THE SWEATER: A Story of Community

Some of the books i feature here are astonishing in their depth or scope, in the magnificence (I'm not exaggerating) of their text or illustrations. Many titles in many ways reveal less that is "new" but much that is conveyed in moving and original ways. 

VIKING PRESS, 2026

Then there are some picture books that simply strike chords of familiar, important, heart-touching elements in ways that deserve attention. Books that will become huggable favorites. Books that will be saved to read again and again, and then on into adulthood to a next generation. The SWEATER: A Story of Community strikes me as that kind of book. Written by Larissa Theule and illustrated by Teagan White, there is actually very little that seems extraordinary in this reader-friendly book. 

The author's narrative is direct and simple, but carries the weight of understanding:

"... a little bird stumbled into the thicket. It was plain to see he'd been though some things."

The storytelling allows readers to sense concern, potentially even risk, without feeling undo threat to worry. The little bird's discovery of a vacant hole in a tree could easily be the wrap to his part of the story. But empathy and awareness of the coming winter and the challenges to even healthy lives in the face of Mother Nature  leads the central character, Holly the raccoon, to express concern for the little bird to the others in the woods. Yes, you can guess that decisions are made, domino effects unfold, scraps of offerings are knit into whole resources. That, my friends, is a metaphor for community. The glory of this simple account is in both its familiarity and in the freshness of word and images. 

Click on illustrator White (above) to see that more sophisticated version of any of these illustrations were well within her talents. But from the simple line drawings on end papers to the colorful, warm-toned interiors, each character appears both anthropomorphized and also natural. The challenges faced are concerning without being terrifying, helping readers invest in the safety of all, not just the small bird. Even when it is "hunkering down"  time in the midst of a storm, the text and images offer reassurance of safety while suggesting connection, even while isolated for a time. Some aspect of those spreads reminded me of our lives during covid lock-down. No  matter how separate we were, there was a nearly universal striving to find ways to express our connections to others.

This book will appeal to most (I'd like to say ALL, but not everyone might find it as utterly memorable and treasured as I do). But I hope you'll give it a look to see for yourselves. There is sincerity and charm without being cloying or cutesy. The two-dimensional, stylized critters reside in a detailed space that is also somewhat flat, yet remains natural and somewhat magical. It's that "story time" tone that made me lift the relationships and characters from their specifics to think of them as any and all communities 

I am a fan of any picture book that is able to take what we all know to be an important (and therefore familiar) concept and make it fresh and memorable. I praised the efforts of Marsha Diane Arnold's ONE SMALL THING, HERE. If you missed it originally, I invite you to click and read about it as well. These two "animal character" stories display combined support, representing the power for even small efforts to unite and strengthen every member of the community. They would make remarkable side-by side readings. Those are reflections and discussions I'd welcome as often as possible, especially among young audiences.

ONE SMALL THING: The Power of Kindness

BEAMING BOOKS, 2023

 On this post-holiday, quiet weekend, I bring you a "quiet book" that emanates power and grace. ONE SMALL THING is written by Marsha Diane Arnold and illustrated by Laura Watkins. The quotation marks around "quiet book" are intentional, in that they are so often written by various folks in the picture book business (and it IS a business) in declining submissions (isn't that a kinder word choice than rejection?) that do not involve some frantic or antic actions. "Quiet books" don't sell as strongly as, say, a book about robots or superheroes or magic. And yet, a quiet book in the hands of a "STORYMAGICIAN",  as Arnold's website subheading rightly tags her, can transform lives. I know of no greater superpower than that.

This latest offering from Arnold is launched by a tragedy--  Raccoon's home has burned. The comfort begins immediately, first in knowing that Raccoon is safe, has  supportive friends, and pet Cricket escaped, although is now lost. 

