My ears would be velvety..." Here, I must give credit to Wilkinson for the consistency of the tactile element. The ears of the turkey-sheep are in fact made of a "velvety" material. The only problem with this is that I have felt a real sheep's ears, and they are definitely not velvety. I can think of a plethora of WAY more appropriate adjectives. Smelly. Crusty. Disgusting. Gunky. Disease-Ridden. Purulent. ALL of these would be a more apt description to use here. 

On to the next page. Here we find another sheep center-fold that looks a lot like Jay Leno. 

In the top right corner the phrase "My nose would be wrinkly..." is squeezed in. Again, not the adjectives I would use to describe a sheep's nose, or pretty much any nose ever. Snotty. Goopy. Sticky. Icky. Booger-infested. Take your pick. If you asked a thousand people to describe a sheep's nose in one word, I would be flabbergasted if even one of them chose "wrinkly." The tactile aspect of this page is adequate, with a piece of corduroy fabric displayed where Jay Leno's nose, er, I mean the sheep's nose, should be. 

On to the grand finale. The final illustration. The final description of what life would be like if I were, in fact, a sheep. On this page we see what appears to be a moon of some sort, covered with 8 sheep. 7 along the perimeter, and one large sheep taking up most of the lunar surface. There are also several shiny stars and a disco-ball looking moon thingy above the sheep-covered moon. The concluding phrase that Wilkinson leaves us with is "If I were a sheep, and I couldn't get to sleep. I would lie on the hill, and count sheep!" Um. False. I see what the author was trying to do here by tying in a cutesy bedtime tradition to life as a dumb farm animal, but it seems way too forced. It doesn't match up with the anatomic themes and descriptions from the previous few pages. In addition to this. Sheep definitely cannot count. I think most people, including most kids, are aware of this. It seems as if Wilkinson has had a crisis of genre while writing this book. She starts out as descriptive, historical "touch and feel" and finishes as fantastical "touch and feel" fiction. What gives? 

Anyways. Here is how the book was rated by me and my son Beck. 

Beck gives this book 6/10 "dahs." He loves the tactile portions of the story, and the inaccuracies don't seem to bother him very much. The reason it didn't receive more "dahs" is because he was aware of how dumb the writing was even at 6 months of age. 

I give this book a 2/10 on my personal rating scale because I don't much care for the tactile portions of the book, especially because of their inaccuracies, and I definitely would rank the writing right up there with some of the dumbest children's books that I have ever read. 

Give the aforementioned ratings, this book gets an overall score of 4/10. Not too horrible considering the harsh review. 

Thanks for reading and stay tuned for next time as Beck and I review The Toolbox by Anne & Harlow Rockwell. 

Sincerely,

Gib and Beck

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie

by Laura Numeroff

with illustrations by Felicia Bond

First things first. Full disclaimer - this was one of my favorite books when I was a budding savant who was already reading at the age of 4 months - so the ratings for this one might be a tad bit prejudicial. This being said, I will try to keep my review as "fair and balanced" as I can. 

Let's begin with the opening page, which shows a jean-clad young boy of ambiguous age holding out what one can only assume is a cookie of some sort (probably name brand and not the cheap generic knock-offs). I say this because the house behind the child looks very suburban, with a big, fenced in yard, and a nicely paved walkway to the front door. If I had to guess, it's probably some type of Pepperidge Farm cookie, and those things are like a dollar a cookie! Unfortunately, Numeroff and Bond have already begun to narrow down the target audience by choosing what appears to be an upper middle class, caucasian protagonist. 

Across the page from the young boy is a mouse, which based on size, has either eaten his fair share of cookies recently, or is actually in fact a rat. Strangely, the mouse has on overalls and what appears to be a tiny little mouse/rat backpack and is walking on two legs. In the rodent world, this character is clearly at the upper echelon of the socio-economic strata (like 99.9999999%) so one can already assume that not many rodents will be able to identify or relate to this story. 

Now to the writing. The first page opens with the phrase which is the book's namesake, "If you give a mouse a cookie." This is a stroke of genius by Numeroff. By leaving the phrase open-ended, she leaves  the door to our mind's eye wide open. This is only enhanced by the uniqueness and profundity of the thought. "If you give a mouse a cookie?" Hmmmm. I have no freaking idea! The possibilities are endless! Especially if the mouse is wearing overalls and a small backpack! I can't wait to turn the page and found out what's going to happen next! Boom. Just like that, you are sucked in. Perhaps forgetting all about the esoteric nature of the initial page's illustrations. 

