Mr. Tiger Goes Wild by Peter Brown

This conversation happened when I read Mr. Tiger Goes Wild aloud to two kindergartners:

Kindergartner 1: “He’s naked!”

Kindergartner 2: “But he’s a tiger!”

Kindergartners 1 & 2: [contemplative silence]

Yes, a character who normally wears clothing exits a city fountain sans clothing. So, by definition, he is naked. One can’t argue. At the same time, animals generally are naked, and tigers are animals. So is “He’s naked!” a statement of fact or an exclamation of shock?

To better understand this kindergarten conundrum, let’s step back to the beginning of the book. Mr. Tiger is a proper gentleman (top hat, bow tie, overcoat) in a city of proper ladies and gentlemen. But Mr. Tiger was bored with always being so proper. All of this “Good day” and “Lovely weather we are having” and “Indeed.” Boring.

Mr. Tiger wanted to loosen up, have fun, and be wild. So he did one of the wildest things this proper city had seen in some time. He walked on all four legs. This led to running and chasing and climbing and roaring. “And then Mr. Tiger went a little too far.”

He dove in the city fountain and exited au naturale. “Mr. Tiger!” shouted Ms. Elephant. “If you must act wild, kindly do so in the WILDERNESS!”

So he did.

Then this conversation happened with my two kindergartners:

Me: “What do you think is going to happen next?”

Kindergartner 1: “He’s alone.”

Kindergartner 2: “Yeah. He’s lonely.”

Me, turning the page and reading: “But Mr. Tiger was lonely.”

What should Mr. Tiger do? Don his top hat, bow tie, and overcoat and stroll two-legged back into that proper city? Or remain in the wilderness living the wild life? Could there be a middle ground?

After all, shouldn’t Mr. Tiger feel free to be himself? Shouldn’t we all?

I won’t give away Mr. Tiger’s decision or how the story turns out, but I will share that there are lessons to be learned in Peter Brown’s book. Be yourself. Respect others despite the differences. Don’t conform only to please others.

And maybe you should just stay out of the city fountain altogether.

My Teacher is a Monster by Peter Brown

Teachers. Monsters. Not all monsters are teachers, but all teachers have the potential to be monsters … at least in the eyes of their students.

Or in the eyes of specific students like Bobby, the paper airplane-throwing, chair-tipping, slowpoke main character in My Teacher is a Monster. “No recess for children who throw airplanes in class.” There’s only one kind of teacher who would say something like that, and Mrs. Kirby is that kind of teacher.

She’s a monster. Undeniably.

Author and illustrator Peter Brown quickly sets the stage for conflict between everykid Bobby and his teacher, Mrs. Kirby. Then he moves the story from the classroom to a Saturday in the park. What happens when Bobby and his monster end up on the same park bench?

“Bobby wanted to run! He wanted to hide! But he knew that would only make things worse.”

So he raised his hand. “Robert, you don’t need to raise your hand out here.”

It’s not the greatest start to a Saturday in the park sort of conversation, but it is a start. And where that conversation leads them, neither could have predicted.

Readers won’t see it coming either. There’s a lost hat, ducks, some quacking, some rock climbing, and some fantastic airplanery. Over the course of that Saturday in the park, Bobby learns something important about his teacher. Maybe, despite the roaring and the stomping at school, just maybe, Mrs. Kirby isn’t a monster. Maybe monsters are not always what they seem.

Don’t believe me? Compare the front cover to the back cover. Teachers. Monsters. One and the same? Take a look at what happens between the front and back cover and decide for yourself.

Just like Bobby did.

Children Make Terrible Pets by Peter Brown

Ah, kids.  If ever anyone starts to think they know what they’re talking about when it comes to children, be sure to test that knowledge with real, live, actual children.  The little rascals will put you squarely back in your place.

I’ve been a fan of Peter Brown’s books for a while and have reviewed several here: Chowder, The Fabulous Bouncing Chowder, and The Curious Garden.  My first impression of Children Make Terrible Pets was cute and creative, unique pictures, nice switcheroo on a well known childhood theme, but not on the same level as the previously mentioned books.

Then I read the story of Lucy, the pink tutu-wearing bear who finds a critter in the woods, names him Squeaker, and takes him home to her mom begging to keep him as a pet aloud to a group of second and third graders.  Laughter.  Roars!  Pointing fingers and “Look at that!”  Groans and “Ooohhh noooo!” at the surprise ending - sort of like when the Pigeon sees a semi at the end of Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus.

A new Peter Brown book not on the same level as his other books?  Bah!  Foolish grown-up, trusting his own wisdom.

When Lucy finds “the cutest little critter” in the woods, she takes the young, rosy-cheeked boy home and begs to keep him as a pet. And as many parents do, her mom hesitantly agrees, but only on one condition: “Squeaker is YOUR responsibility.  I will not take care of him for you.”

Lucy played with Squeaker.  They ate together, napped together, did everything together.  However, Squeaker was impossible to potty train, destroyed his share of the furniture, and threw food at tea parties.  When Lucy thinks it can’t get any worse, it does.  Squeaker disappears.  

When Squeaker’s hiding place is discovered, Lucy also discovers that what she thinks is best for her - having an awesome pet - may not be the best for the pet.  Lucy is forced to make a tough decision based on what’s best for Squeaker.

