(++++) A BETTER TIME AT THE “OFFICE”

Microsoft Office 2007. Windows XP or Vista only. Home and Student, $149 with three-PC license. Standard, $399 ($239 to upgrade). Small Business, $449 ($279 to upgrade). Professional, $499 ($329 to upgrade).

      The new version of Microsoft Office – known both as Office 12 and, more formally, as Office 2007 – is barely making its way into business and consumer hands, and that slow adoption may be a good thing. It is a much better product in many (but not all) ways than its predecessors, the last of which was Office 2003. But its best qualities lie in its differences from earlier versions – and they take some getting used to.

      The two biggest things Microsoft did here involve the interface (which all users will notice immediately) and the document format (which will affect all users even though it may not be as immediately noticeable). Smaller elements are almost equally important – a much-improved graphics engine for PowerPoint slides and Excel graphs, for example. But it is the interface change that users will notice first.

The new interface for Word, Excel, PowerPoint and Access does away with the now-familiar menus and toolbars and instead presents users with a large rectangle called the Ribbon. This has lots of clearly drawn and well-labeled icons that are context-sensitive – they change depending on what you are doing. And, in a particularly neat touch, the more-important tasks in each context get larger icons. (One oddity of this update is that the new interface appears in sub-windows in Outlook 2007, but not in the main window – a neither-here-nor-there solution that is increasingly distressing as users get more comfortable with the Ribbon arrangement elsewhere.)

The Home tab of the Ribbon includes the most commonly used commands, and for many users will be the only place they need to go. This is a tremendous improvement: people who use Office primarily for fairly straightforward tasks will not be bothered by the hundreds of options and capabilities in each program. But those who want to perform more-complex tasks get increasingly advanced options as the Ribbon changes according to what they are doing. This is the first version of Office that is equally accommodating for beginning users and sophisticated ones.

The Ribbon expands horizontally only – it does not get taller, interfering with usable screen area. And it is not the only way to get things done: there is also a neat little Quick Access Toolbar, a small strip of little icons in the upper left of the application window. This toolbar automatically includes a few basic commands, and you can add more to it – if you typically use only a few commands, you could put them all in this toolbar and use the Ribbon only for occasional, more-complex projects. Another plus for non-Ribbon fanciers: keyboard commands from older versions of Office still work.

But for most people, the Ribbon will be the way into Office – an entirely new way that will be much easier then the old toolbar/menu approach after a short period of adjustment.

As for what comes out of this new Office suite: Word, Excel and PowerPoint now use a format called OpenXML, a language similar to HTML. This new format basically puts documents into multiple containers and zips them together – for example, a Word document has separate storage for the text and the formatting. This makes documents smaller and can make recovery of components easier. It also improves interoperability – an increasingly important concept for worldwide computer use, and a sign that Microsoft is serious about moving aggressively into a Web-based strategy for the future (and before anyone cries foul about Microsoft attempting to take over the Web world: OpenXML has been certified as an open, which means non-proprietary, standard).

Incidentally (perhaps not incidentally for some users), OpenXML cannot be read by older versions of Office and Office-compatible software unless you download a free translator. You can override OpenXML storage, however, by changing the default format of Office 2007 to a standard called “97-2003.” This can be helpful if you regularly share files with people who do not use Office 2007.

A few notes on specific programs within Microsoft Office 2007: Word 2007 uses the same art and charting features as other applications, makes it possible (with a free download) to save documents as PDFs or in XPS format, simplifies side-by-side comparison of two versions of the same document, and includes a blog posting feature that works with Windows Live Spaces, Blogger and other blogging services. Excel 2007’s charting and table features are much improved and can now be shared with Word and PowerPoint, and Excel spreadsheets can now be much larger (up to 1,000,000 rows and 16,000 columns, which in the real world is over-engineering to the point of ridiculousness). PowerPoint 2007 has much better default themes and simpler ways to add better-looking-than-ever charts, graphics and 3D effects. Access 2007 gets the full Ribbon treatment and as a result is far easier to use than ever – the Ribbon is a huge help when working in a relational-database structure. Publisher 2007 has better templates and improved exporting capability, including PDF and XPS.