Turn the page. We have the answer! "He's going to ask for a glass of milk." Great. Now the mouse can talk. Way to go Numeroff, you just lost the remaining .00000001 percent of your rodent audience. The illustrations on this page are not much better, showing the overall-wearing, backpacking mouse/rat sprinting up the paved walkway, cookie in-hand, and a terrified looking boy who appears to be trying to get inside and shut the door in the mouse/rat's face. I imagine, since this is a talking rodent, that his voice sounds something like the cookie monster's voice. "COOKIES!!! COOKIES!!!" Now we have a cookie-monster mouse/rat and that is just downright scary. 

On the next page it appears as if the mouse/rat cookie monster has forced his way into the peaceful suburban home and he is now slurping down some Horizon 1% Organic as the boy holds the glass, looking terribly sad for some reason. Here at the top of the page, Numeroff sucks her audience right back into the already thickening plot with another open-ended phrase - "When you give him the milk..." Oh man! I gotta know. Turn that page son!

We have our answer. "He'll probably ask for a straw." Well that's boring. Of all the things he could have asked for, the talking rodent asks for a straw?!  Meanwhile the illustrations show the boy rummaging through the cabinets, trying desperately to find a straw before the mouse/rat smacks him in the face with a Pepperidge Farm Chocolate Chunk. As we move on to the next page, we see the increasingly demanding rodent has gotten what he wants yet again, but he's not done yet. Now, he's finished with the milk and he wants a napkin! I am disappointed, but I can see what Numeroff is doing here. She is providing a subtle yet damning commentary on the entitlement of Generation X. This explains the demanding nature of the mouse/rat and why he seems to never question the fact that he isn't deserving of any of the things that he is seeking. At this point, the parallels between the "helicopter parents" of Generation X and Y and the young boy are becoming increasingly clear. It doesn't look like this is going to stop until the mouse moves into the young boy's basement and starts bleeding him dry. 

Over the next few pages, Numeroff appears to be telling us that the demanding personality of the mouse/rat isn't entirely his fault. After a gluttonous binge, the first thing the rodent does is demand to look into the mirror so that he can make sure he doesn't have a milk mustache! Wow. What arrogance! Then, as he looks into the mirror, he also notices that he doesn't like the way his hair looks, so he demands that the boy get him a pair of scissors so that he can "give himself a trim." It's clear at this point that the coddling of the mouse/rat when he was growing up likely made him a raging narcissist. True, the personality pathology is grim, but it would be trite to place all the blame on the mouse/rat himself, and kudos to the author for revealing something redeemable in a seemingly unlovable character. 

Here is where the book gets very interesting. As you turn to the next page, you see a frenzied mouse/rat standing on a sink in a cloud of mouse/rat hair, as a dejected and disappointed boy stands behind him, looking at the mess that he knows he will be responsible for cleaning up. It seems all to predictable now. This overall-clad, backpacking, narcissistic, mouse/rat is going to mooch the young boy into a coma of emptiness and self-pity. Then, when you least expect it, something amazing happens. The rodent sees the mess he has made, and decides that he himself should be the one to clean it!!  I imagine the mouse/rat looking down as he and the young boy wallow in the pile of his own filth, and a light bulb turns on in the rodent's slightly larger than pea-sized brain. "Geez, I've been a real jerk! That boy looks so sad. All he wanted to do was give me what I want, and I was never satisfied! It's time to change. I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm going to start doing things for myself, and I'm going to start right now!" 

So the mouse/rat activates his "undoing" defense mechanism and begins to sweep up his mess. As he sweeps up the hair in the bathroom, he probably begins to feel even worse about how selfish he has been, so he thinks to himself, "this is not enough, I need to sweep the whole house!" He then appears by the illustrations to morph into the Tasmanian Devil and as piles of neatly swept dirt and grime begin to appear throughout the house, the boy peers around a corner in shear disbelief. I am sure what is happening is unfathomable to him, as he has been at the beck and call of the rodent since they first met. Perhaps this is finally it. Perhaps this is the moment when the mouse/rat finally realizes what an selfish a-hole he is. Things certainly seem to be pointing in that direction as the rodent continues his "undoing" by washing the floors of the house as well. As one can imagine, all of this work for such a small creature is surely exhausting, and this point is dually brought home to the reader by Numeroff and Bond as the next page shows the soggy mouse passed out over a can of Ajax while Numeroff puts the rodent's fatigue into writing by saying "he'll probably want to take a nap." 

