A Short Shelf of Tall Tales

By Stefan Kanfer

A Short Shelf of Tall Tales Fifteen volumes appeal to the senses of humor and wonder

I left the fairy tales lying on the floor I of the nursery," wrote G.K. Chesterton, "and I have not found any books so sensible since." Graham Greene put it another way: "The influence of early books is profound. So much of the future lies on the shelves."

Those shelves are now crowded with volumes ostensibly aimed at the future but in fact trained on another target: the wallets of large people with small children in mind. This year, as before, only a handful of juvenalia is worth a second look. Yet that look can last a lifetime:

The Philharmonic Gets Dressed (Harper & Row; $10.50) is one of those rare collaborations to which the word classic instantly adheres. Karla Kuskin, author of 27 exemplary children's books, had an inspired idea: Why not follow an orchestra as it prepares for performance, not in the pit, but two hours ahead of time? Flutists and cellists, horn players and harpists, men and women climb in and out of tubs and showers, underwear and outerwear, cabs and buses, on their way to the place where, at the finale, they make the most beautiful music this side of Carnegie Hall. Under the baton of Illustrator Marc Simont, every player is treated as an individual and set wittily on the pages like notes on a staff of Mozartean melody.

Chuck Jones is a newcomer to the juvenile genre, but in his field, cartoon animation, he is second only to Disney. Here, Jones has abandoned Bugs Bunny and Roadrunner for Rikki-tikki-tavi and The White Seal (Ideals; $4.95 each). Part of the success of these slim volumes lies in Jones' choice of collaborator: a spellbinder named Rudyard Kipling, who spins haunting yarns of a cobra-slaying mongoose and an arctic mammal growing from naive pup to leader of the pack. But most of the credit must go to the illustrator-magician who makes 90-year-old stories as immediate as the dreams of youth.

"We all talked the hunches over,/ up and down and through and through./ We argued and we barg-ued!/ We decided what to do." The jingling verse of Hunches in Bunches (Random House; $5.95) could come only from the prescription pad of Dr. Seuss (a.k.a. Theodor Geisel). At 78, Geisel retains his unique ability to wrap a concept in clothing. This time he portrays hunches, tempting the indecisive protagonist away from his homework. The good doctor is an eye-and-ear specialist; his infectious rhymes are meant to be read aloud.

The pop-up is a hybrid: part book, part toy. In The Dwindling Party (Random House; $8.95), Edward Gorey's gothic farce matches the designs of his kidnaping bats and boat-swallowing moats. The very young may not get some of the puns at Hickyacket Hall, but the MacFizzet family, who disappear when the readers pull various tabs, provide hours of amusement even for children who have not yet worked their way to z.

The fox is synonymous with cunning in tales as far apart as Aesop's and Thurber's. But what is the animal really like? Margaret Lane's The Fox (Dial; $9.95) is a documentary, full of facts and insights, demonstrating that the animal lives up (and down) to its reputation. As the author discloses the secret life of Reynard, she scatters some surprises: dogs probably kill more sheep than foxes do; foxes are secret suburbanites, sharing the contents of the garbage can with raccoons. Kenneth Lilly illuminates the manuscript with meticulously detailed closeups accurate to the last, wicked grin.

The fox as pure villain is on display in Doctor De Soto (Farrar, Straus & Giroux; $11.95). William Steig is a septuagenarian whose stories seem to grow younger with every effort. In his newest book, he follows the adventures of an altruistic mouse dentist, Dr. De Soto, who accepts a highly dangerous and extremely toothy patient. The fox, acting timid, tries to outmouse Dr. De Soto. But the rodent soon outfoxes the patient by employing a bit of orthodontia. The heroics should reassure anyone due for a six-month checkup or a set of braces.

When he is not cartooning for The New Yorker, James Stevenson draws for children: nine of his own, plus the thousands of Stevensonians who fell in love with more than a dozen previous books. For The Baby Uggs Are Hatching (Greenwillow; $9.50) he adds a dash of Lear to Jack Prelutsky's hilarious nonsense verse about the Sneepies ("... lying in a pile,/ are still and silent all the while./ They stay beside my underwear .../ I wonder why they like it there."), the Smasheroo, the Dreary Dreeze, the Flotterzott and other beings unmentioned by zoologists but familiar to any child in a darkened room.