Outlook 2007 is the big disappointment here. It’s not just that its Ribbon use is only partial and half-hearted. It finally supports RSS feeds, but setup is awkward, and the whole program looks more cluttered than ever. Outlook is due (overdue, in fact) for a major overhaul – or replacement.

If you’re planning to replace an older version of Office (or certain other “qualifying programs”) with Microsoft Office 2007, you are entitled to lower “upgrade” pricing on whatever new version you choose – except Home and Student, which replaces Student and Teacher Edition 2003. Look up the exact contents of each version carefully before picking one – the options are confusing, and become even more so if you buy a new computer with Office 2007 preinstalled. That will give you a “Basic” version, which you cannot buy on your own and which contains only Word, Excel and Outlook – forcing you to buy additional programs individually if you want them. The pricing messiness and inattention to Outlook 2007 are the big negatives in Microsoft Office 2007. They are far outweighed by the many positives in this, the best version ever of this venerable and deservedly popular suite.

(++++) COLLECTIBLES WORTH COLLECTING

Vivaldi: Complete Bassoon Concertos, Volume 4. Tamás Benkócs, bassoon; Béla Drahos conducting the Nicolaus Esterházy Sinfonia. Naxos. $8.99.

Sousa: Music for Wind Band, Volume 6. Keith Brion conducting the Royal Artillery Band. Naxos. $8.99.

      Neither of these new releases is labeled “for collectors only,” but both might as well be. It is highly unlikely that the casual listener will pick up one of these CDs out of a strong desire to hear, say, Vivaldi’s C Major Concerto, RV 470, or Sousa’s Three Quotations. No, these recordings are aimed squarely at people who seek completeness – in one case, all 37 finished Vivaldi bassoon concertos (there are also two fragments); in the other, all 200-plus works by America’s March King.

      There is nothing in particular to distinguish the bassoon concertos on the fourth CD of the Vivaldi series from those on the earlier three. In fact, because of a labeling error, the CD actually bears the number “3” instead of “4,” although it does contain the fourth volume’s music. Vivaldi was the master of the formulaic three-movement concerto, and he wrote them at a prodigious rate, partly from inspiration and partly because he was under contract. He wrote more concertos for the violin than for any other instrument, but his production for the bassoon was also substantial, for unknown reasons. Bassoons were actually more widely used in Vivaldi’s time than they are today, but that was because they were continuo instruments with parts that were usually not written out. The creation of more than three dozen concertos for the instrument is one of the mysteries of Vivaldi’s life.

Tamás Benkócs plays every concerto with style and understanding, and the accompaniment by Béla Drahos and the Nicolaus Esterházy Sinfonia is uniformly excellent. The pieces do tend to blend into one another, but there are some standout movements on this CD. The D Minor Concerto, RV 481 – one of only two that Vivaldi wrote in this key – has a particularly intense first movement, with fast bassoon figurations. The one in A Minor, RV 499 – there are four in this key – is less intense, featuring a second movement with dotted bassoon rhythms against sustained string chords, and a third movement that the bassoon itself starts. The four other concertos here are in major keys. Two are in C Major – Vivaldi wrote 14 in that key. The first movement of RV 477 gives the bassoon lots of highs, lows and bubbling runs, while the Largo is virtually a solo, being for bassoon and continuo only; RV 470 features unexpected pauses in the first movement, in a style that would later be considered Haydnesque, and has an unusually heartfelt Larghetto. Also here is an F Major work, RV 485 – one of seven in this key – featuring string flourishes and bassoon acrobatics in the finale; and a G Major concerto, RV 494 – one of three in this key – with interesting descending figures in the first movement and imitative entries in the Largo.

Like Vivaldi, John Philip Sousa is sometimes thought of as a formulaic composer, but in Sousa’s case, that is a mistake born of hearing only a small percentage of his music. He wrote much more than marches, and many more marches than the few that are played and replayed today. In fact, of the 15 tracks of music on Keith Brion’s latest excellent presentation of Sousa’s works, only seven are what we think of as “Sousa marches” – and only two of those are well known: The Liberty Bell (1893) and The Gladiator (1886), both of which give the Royal Artillery Band plenty of chances to sound forth with drama and enthusiasm. Other marches here are more pedestrian: Dauntless Battalion (1922), The Federal (1910) and The Picador (1889). But two less-known marches turn out to be gems: The Gridiron Club (1926), which has panache as well as jauntiness, and New Mexico (1928), which includes Spanish and Indian themes and orchestral touches.

