Reviews: Five fresh picture books

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Briar Lawry reviews new books from some of the shining stars of Aotearoa kids lit, and Annelies Judson reviews a collaboration with Cleft New Zealand.

The Witch of Maketu and the Bleating Lambs, by Anika Moa, illustrated by Rebecca ter Borg

I’m sceptical of seasonal releases. Don’t get me wrong—there are Christmas picture books that I adore after giving them a go, but there are also plenty that are capitalising on frantic aunties and uncles grabbing something from their local book/gift/game/card shop and thinking, yeah, that’ll do.

And books that happen to coincide with other celebrations always raise my hackles just that little bit more—since it’s a relatively empty playing field, books that have a whisper of thematic relevance often sell more than they, strictly speaking, deserve. On the one hand, more power to both author and publisher for seeing a gap in the market and stepping in to fill it. On the other hand… Well, not every occasion needs a tie-in title.

It is with this trepidation that I approached reading The Witch of Maketu and the Bleating Lambs by Anika Moa, illustrated by Rebecca ter Borg. A witchy book for my October picture book review round-up? A celebrity author? It seemed like a risky combination.

I should have known better than to be worried. Celebrity though Anika Moa may be, the combination of being part of the tamariki world through her music and as a parent – and being hysterically funny when she’s on camera or at the mic…it’s dynamite.

Anika’s writing is just as gloriously silly as you’d hope.

The story itself is easy to follow without being dull. The Witch of Maketu has a whole lot of lambs penned up in her backyard for her kai. But those bloody lambs won’t stop bleating and keep her awake all night. And while wicked witches might be grouchy at the best of times, sleep-deprived ones are positively cantankerous. Luckily, she knows just what to do and goes off to have a kōrero with Uncle Hemi the taniwha, who she’s sure will have some kind of appropriately wicked solution to her problem.

But to tell you the rest would be to spoil half the fun. Suffice to say, Uncle Hemi’s undergone some personal development since last our witchy protagonist saw him. His crafty plan might not be what the witch expected but she gets the results she was hoping for…or does she?

Anika’s writing is just as gloriously silly as you’d hope. She doesn’t fall into that trap of thinking that picture books need to rhyme throughout—although as a songwriter she’d be better than many at scansion, no doubt—but instead she deploys rhyme and other selected devices with care and precision to make them really sing. We get rhyme on the first page; ‘Not a wink or a blink. And she felt stink.’ and it just works. We get footnotes of clarification in a couple of locations; ‘*broomsticks are out and hybrid mops are in’. We get dialogue that tells us heaps about the characters; ‘Nah, bub. I’m a good guy now.’ It’s fun and it’s quirky without feeling forced.

…I cackled in an appropriately witchy fashion throughout.

And Rebecca ter Borg’s illustrations? The perfect match. There’s something almost Seussian in the colour palette at times, and the visual representations of the characters themselves are a vivid and glorious match for what Anika has conjured up in the text. The mean and nasty witch is actually quite cute, but not enough to detract from her ooky spookiness—just the right balance to have in a wicked protagonist without freaking out wee readers. In her big orange jandals and her hat adorned with a wormy koru and a band of tāniko she’s definitely an Aotearoa kind of witch. The design by Penguin’s Cat Taylor is just what you want in a picture book, with clear black on white text with the illustrations woven around. It’s visually interesting without overwhelming the text.

A bonus perk of this book is the read-along version included. A QR code takes you to a clip of Anika reading through the whole text and I won’t lie, I cackled in an appropriately witchy fashion throughout. The voices she gives to both the witch and to Uncle Hemi are fabulous, and the occasional snickers and extra details she gives add to the fun. It’s a total riot.

So, all that is a long-winded way of saying that while I spent too long working in bookshops to fully embrace seasonal picture books at face value, this is one that I am delighted to report is terrific and timeless—whether Hallowe’en is approaching or not.

Reviewed by Briar Lawry

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My Family Tree, My Whānau and Me, by June Pitman-Hayes and Minky Stapleton

June Pitman-Hayes and Minky Stapleton are into their eighth year of collaborative creations that always manage to capture facets of Aotearoa and its diversity. 2018’s Kia Ora: You Can Be A Kiwi Too! was always a winner when recommending Aotearoa books for international visitors in my bookselling days, and the follow ups that have made up the ‘My Kiwi Kete’ collection thus far (Kia Kaha: Together Standing Strong and My Kiwi Gumboots) were riffs on the same theme: easy rhyme, uplifting messages, illustrations that brim with colour and character.

Like the others in the series, it’s clearly a song put into book form—it’s definitely lyrics and/or poetry rather than a singular story. But picture books don’t need an overt narrative to still contain stories in their pages, and through the snippets of different families we get throughout the book in both words and images, we get various little windows into stories.