Black American folklore is the source of Margot Zemach's Jake and Honeybunch Go to Heaven (Farrar, Straus & Giroux; $13.95). Jake, a laborer, lives near a town appropriately called Hard Times. Honeybunch is a mule, with a disposition that belies her name. One evening the pair run into a freight train and wind up on the Glory Road to the Pearly Gates. Zemach's mural-like paintings create a midnight world of green pastures, good food and celestial jazz. After the requisite tantrum, even Honeybunch sees the light: the brilliance of the moon and all the stars that Jake hangs up every night for even the poorest sharecroppers--and the smallest readers--to enjoy.

The tale of moral instruction is making a comeback. Exhibit A: Help! Let Me Out! (Houghton Mifflin; $8.95). In this psychological fantasy, Hugo learns to throw his voice. The disembodied sound has a life of its own, like Gogol's nose, appearing on the moon, at the circus and even at school, where it spouts wisdom like "Alaska is the President of Brazil." David Lord Porter's whimsical prose and David Macaulay's antic drawings combine to sustain an air of credible lunacy to the indisputable punch line: "Be careful what you throw away. You might want it back, one day."

"The characters took the bit in their teeth; all at once they became detached from the flat paper, they turned their backs on me and walked off bodily." The speaker is Robert Louis Stevenson; the story is Kidnapped (Scribners; $17.95). As young David Balfour seeks his rightful inheritance in the Scottish Highlands, his adventures indeed assume a sudden verve. Like last year's Treasure Island, this reprint is an ideal restoration. Most of the rare and splendid illustrations by N.C. Wyeth are not copies from the first edition; they have been brilliantly reproduced from the original paintings.

In a time beyond history, on two rock-bound islands, live The Sea People (Schocken; $14.95). The Greater Island is ruled by a king, the Lesser one by an old, blind oracle. Peace reigns until the king decides to move a red sunstone. Once the rock is disturbed, the Sea People experience an absolute shower of gold. But absolute shower corrupts absolutely, and soon the islands are threatened by pride and avarice. Only the old man's wisdom can rescue them from themselves ... This familiar tale is saved from banality by the panoramic artwork of Jorg Muller and Jorg Steiner. Gull's-eye views of the islands seem three-dimensional, and the huge pictures of ancient machinery and people have a Shakespearean sweep. "He always worked a triple-hinged surprise/ To end the scene and make one rub his eyes." So wrote Poet Vachel Lindsay about the master of the trick ending, O. Henry. None of his stories has received more notice than The Gift of the Magi (Neugebauer; $11.95); none is more appropriate to the season. As Christmas approaches, a young bride with long, luxuriant hair sells her locks to buy a watch fob for her husband. He, meanwhile, has pawned his timepiece to purchase a set of combs. Lisbeth Zwerger's biting line and soft, evocative palette illuminate the characters with an aura of a gaslit nobility, and burnish an antique until it shines. With two previous books, The Garden of Abdul Gasazi and last year's Jumanji, Chris Van Allsburg has become the reigning master of black-and-white illustration. In his third work, Ben's Dream (Houghton Mifflin; $8.95), the pictorial style far outdistances the story. Ben falls asleep and abruptly finds himself awash in a second flood. Only the tops of things show: the head and shoulders of the Statue of Liberty, the tip of Big Ben, the peak of Mount Rushmore, where the bust of George Washington finally wakes the boy up. Reading this dream is a little like watching a musical and whistling the scenery. Van Allsburg's narrative is a device worn with overuse. But the drawings are the stuff of collectors'items: representations of what the world would look like if it ever rained again for 40 days and 40 nights.

Flood II also seeps through Squid & Spider (Prentice-Hall; $10.95). Guy Billout imagines the passenger list for a new ark: 800,000 insects; 8,580 birds; 6,000 reptiles. On the way, he renders the fauna with his dazzling high-tech style. The text brims with trivia guaranteed to hypnotize the young: crocodiles swallow stones to aid digestion; giraffes give birth standing up; the sperm whale can hold its breath for an hour. No illustration is more comically apropos than the one of St. Nicholas pulled by a sole reindeer. As wolves pursue his sleigh, Santa diverts them by tossing wrapped packages overboard. After all, even predators deserve happy holidays.

--By Stefan Kanfer

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