Even more interesting, though, are the works on this CD that are not marches. Easter Monday on the White House Lawn (1929) is a bouncy bit of ragtime that Sousa wrote as a new finale for his Tales of a Traveler suite. The sextet from The Bride Elect (1897) is rather reserved and operetta-like, and does in fact come from a Sousa operetta. Three Quotations (1895) is a set of three pieces, the first a sort-of-march with sarcastic overtones; the second quiet and gentle; the third syncopated and highly rhythmic. The La Reine de la Mer Waltzes (1886) are stylish ventures in three-quarter time. And The Chariot Race (1890) is a remarkable piece that sounds partly like film music (nearly 70 years before the dramatic race in the most famous version of Ben-Hur), partly like impressions of a fast-moving train, and partly like a thunderstorm.

And there is also a funeral march – one type of march not typically associated with the March King. One of Sousa’s most serous pieces of music, The Golden Star (1919) includes “Taps” in the middle, runs twice as long as many of the composer’s upbeat marches, and shows a side of him that is very rarely displayed. Sousa collectors will welcome the insight into this facet of the composer, just as Vivaldi collectors will enjoy the individual highlights of bassoon concertos inevitably structured in the same fast-slow-fast form.

(++++) JUST IMAGINE....

Alligator Boy. By Cynthia Rylant. Illustrated by Diane Goode. Harcourt. $16.

Imagine Harry. By Kate and M. Sarah Klise. Harcourt. $16.

      You can be what you want to be, and do what you want to do, if you only imagine hard enough. That’s the message of both these books – in very different ways.

      Alligator Boy is a straightforward story of a boy who “was tired of being a boy” and wants to be something else – so an “auntie who lived in a faraway land” helps him out by sending an alligator head and tail. Donning the costume, the boy becomes an alligator (still with a boy’s middle, though) who has to be seen by a vet rather than a doctor but whose parents both still love him, feed him and teach him to spell. The little alligator goes to school, uses his fearsome roar to face down the local bully, and has a grand time: “He spelled and he sang from his very long snout,” for example. There is no transformation back to boy here – Cynthia Rylant ends by writing, “What a good green life for an alligator boy,” and Diane Goode shows him sitting in his mother’s lap, comfortable and sleepy (or perhaps actually asleep). Goode’s illustrations, with the boy and other characters standing out against plain white page backgrounds, are a big part of this book’s charm, while Rylant’s message that it’s fine (and fun) to be just what you want to be is charming in its own way – although Rylant at one point incorrectly refers to an alligator as a lizard. (Quick! Call a herpetologist!) There is an implicit message that the boy will stay a make-believe alligator for only so long – but the explicit one, that it’s fine for him to be an alligator as long as he likes, is the one that children will especially enjoy.

      The “as long as he likes” theme is the central one of Imagine Harry, a clever and thoughtful book by Kate and M. Sarah Klise, who are responsible for the deliciously irresponsible Regarding the… books. Imagine Harry is about a young child’s need for an imaginary friend (Imagine Harry = “imaginary”). Little Rabbit has a great time with Harry, whom only he can see. They play in the snow in winter, roll in the grass in spring, swim in summer, climb trees, eat together, and more – just as best friends always do. Mother Rabbit, who is as tolerant as Alligator Boy’s parents, goes along when Little Rabbit stays up late because Harry wants to, or does not want his hair washed because Harry doesn’t want his hair washed. Although sometimes frustrated – as when Little Rabbit refuses a vegetable because Harry doesn’t like it – Mother Rabbit mostly accepts Harry as part of the family. And a good thing, too, because after Little Rabbit starts school in the fall, with Harry coming along and sitting quietly in the same seat, Little Rabbit himself gradually starts separating from his imaginary playmate. Harry stays in the classroom at lunchtime, takes a nap while Little Rabbit goes to a music class, and is simply not there during an ice-skating party. After a while, “Little Rabbit was startled to realize that he hadn’t seen Harry in weeks,” and he tells Mother Rabbit that Harry moved away. Mother Rabbit says Harry can visit anytime, but the time never comes – readers will realize, as Little Rabbit does not, that Little Rabbit has outgrown Harry. There is a touching, wistful ending in which Little Rabbit thinks fondly of Harry – a teachable moment, courtesy of the Klise sisters, for parents whose young children are just learning to separate from their own invisible best friends.