So can I change my opinion?  Can I say that I loved the book from the start and knew it would be a hit with kids?  No?  Then I’ll just share my new-found appreciation of the book now that I know how much kids like it, acknowledge that first impressions ain’t always right, keep the beginning of this review honest, and give the book a well deserved recommendation.

The Curious Garden by Peter Brown

Readers will be curious about The Curious Garden starting immediately with the cover. What kind of tree is that, and how’s that kid sitting on there? What’s he reading? Why do those plants look like birds and a butterfly?

The title page, with GARDEN spelled out in bricks, wildflowers growing in every crevice, “The Curious” trimmed in bushes growing out of the bricks, and a young boy holding garden shears seemingly responsible for the whole thing, will add to readers’ curiosity. (See below)

I’m looking forward to this magical garden, readers might think, where trees grow out of bricks and plants are shaped like animals and bushy leaves support little boys.

But turning the page shows a dreary city, muted reds and all shades of gray and smokestacks billowing black clouds into the air. “There once was a city without gardens or trees or greenery of any kind,” it reads.

There is one boy, however, who loves to be outside. He discovers a small patch of dying wildflowers on the abandoned elevated train tracks. Liam knew nothing about gardening, but he tried the best he could. Soon Liam nurtured the wildflowers into a real, growing garden. And as plants will, they begin to explore. Weeds and mosses begin to travel down the abandoned elevated tracks. By winter, Liam has cultivated quite a garden, an elevated strip of green winding its way through the dreary city.

When spring comes, the garden decides to continue its exploration of the city. Cracks and crevices, nooks and crannies, all become potential homes for the curious garden. With a little help from Liam.

After many years, the city is transformed – and not just the city itself, but the city’s residents. The buildings and streets and abandoned elevated train tracks are all still there, but only with careful observation would visitors to the city recognize this once dreary metropolis.

The resident seven-year-old and I spent quite a while comparing the city illustration at the beginning to the transformed city illustration at the end. Every inch of the two page illustration shows some kid of change, and all of the events during the story can be located in this final view of the entire city.

The Curious Garden, despite my initial suspicions of a magical garden, is just an ordinary bunch of plants. The magic happens when one little boy encourages them – and a city and its residents allow them – to do what they do best. Grow.

In the author's note, Peter Brown tells about the Highline in Manhattan, a real abandoned railway that inspired his book. Click here to see what's happenening with the Highline today.

Title page image from http://www.peterbrownstudios.com/.

The Fabulous Bouncing Chowder by Peter Brown

Chowder is back, in all his drooly, slobbery greatness. He's dying to attend Twisty's Acrobatic Fanatic Camp, but Twisty doesn't allow it. No dogs. Instead Chowder is on his way to the Fabu Pooch Boot Camp, where beautiful dogs are turned into fabulous dogs.

Dog shows, dog salons, canine chiropractors, hair perms, and ... Chowder? As usual, he doesn’t quite fit in. While his fellow canine campers are primping for the First Annual Fabu Pooch Pageant, Chowder wonders how he can win the one-year supply of Snarf Snacks.

Chowder decides to follow his dreams. Professional kickball player? (No.) Astronaut? (Um…no.) Gourmet chef? (Also no.)

Chowder’s dreams lead him to a trampoline. He visualizes and studies and practices, practices, practices. And slobbers. He flips and flops…and slobbers. He twists and turns…and slobbers. Chowder is, in a word, fabulous.

But do trampolines belong in a Pooch Pageant? Will his newfound greatness be enough to earn The Fabulous Bouncing Chowder the one-year supply of Snarf Snacks? That’s up to the judges. If it was up to readers (and Chowder’s barnyard kickball friends from his first book) however, he’d have more Snarf Snacks than one drooling doggy could snarf.

Visit Chowder at www.chowderandfriends.com.
Visit Peter Brown at www.somebrownstuff.com.

Chowder by Peter Brown

When the opening page says, “Chowder had always been different,” and features a bulldog on a toilet, well, you know you got yourself a … well, uh … Okay, I’m not exactly sure what you’re supposed to have given those circumstances, but that is indeed how Chowder starts.

And it’s downright funny. Chowder wears an archeologist's hat and makes dinosaur shapes in the dirt with his bones while the other dogs just chew theirs. Chowder reads the paper. He stubbornly takes time to smell the flowers. He enjoys music and dancing, the Internet, and his telescope.

Eventually his desire to fit in, despite his ability to stick out, brings him to a petting zoo. Critters! Potential friends! In his excitement he promptly loses the critters’ kickball. Great start, eh? Then Chowder’s determination to remedy the situation finds him dangling, literally, by the skin of his teeth.

He is rescued by his (yes!) new friends who proceed to do what any new friends would do: teach Chowder the ins and outs of kickball. And he fits right in.

The pictures of Chowder are hilarious. I didn’t know bulldogs had an expression that is equal parts concentration, relaxation, and satisfaction, but Chowder does. (That’s in the opening picture. See: paragraph one, above.) Chowder’s tongue nearly has emotions of its own. Sometimes it dangles and drips, like when he reads the paper, and sometimes is flaps and sprays, like when he dances.

I don’t think Chowder will win any literary awards, but if you think bulldogs driving cars and topping pyramids and leaping out windows will make you laugh, then giggle away. Chowder’s your dog…and your book.