This opening alone would have hooked me, since there were more than a few students in my teaching career, of many ages, who had survived such a trauma. The ultimate "it's not so bad" sense of comfort among friends features as an inadequate way many of us address the immediate and lasting pain and loss of such an event. Would "shelter" of any kind ever feel as safe as it once did? Would the loss of keepsakes and photos and... just the capacity to return to a place of memories... ever ease? As the rest of the community observed their friend recovering, would the impulse to comfort dissolve into daily duties, assuming the one who was traumatized would be as "good as new"?

This seemingly simple story opens with sunny endpapers, suggesting such a casually happy ending. Minimal but marvelous text reveals that those comforting friends are buzzing about this sad occurrence. Each "thank goodness" informs readers of reasons to be grateful despite the losses. They also reveal Raccoon's personality, how he loved living along the river, how his feet were  burned "a bit", and that "silly" cricket jumped away to safety but now no one knows where it is. Who has a pet cricket anyway? 

The illustrator informs us, too, that these are heartfelt words of comfort among friends who ache for Raccoon's loss, but quickly console themselves that all is well and they can return to their own lives. These very appealing and authentic, familiar woodland animals display expressions that  even the very young will recognize and empathize with throughout, another powerful touch that allows such a special book to reach audiences from preverbal to teens and beyond. They also represent the typical range of reactions among friends, from the practical problem-solvers, to the overly sensitive, to those who expect someone else to help, to those who feel helpless, to the grumbler who sees this all as unnecessary fussing. As an adult reader I've witnessed (and experienced) such reactions to tragedy, cringing at the thought that these generally result in nothing being done. 

And that is precisely how Arnold proceeds, allowing each character to return to daily life with no updates on Raccoon, at first. First, in fact, we observe a series of double spreads in which we join each friend in their own own homes/gardens, rich with detail and interests and habits that invite us to linger, to examine closely how the individual has found safety,  comfort, and shelter from a sometimes harsh world outside. Each, in their own way, realizes that they cannot "fix" Raccoon's situation but is able to offer ONE SMALL THING that might be welcomed. Only as those conclusions are reached does Beaver find Raccoon soaking his burned feet in the river, leading him to a new home where the collected friends and their SMALL THINGS are no longer ONE. In fact, such individual acts create a new ONE-ness among them that satisfies thoroughly.

I am purposely not providing details of such small things they chose, not only to avoid spoiling the story (that couldn't happen) but to allow readers to realize how truly SMALL those decisions were but how enormously powerful each decision and action proved to be. 

Most importantly, these combined small things, though unplanned efforts, gave an immeasurably large result. Or at least, as Badger admits, "It was a little something." Only as this gratifying ending occurred and I closed the back cover did I realize that those end papers were not exactly "sunny". Such losses and pain are never gone from us. They are, in fact, revealed in the glow of the day that shows on the cover. I imagined that was the dawn of the day of the tragedy. Iinstead, after seeing the expressions of the friends and the lingering longing of Raccoon, I think those endpapers reflect a blend of dusk with honey and butter and safety and comfort, all of which wrap around a community to offer hope. 

Arnold has proven herself worthy of that STORYMAGICIAN title, as I observed in reviews of LIGHTS OUT, HERE, and LOST AND FOUND, HERE. Each is, in fact, a "quiet book", a blend of story and format and visual narrative that resonates at first reading, calls for return readings, echoing throughout succeeding days and years. My recent move is into an area that has very bright street lights, one of which is outside my living space. I noted that it is using energy-smart bulbs, but not before I noted that the fixtures are designed to cast light down to the streets, blocking it from lighting the sky. I'm aware of DARK SKY activists, and was concerned before reading LIGHTS OUT. Even so, my notice of that  fixture design led me to remember those animals and their journey with a smile on their behalf. Now that's power. 

Do one small thing, please. Begin by finding and reading this book. Then share it with someone. Then carry it forward in your mind and heart, turning kind thoughts and worry into actions for those in need, whether friend or stranger. KINDNESS is not a concept, it is verb.And it is NOT a small thing.