(++++) BUT SERIES-OUSLY, FOLKS

Junie B., First Grader: Dumb Bunny. By Barbara Park. Illustrated by Denise Brunkus. Random House. $11.99.

Duck, Duck, Goose. By Tad Hills. Schwartz & Wade. $15.99.

      Some series hit their stride quickly; others take a while. The ever-so-long-lasting tales of Junie B. Jones – 17 about her as a kindergartner and 10 about her in first grade, including this brand-new volume – are staying funny; but they are showing more character development, and indeed more character, the longer Barbara Park spends writing them. Denise Brunkus’ illustrations have been top-notch from the very start, and continue to be a major attraction of the books: check out Junie B.’s expression in the picture showing her with her hand in a bag of jellybeans, or simply on the cover of the latest book, to see why. But Park’s plotting is steadily improving. Now Junie B. is not just a pile of insecurities and jealousies – she is a pile of insecurities, jealousies and do-the-right-thing impulses. That makes a difference. The latest book starts with Junie B. in trouble because she calls her perpetual enemy, May, a “dumb bunny,” and then she thinks about May as a dumb bunny – “loudly” enough so May complains to their teacher, Mr. Scary, and everyone gets in varying degrees of trouble. That’s a standard-issue Junie B. scene. But as the book develops – the plot involves an Easter party at the huge home of rich Lucille – Junie B. develops with it. The way she ends up in an Easter Bunny costume is funny, and the way she handles the egg hunt is funnier still. But the way she eventually does a good deed for a friend, while getting back at May at the same time, is genuinely clever. As Junie B.’s original fans get older, the character is developing along with them – a very nice touch indeed on Park’s part.

      Duck, Duck, Goose is really the start of a series: it is the sequel to Tad Hills’ wonderful Duck & Goose, and it points the way toward additional volumes in the future. Duck & Goose was a funny and touching friendship story. Duck, Duck, Goose puts the friendship to the test by introducing a third, very pushy character named Thistle. Hills makes all his characters look endearing, but Thistle is cutest of all – in appearance. She is also hyper-competitive and very demanding. She turns all the relaxing, easygoing time that Duck and Goose usually spend together into win-or-lose situations. Goose is happy when a butterfly lands on his head, so Thistle first asks if it was a moth and then says she once had three butterflies on her head. She insists on doing math problems while splashing Goose, and demands a breath-holding contest, and leads a race to the top of the hill – and after a while, Goose has had enough and goes off to, quite literally, smell the flowers for a while. Duck realizes that he misses quiet time with Goose, and the two reconnect – only to be interrupted again by the ever-pushy Thistle. But this time Duck and Goose find a way – a kind way – to have some “alone time” while letting Thistle win yet another competition. It is a clever solution to a problem that many young friends face when someone new intrudes. Even more important, it is a gentle solution, leaving open the possibility that Thistle will become mellower. Perhaps in Hills’ next book?

(++++) REAL AND UNREAL COMIC-STRIP WORLDS

Da Brudderhood of Zeeba Zeeba Eata: A “Pearls Before Swine” Collection. By Stephan Pastis. Andrews McMeel. $10.95.

Teaching … Is a Learning Experience: A “For Better or For Worse” Collection. By Lynn Johnston. Andrews McMeel. $12.95.

      The future of the comics pages lies more with Stephan Pastis than with Lynn Johnston – and that would seem to be fine with both of them. Pastis’ often death-obsessed and increasingly bizarre Pearls Before Swine is just hitting its stride as a consistently funny, weird look at the oddities of the lives of completely unbelievable characters about whom it is actually becoming possible to care now and then. Johnston’s true-to-life tales of the Patterson family and the people in its orbit are as beautifully told and attractively drawn as ever, but Johnston has announced that she will be winding the strip down in the not-too-distant future, stopping its forward motion and turning it more into the reminiscences of characters of whom readers have grown tremendously fond over the past quarter-century.