The lyrics themselves are fun—there’s a line or two that seem like they must be a reference to something, because otherwise ‘hairy armpit tree’ felt a little out of place—and easy to read aloud. This was actually the first time I’d listened to the song iteration of one of these books—I’ve read them aloud with my own rhythm in the past. It was lovely to have the combination of music and page together. Listening rather than reading gave me the opportunity to focus more on the illustrations while taking the story in, which really did make it more akin to the experience of being read to as a kid.

Minky’s illustrations are as gorgeous as Aotearoa kids lit connoisseurs have come to expect. I think that as charming as the song is, the detail in Minky’s illustrations is a critical addition to elevate what could otherwise be a little spare on the page. The illustrations embrace Aotearoa’s diversity on every page.

…easy rhyme, uplifting messages, illustrations that brim with colour and character.

But in order to embrace multiculturalism, we need to embrace biculturalism. Like the other books that have come before this one, the book contains both English and Māori versions of the song, with the Māori lyrics written by Kawiti Waetford. As someone who has long been passionate about the accessibility of bilingual picture books, this makes my heart sing. So you can listen to ‘My Family Tree, My Whānau And Me’ and then listen to ‘Mātou Ko Tōku Whānau, me te Rākau Taumatua’, and then pop on the instrumental version and sing whichever one speaks to you the most!

I’ll admit that I was expecting something a little more whakapapa focused when I picked this one up, but we’re singing about literal trees here, which is rather sweet in its own way. It took me back to my own childhood trips to Pukekawa/Auckland Domain with my grandparents, which always involved a visit to the ‘happy tree’, which undoubtedly has different names in other families. Memories of clambering over the roots with siblings and cousins, demonstrating amazing agility and prowess with a lot of yelling of, ‘look at me, Nana!’ and then having chocolate freckles and dried apricots from a repurposed Maggi stock container. It’s as much about the family moment as the tree itself. And this book taps into that intersection of people and place. Don’t forget your roots, indeed.

Reviewed by Briar Lawry

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What’s in a name? He aha tō te Ingoa by Renisa Viraj Maki, illustrated by Isobel Te Aho-White

I love this concept. A book honouring the importance of saying people’s name correctly? Sign me the heck up. Bilingual? Brilliant. Illustrations by Isobel Te Aho-White? I mean, say no more. It’s a very sweet story: student leader Priyanka makes it her mission to pronounce everyone’s names perfectly at their end-of-primary graduation. She works her way through her list, and we meet other students from all kinds of backgrounds as Priyanka works with them to get it just right: whether it’s lots of syllables or just a one or two with spellings she just can’t be sure of.

Honestly, a lot of adults would benefit from putting in the mahi that Priyanka does. There’s a tragedy to the shrugs of ‘yeah, that’s close enough’ or the ‘you can just call me the short version, it’s easier’ in a classroom. On the one hand, I can’t blame people for running out of fight, or not wanting to deal with the effort required to teach someone how to pronounce syllables that fall outside of another person’s known linguistic toolkit. But on the other hand, putting in the effort feels like the least one can do.

Honestly, a lot of adults would benefit from putting in the mahi that Priyanka does.

One of the characters in the book, Somachandra, represents that why bother trying, nobody else does mentality when he initially tells Priyanka, ‘People just call me Soma—why don’t you just use my nickname?’. But Priyanka perseveres and masters all nine syllables of his full name. Nobody is going to be left out of her plan—after all, as her friend Arihia’s kuia tells her, ‘there’s mana in a person’s name’.

I also like the fact that there’s a very Pākehā name included in Priyanka’s list of not-quite-sures. Because it’s both important for students of other cultures not to feel like it’s only their names that are ‘challenging’, but equally, there are plenty of Pākehā kids out there that have been through this experience – I’m one of them! At Year 12 prizegiving I was Bree-ah Lawry and at Year 13 prizegiving I was Briar Lao-ree. At least if you combine them you get my name read correctly…

My one main gripe is word count. The amount of text—especially given that it’s bilingual, so you get double the text blocks on each spread—is extreme. It makes the book feel more like an oversized reader than a picture book. The book does feel as though its not quite sure who the target age group is. In my experience, most kids books stick with protagonists around the same age as their target demographic. This is going to be too simple for most 10 year olds, and will be less relatable to younger readers due to the framing of the story around a primary school graduation.

It’s a shame, because it’s such an important concept. I’d love a pared down version— perhaps a younger student reading names at an assembly. Just a little more thought about who this book was going to serve would have really elevated it to something special.

I’m also not quite sold on some of the phonetic spellings of names. It’s quite odd that Ngārimu is presented as ‘Nah-REE-mu’ in English and ‘Ngā-RII-mu’ in Māori. ‘Nah’ and ‘ngā’ are definitely not the same sound, and I was quite surprised to see simplifying an ‘ng’ to ‘n’ in 2024.

