Reviews
Mussed, chewed, torn, stained-no matter what condition this stuffed animal is in, it remains dearly loved. From the day he was born, a little unnamed boy has been inseparable from his stuffed Turtle. Now he's much older, and Turtle's a bit worse for the wear, having survived spaghetti sauce, a dog's savage attack, vomit and a brief period of abandonment in the park. Yet it's a fight with a friend who insists that Turtle's "a BABY thing!" that almost proves the ungendered toy's undoing. The boy attempts to go to bed without his childhood companion but finds himself unable to sleep. It takes his father's intervention to show him how even big boys need their beloved toys from time to time. Wrestling with the desire to be "big" against the equal need for comfort is a rite of passage many children can relate to. Freeman's images of the porkpie-hatted Turtle show the stuffed animal blessedly free of any emotions save his perpetually cheery smile. The wordless last image of the boy reunited with his friend while his mother fixes Turtle (yet again) will assuage many readers' fears. Though she breaks little new ground, Harris attacks a common childhood anxiety with her customary smarts and bracing lack of sentiment., "A stuffed turtle has been part of a boy's life since he was in utero-the title page shows his expectant parents opening up the gift in anticipation of the baby's arrival. And Turtle proves to be an enduring sidekick, offering comfort when the boy feels "lonely and sad" and taking in stride the slings, arrows, and stains of childhood (which include spaghetti and throw-up) because, as the owner notes, "when bad things happen, I always make sure that Turtle gets sewn up, washed up, fixed up-and is okay again." But one day, in the midst of a fight with a friend, Turtle is badly-maybe irreparably- ripped, and the boy's friend declares that Turtle is a "baby thing." Is she right? Harris and Freeman take an almost reportorial approach; the language is direct, and the images follow suit, most of them composed on a single plane with minimal background. And yet there is nothing prosaic in these pages-it's a book of poetic, plainspoken beauty, resonant with deeply felt emotions about attachment, loyalty, and growing up."- Publishers Weekly in a starred review, A stuffed turtle has been part of a boy's life since he was in utero-the title page shows his expectant parents opening up the gift in anticipation of the baby's arrival. And Turtle proves to be an enduring sidekick, offering comfort when the boy feels "lonely and sad" and taking in stride the slings, arrows, and stains of childhood (which include spaghetti and throw-up) because, as the owner notes, "when bad things happen, I always make sure that Turtle gets sewn up, washed up, fixed up-and is okay again." But one day, in the midst of a fight with a friend, Turtle is badly-maybe irreparably- ripped, and the boy's friend declares that Turtle is a "baby thing." Is she right? Harris and Freeman take an almost reportorial approach; the language is direct, and the images follow suit, most of them composed on a single plane with minimal background. And yet there is nothing prosaic in these pages-it's a book of poetic, plainspoken beauty, resonant with deeply felt emotions about attachment, loyalty, and growing up., With welcoming illustrations, Tor Freeman (Olive and the Big Secret) opens Turtle and Me with a pregnant mother hanging pictures and creating a loving space for her soon-to-be-born child. Robie H. Harris (Mail Harry to the Moon) celebrates the stories that our families tell us and the importance of that first inseparable stuffed animal or blankie. This reassuring picture book is told from the child's viewpoint and shares his impressions about growing up-some of which were stories told to him: "I met Turtle on the day I was born," says the boy. As Freeman depicts the child growing larger in relation to Turtle, Harris zeroes in on what happens between them, such as messes, rips, holes (even vomit), and that point when, perhaps, a friend challenges the child to give up this beloved object. Harris delves into the developmentally appropriate purpose for a transitional object (to help ease confusion, loneliness and fear for young ones), as well as the love between the narrator and Turtle, crafting a story full of wonderful words and comforting language. "But as soon as I snuggled up with my soft and cuddly Turtle, I didn't feel lonely or sad anymore," the boy says. Familiar childhood scenes allow readers to see themselves: eating birthday cake, playing at the park (and leaving Turtle behind) and being sick in bed. The narrator grows up, little by little, often with a hand or eye on Turtle, slowly growing beyond him-but not too fast. Discover: A love story about a transitional object that will reassure young readers through the boy narrator's connections and memories.