The new collections of these strips showcase the cartoonists’ current status very well indeed, and point the way toward what they will be doing in the future. The title of Da Brudderhood of Zeeba Zeeba Eata refers to the fraternity-like house of Pastis’ increasingly prominent crocodile characters, whose indeterminate accent has them speaking da way da title soundz while endlessly and unsuccessfully pursuing Zebra, their neighbor, as prey. But the book itself is as unfocused as Pastis always is – or rather is focused in as many different directions as usual. Pig wears a giant oven mitt to protect his easily hurt feelings; after he agrees to take it off, he starts worrying that other giant cooking utensils are after him; so Rat, as snide and unhelpful as ever, sneaks up on him disguised as an oversize spatula. Rat also invents “biscuits for id’yits” to throw at people; a crocodile offers to wear a ribbon supporting Zebra’s mourning for lives cut short by predators – but turns out to be the predator who cut them short; Pastis’ continuing delight in terrible puns has the characters periodically decide that they really ought to leave for a better comic strip; and there are cameo appearances by a variety of characters, many of them short-lived: Six-Inch Susie, Charles Darwin, Mister Peanut, a bearded member of Greenpeace, Carmen Mirandawarning (there go those puns again), and many more. Pastis manages to keep his core characters in character while allowing the strip to venture into total absurdity and unpredictability often enough to keep it constantly interesting. Not bad for a guy who calls a pig Pig, a rat Rat, a zebra Zebra, and so on.

      The contrast could not be greater between Pastis’ stick-figure characters and Lynn Johnston’s realistically drawn, fully fleshed-out ones. The latest Johnston collection, Teaching…Is a Learning Experience, has something of the feeling of a retrospective, even though For Better or For Worse is at this point continuing to move forward through time. The reason is the book’s greater-than-usual length (144 pages instead of 128) and its extensive use of color: there is lots of it here, at least as much as would usually appear in an oversize “Treasury” collection – but this is a standard-size Andrews McMeel assemblage of strips. Johnston is clearly getting more than the usual amount of attention, and she has certainly earned it. One color Sunday sequence, in which John and Elly Patterson argue about how to load the dishwasher, neatly encapsulates the worldview of Johnston’s strip: “In this world of confusion and chaos,” says John, “aren’t we lucky to be having an argument about something so trivial!” But this is not to say that the strip’s concerns are trivial – they are anything but. Michael, wife Deanna and their two kids face realistic moving and settling-in difficulties; Grandpa Jim adjusts to decreased mobility; John and Elly go car shopping; Elizabeth contends with her cat and with leaving her teaching job in Canada’s far north; and much more. Bland descriptions of the events make them sound mundane, but Johnston’s skill takes them beyond the ordinary, making them touching and amusing by turns (or at the same time), and helping readers see their own everyday lives as interesting. That’s quite a gift to give people. It’s remarkable that Johnston has continued giving it for more than two decades – and will continue doing so, in one form or another, for some time to come.

(++++) THROUGH PREGNANCY AND BEYOND

Moments and Milestones Pregnancy Journal: A Week-by-Week Companion. By Jennifer Leigh Youngs and Bettie B. Youngs, Ph.D., Ed.D. AMACOM. $19.95.

Black & White. By Tana Hoban. Greenwillow/HarperCollins. $7.99.