Just as things seem to be going well, and the reader begins to hope that the mouse/rat has indeed made a permanent change for the better, the helicopter parent/young boy swoops into ruin things. A damning commentary indeed. The young boy, not unlike many parents of Generation X and Y, is so used to doing things for the mouse/rat, that at the first sign of independence, the young boy becomes extremely uncomfortable and leaps at the first opportunity to be "needed" by said rodent. The parallels here are astounding. Bravo to Numeroff for her subtle yet effective jab at these "coddlers." The boy then proceeds to "fix up a little box with a blanket and pillow" for the mouse/rat. The rodent, in his fatigued state, forgets his feelings of guilt at his selfishness, and slips right back into his narcissistic sense of entitlement. As he is lying there in his posh box-bed with a kerchief and pillow, the demanding devil returns. The cutely made bed is not enough. Nothing is ever enough. Now he wants the boy to read him a bed-time story. The young boy, who is overjoyed at this point to be "needed" again, is blinded by his temporary happiness and fails to see that he is going to end up right back where he was a few pages ago, dejected, exhausted, and at his wits end. 

Over the next few pages we see the demands getting revved up again. 

"I want to see the pictures in the book you are reading to me!"

"I now want to draw! Bring me paper and Crayons!"

"Look at my masterpiece! I should sign my name. Bring me a pen!" 

"Get me some tape and hang this on the refrigerator!" 

During this string of demands Bond does a phenomenal job slowly capturing the change in the young boy's affect. She beautifully illustrates the transition from blind, needed, joy of the helicopter parent to the inevitable disappointment, hopelessness, and pure exhaustion as the young boy appears to be running all over the house, acquiescing to the mouse/rat's demands. Meanwhile tellingly, cleaning up the dust piles and the cleaning supplies that the rodent failed to put away after his "light bulb moment." 

As the narcissistic mouse/rat is gazing at his "masterpiece" hanging on the refrigerator, the book reaches new heights of genius. The mouse sees the refrigerator, realizes that he is thirsty, and demands a glass of milk! Brilliant! Numeroff and Bond have brought us full circle, an obvious attempt to give the average reader insight as to what it must feel like to be one of these two characters - the narcissistic mouse/rat caught in the cycle of his own selfishness, followed by attempts at undoing, only to return his selfish ways and come face-to-face with the cookie monster that he is; and the coddling helicopter parent who finds themselves exhausted by meeting every demand of their selfish and entitled child, only to feel disappointed at "not being needed" in a brief display of independence, and then to be cast right back into the hopeless and exhausting cycle of satisfying innumerable demands. 

They then leave us with a powerful and foreshadowing statement that things aren't likely to get better anytime soon. 

"And chances are if he asks for a glass of milk, he's going to want a cookie to go with it." 

What a carefully crafted and well thought-out allegorical take on some of the major issues that are affecting our society today. I think most would agree that we now have the answer to the initial open-ended statement posed in the book. "If you give mouse a cookie, you are in for roller coaster of disappointment, joy, and hopelessness." 

Beck gives this book 8/10 "dahs." He would have given it 10, but it's too damn long for an 11 month-old. 

I give this book 10/10 points on my rating scale, mainly because the illustrations are awesome and the writing is not totally stupid. That, coupled with the fact that I remember loving this book as a child, is enough for a perfect score on this blog!

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for the next review Beck and I will be reading If I Were a Sheep by Anne Wilkinson. 

Sincerely,

Gib and Beck

 

Children's Book Reviews by Gib and Beck

(always politically correct, never to offend!)

(African-American dad and his son who apparently reads National Geographic at age 1.5 - Check!)

(Nerdy Caucasian dad reading to his son who probably gets his lunch money stolen - Check!)

(Asian dad reading to his son with a horrendous bowl-cut - Check!)

(stock photo Hispanic dad reading "la Biblia" to his son whilst both bearing cheesy fake smiles - Check!)

(token "catch-all" photo of a guy with ambiguous ethnicity who is pretending to read a book - Check!)

Hello All.

Having a son has changed my life in many unique and wonderful ways. 

I can definitely say I have a different perspective on life now that I am a father. 

This different perspective on life includes many things, not the least of which includes an opinion on the many, many, many, many, many, many children's books that I have read and will read, and will be forced to read again, sometimes reading the same book over, and over, and over, and over again. 

Some children's books are wonderful. My son absolutely loves them. 

Some children's books are terrible. Like, hilariously terrible, and yet my son still absolutely loves them. 

I am starting this blog to provide parents and the non-parental, children's literature aficionado with precise, detailed, and insightful reviews of today's most popular and "not-so-popular" children's stories. 

I have also devised a rating scale in conjunction with my 11 month-old son, Beck. This rating scale will be an average between how much Beck enjoys the book, and how close I think it comes to being the dumbest thing ever written. 

Example:

"Book A"

This book receives 10/10 "dahs" from Beck, but only received 2/10 points from me because of the crap writing and/or the crummy illustration. That would give it an overall children's book rating of 6/10 on this blog. 

Simple enough right?

Anyways, stay tuned for the first update as Beck and I review If You Give a Mouse a Cookie by Laura Numeroff, with illustrations by Felicia Bond. 

Sincerely,

Gib and Beck