But it’s still a deeply worthwhile book. I always love Isobel Te Aho-White’s illustrations –and she’s in as good form as ever here. The characters are thoughtfully designed, and I particularly love the weaving of different cultural patterns throughout the spreads, drawing the story along and reinforcing its message. Definitely one for the school library shelves.

Reviewed by Briar Lawry

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The Fantabulous Animal Orchestra, by Donovan Bixley

Donovan Bixley! What a fixture of modern Aotearoa children’s books! I could look up how many he has published but I suspect another colourful extravaganza would have popped up while I did my due diligence. The Fantabulous Animal Orchestra is as much of a visual feast as all that have gone before, full of detailed, effervescent critters of all colours and configurations.

It’s a great concept too—reminding us of what the world loses when animals become extinct. Slowly, different animals and their instruments disappear from the orchestra, leaving its sound hollow and empty until it’s just the human conductor left. And it’s doing something I love to see in picture books: educating the reader without knocking them over the head with an overly didactic approach. There’s a moment of ‘ahhh’ when you’re reading it as an adult, where you realise what’s going on. I presume it would take a little longer to click for kids, drawing out the conceit of the story.

…it’s doing something I love to see in picture books: educating the reader without knocking them over the head with an overly didactic approach.

So concept: tick. Illustrations, tick. His animals always hit a good sweet spot between cartoon-y pep and detail that leaves you no doubt as to which creatures are being depicted. Personal favourites in this book are the giant Pacific octopus and the flute-playing panda—but you’re spoiled for choice, really. There’s something interestingly insect-like about the conductor, a sort of monstrous Other-Mother-from-Coraline-esque quality to their proportions, which seems fair, given that they are the only human in a story that is ultimately an allegory for the impact humans have on the natural world.

Ticks all the way down, then? Almost. I will admit that I found the writing clunky at times. Rhyme is such a delicate art, and when deployed properly it’s magic, phrases lodging in your mind for the rest of time. But when it’s not quite there—or rather, the metre isn’t—it’s a stumbling block. I can certainly see the appeal for making use of sound devices in a book about music, about an orchestra. But such a story—especially when there’s a plot beat (sorry) about losing the drums and the beat first—needs to have metre that is (sorry again) tight as a drum. It’s not wildly off rhythm, but it’s enough to trip you up when reading aloud, and one of the repeated lines is a culprit. You can make it scan, but it doesn’t have that magic dancing flow on the first read through. But I’ll admit, years working in kids books combined with more recent years teaching iambs and anapests to teens make me extra particular when it comes to this facet of picture books.

On balance, I would still recommend the book. I love the message, I enjoy the illustrations and particularly appreciate the opportunity to take time to play a bit of I-Spy on each detailed spread, both with the animals and the instruments that they are playing. Perhaps just make sure you do a rehearsal read through to make sure you maintain your flow when in performance to your discerning young audience.

Reviewed by Briar Lawry

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The Hunt For The Whistle, illustrated by Scott Pearson

This special book is the result of a collaboration between Huia Publishers and Cleft New Zealand | Te Manatōpū Ngutu Riwha o Aotearoa. It has been in the pipeline for some years and so it’s very exciting to see it finally in print.

Unusually (and presumably because it has been a collaborative project), the book does not have an author. I’m guessing bookshops and libraries are going to file it under the illustrator, Scott Pearson, which is probably quite deserved because I think he’s done a great job. Illustrating a person with a cleft is a challenge because it’s quite a subtle physical feature, and I suspect that many families will appreciate the way Pearson has made a considerable effort to accurately represent a cleft within his own illustrative style, without it feeling overdone or too subtle.

The story follows Ollie and his new friend Āria on their search to find their football coach’s whistle (a joke, possibly, about the fact that many cleft-affected people find whistling quite hard). Ollie begins the story lacking confidence due to the fact that the other kids in his football team can’t understand him when he speaks (speech difficulties are common for cleft affected people too.) Āria, however, is an excellent listener, and applies her skill of listening to native birds to her conversations with Ollie. Together, the two of them follow a series of clues, and do end up finding the coach’s whistle. However their problem isn’t yet solved: Ollie also has to find the confidence to ask for the help of his teammates, and his teammates have to listen carefully to Ollie’s instructions, in order to snatch the whistle from its hiding place.

There are some lovely threads of teamwork, tolerance and friendship that lie underneath a story that has clearly been written to increase understanding of clefts and some of the associated challenges. The only thing that landed a bit oddly for me was that the illustrations and storyline seem to suggest characters much older than the normal picture book age of 4–8 years old. However I suspect that this wouldn’t bother a child reader, and there certainly isn’t anything that a younger reader wouldn’t understand.

The book has also been published in Te Reo Maori as Te Wīhara! Kimihia! Rapuhia! I’m looking forward to seeing this book in ECE centres and schools, which are likely to have little-to-no representation of cleft-affected characters in their libraries, but almost certainly going to have cleft-affected families pass through their doors at some point. Representation for the win!

Reviewed by Annelies Judson

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