      A spiral-bound, open-flat journal packed with ideas, suggestions and genuinely thoughtful concepts, and with plenty of chances for a woman to write down her own thoughts, hopes and worries, Moments and Milestones Pregnancy Journal is a pleasant and sensitive companion for a mother-to-be during those so-important nine months. Or about seven months, actually, since women rarely, if ever, know they are pregnant as soon as conception occurs. One of the attractions of this journal is that it addresses such realities directly. In Week 3, called “The Miracle Begins,” Jennifer and Bettie Youngs write, “Most likely, you’re reading this entry when you’re several weeks along in your pregnancy. So reading this entry in your journal is about thinking back and trying to remember the details about the week of this awesome moment. What day did conception occur? Were there any significant events going on in your life? As much as you can, recall all the important events of that week, so you can memorialize and celebrate this milestone in your life.” Week 4 contains similar sentiments – “Think about ways in which you were creating a nurturing environment for your baby, even though you did not yet know you were expecting” – along with suggestions about positive steps to take now: “Perhaps you need to reduce the stress in your life, to spend less time at work, or to mend a relationship.” The introductory material for each week quickly gives way to “BodyWise” and “SoulWise” sections, in which a mother-to-be is encouraged to write down her feelings and concerns. For example, “SoulWise” in Week 9 asks, “What are my hopes for this baby? Will I love my child and know that she is a blessing in my life no matter what?” In Week 15, “BodyWise” asks, “Has anyone else commented on the changes they’ve seen in me? What was the nicest thing someone said?” The well-chosen questions and honest commentary (“announcing your pregnant state can be disheartening to the woman who has struggled with infertility”) make this a real-world pregnancy journal as well as one that a woman can fill with private thoughts. About its only flaw is that there are only a few lines given in which to answer each question the authors pose – be prepared to write more than that and fill the pages with Post-It notes or taped-in scraps (or pages) of paper.

      After a baby is born, but before he or she is old enough to enjoy regular books, it can be hard to find interesting and stimulating items to keep his or her developing mind occupied. One excellent option is Tana Hoban’s Black & White, which is done just as the title says: entirely in black and white (color perception is poor in newborns). The book is structured as an accordion foldout, whose 14 panels show objects with which an infant will become increasingly familiar: keys, bottle, bird, buttons and more. Half the pictures – which are done in silhouette style, without detail and without any writing – are white on black, and half are black on white. The book is super-sturdy and can easily be set up in a crib, the foldout configured different ways at different times so baby focuses on different things to see. It is also super-safe: its rounded edges and complete absence of glue, staples or anything potentially harmful are big pluses – it closes book-style with a small circle of Velcro. Appropriate for newborns up to age two, Black & White is an excellent introduction to the world into which babies come after those nine months of parental anticipation.

(+++) NONFICTIONAL TRAVEL

My Life as a Furry Red Monster: What Being Elmo Has Taught Me about Life, Love, and Laughing Out Loud. By Kevin Clash, with Gary Brozek. Broadway Books. $19.95.

Capital! Washington D.C. from A to Z. By Laura Krauss Melmed. Illustrated by Frané Lessac. Collins. $6.99.

      One of the wonderful things about books is the places they can take you. In the case of books for children, they can take young readers to lands never before seen or imagined – or can bring faraway parts of the world closer – or can provide insight into something that only seems to be familiar because it appears so often on television.

      The difficulty with the generally endearing My Life as a Furry Red Monster is that it is never clear whether children or adults are Kevin Clash’s book audience. Based on the title and much of the writing style (a style that is perhaps Gary Brozek’s rather than Clash’s), this seems a book written for adults. But then it would be for adults who have the very small children who are Elmo’s greatest fans – and do those adults really want all the background detail here? As for kids, will the behind-the-scenes discussions of how Clash became the manipulator of the Elmo Muppet, and of his interaction with others involved in Sesame Street, really be interesting? The book reads like a work in search of an audience.

      It does have its pleasures, though, with Clash bringing in Elmo references as often as possible – his mother, for example, “gave love generously, just the way Elmo does.” There are occasional almost-gritty scenes: Clash’s brother, George Jr., had “a willfulness and devil-may-care attitude that got him into hot water more than once,” including with alcohol. Clash is careful, though, to make this tale funny and uplifting: George passed out once at a party, but a particularly strong neighborhood girl, who “was over the moon pining” for him, “simply hefted him over her shoulder and carried him across the rain-slick fields and streets of our neighborhood to get him back to our house, managing to keep George’s beloved suit spotless.” Even societal troubles get a nonthreatening turn, as when the family, driving in Baltimore during the 1968 race riots there, hears a loud and threatening popping sound – which turns out to be a cork popping out of a champagne bottle rolling around in the car.

      For most readers – whoever they may be – Clash’s words about Elmo are likely to be the most interesting. “Each time I put Elmo on my arm, I am drawing on the completely unconditional and nearly mystical connection I feel with my daughter,” he says. He talks about being six-foot-one and getting down to kids’ level so they can relate directly to Elmo. He discusses Elmo’s highly physical displays of affection and how they have to be modified, depending on whether a given child is hyper-enthusiastic or shy and withdrawn. And he takes readers backstage at Sesame Street, explaining how the lines between reality and make-believe are blurred for sections such as “Elmo’s World.” Clash comes across as a personable and committed actor and interpreter – but it remains unclear just whom the book is targeting.

      Capital! – originally published in 2003 and now available in paperback – is much clearer in its intentions: it is a child’s guide to Washington, D.C., and to the “inspirational sites” and “places of solemn importance” in it. Laura Krauss Melmed, who lives in the city, offers a brief introductory poem about each site (Bureau of Engraving and Printing, Embassy Row, Gallaudet University, Holocaust Memorial Museum – on the page facing the Islamic Center – and many more), plus small-print information on each location she profiles. The Jefferson Memorial gets quotations from Jefferson, such as, “I hold it, that a little rebellion, now and then, is a good thing.” The Pentagon page explains that 26,000 people work along its 17.5 miles of hallways. The Kennedy Center presentation notes that an eight-foot bronze bust of President Kennedy looks over the Grand Foyer. The alphabet motif gets a little strained – Q is “Q Street” in the Georgetown area, and X, Y and Z are all used in connection with the National Zoo (and specifically with the Amazonia exhibit, which is cheating…a little). But the overview of places within the nation’s capital is mostly pleasant. The gouache-paint illustrations by Frané Lessac are less so: not quite cartoonish, not quite realistic, they are interesting enough but not particularly striking. Still, for kids who have not been to Washington, D.C., Capital! may be a sufficiently intriguing introduction to make them want to see the city in person someday.

(++++) SPLENDORS IN SACD SOUND

Tchaikovsky: Violin Concerto, op. 35; Sérénade mélancolique, op. 26; Valse-Scherzo, op. 34; Souvenir d’un lieu cher, op. 42. Julia Fischer, violin; Yakov Kreizburg, piano (Souvenir) and conducting the Russian National Orchestra. PentaTone. $19.99 (SACD).

Nielsen: Maskarade: Overture and Cockerel’s Dance; Sir Oluf He Rides: Prelude; Snefrid, Suite for Orchestra; Saul and David: Prelude to Act II; Rhapsodic Overture: A Fantasy Journey to the Faeroe Islands; Willemoes: Prelude to Act III; Pan and Syrinx, Pastoral Scene for Orchestra; Cupid and the Poet: Overture; Helios Overture. Thomas Dausgaard conducting the Danish National Symphony Orchestra/DR. Dacapo. $16.99 (SACD).

      No matter how good your audio equipment may be, it makes little sense to buy recordings simply because they are sonic spectaculars. But when top-notch playing is recorded with the superb sound consistently produced on Super Audio CDs (SACDs), you get the best of both worlds: performances that would be a pleasure in any form, and recordings that bring out greater detail of those performances than you would hear in standard CD format. These Tchaikovsky and Nielsen SACDs are among the best recent releases of their type.

     Julia Fischer seems to have a nearly endless supply of élan on her new Tchaikovsky disk. She is a violinist of rare style, producing even and balanced tone throughout the range of her 1750 Guadagnini instrument – with fullness even at the very top of the E string. A good thing, too, since Tchaikovsky, no expert in writing for the violin, made tremendous demands on the soloist in all the pieces recorded here.

      Fischer is deft and delicate from the start of the Violin Concerto, letting the rhythms flow naturally and producing a sound more of elegance than of raw power. She gives in a bit too often to the temptation of rubato during the lengthy first movement, but she plays always with great style and complete technical mastery. Yakov Kreizburg, directing the wonderfully smooth Russian National Orchestra, proves an excellent foil for Fischer and is more than a mere accompanist – for example, the orchestral section a third of the way through the first movement is given its full breadth rather than being minimized for the sake of the soloist’s playing beforehand and afterwards. The very fast ending of this movement shows Fischer and Kreizburg in equal control.

      The second movement is played with genuine warmth and comes across as more than just an interlude. The finale is speedy – with the most impressive elements of Fischer’s playing being the soft sections, which are very soft indeed. But they are perfectly audible over the orchestra, in a way that sounds highly natural to the ear but is actually hyper-realistic – the result of truly outstanding sound on this SACD (which also sounds top-notch when played on standard CD equipment). The precision and balance heard here are simply unattainable in a real-world concert hall.

      The other works on this disk are of less importance, but all get loving treatment. Sérénade mélancolique is filled with beauty, but it has more of an assumed melancholy than an experiential one: Fischer was just 23 when she made these recordings last year, and may need a little more maturity to do full justice to this piece. The rarely played Valse-Scherzo is all flash and panache, with some particularly felicitous orchestral pizzicati accompanying Fischer’s very dashing rendition. Souvenir d’un lieu cher is a little odd in this group, being for violin and piano rather than violin and orchestra, but Kreizburg proves himself a more-than-capable partner at the keyboard, and the piece comes across as a musical sharing of equals. The first movement, Méditation, longer than the other two put together, derives from Tchaikovsky’s original slow movement for the Violin Concerto. He recast it after discarding it, and it is certainly touching and heartfelt here, with genuine emotion in the playing. The following Scherzo is a brilliant display of fireworks, made more remarkable by Fischer’s absolute evenness of tone. The concluding Mélodie is indeed melodious, but does not function as a traditional finale – it is instead sweetly meandering, with Fischer and Kreizburg taking it gently to the end.

      The mixture of better-known and less-known pieces on the SACD of Carl Nielsen’s orchestral music proves to be a showcase both for the composer and for the wonderful playing of the Danish National Symphony Orchestra/DR under its chief conductor, Thomas Dausgaard. Nielsen’s music is all about detail, and the level of sonic detailing in this recording is simply amazing: the sound truly enhances the music. The two bright, bouncy and well-known excerpts from Maskarade burst forth with ringing clarity. The much less-known Prelude to a play called Sir Oluf He Rides – which dates to the same time as Maskarade (1906) – proves to be sonically quite different from the popular opera, with excellent contrast between pizzicato and legato playing, clarity of horns and percussion, and a very quiet ending. Indeed, the quiet passages on this SACD are every bit as impressive as the fortissimo ones, and sometimes more so. The five-movement Snefrid suite (1893-1899) is a case in point: the quiet, sensual sections are especially lovely, the delicate passages particularly clear.

      In the prelude to Act II of Saul and David (1899-1901), there is clarity of a different sort, as the brass fanfares and timpani come through with stunning realism. Nielsen’s late Rhapsodic Overture (1927) benefits sonically on both the loud and soft sides: extremely quiet drumbeats at the opening are perfectly clear, as the music hovers at the edge of audibility for more than two minutes – until outbursts one-third of the way through this 10-minute piece usher in a huge dynamic range that culminates in snare drum and bass drum passages that are just as impressive on standard CD equipment as they are when heard in full SACD splendor.

      The prelude to Act III of the little-known play Willemoes (1907-1908) showcases a natural flow of strings accented by piquant wind touches. The wonderful Pan and Syrinx (1917-1918) provides tremendous contrasts between lower strings and winds, on the one hand, and tambourine, xylophone and other percussion on the other hand; and there is great delicacy in the unusual scoring of the final, dissonant string segment. Cupid and the Poet (1930) was Nielsen’s last orchestral work – he died in 1931 – and it neatly encapsulates much that has gone before on this SACD and elsewhere in the composer’s music, from string sections reminiscent of Maskarade to string and percussion passages that recall the Fifth and Sixth Symphonies. The final work here, the majestic and impressive Helios Overture, moves from the deepest recesses of the orchestra to a blaze of brilliance on horns and trumpets, zips into a fugal section for strings that is super-clear in this rendition, and ends so quietly that it would likely be inaudible in the concert hall. But SACD engineering, added to the wonderfully idiomatic performances, turn this work, and this entire recording, into a triumph from start to finish.

(++++) PICTURE (ALMOST) PERFECT

My Life as a Chicken. As told to Ellen A. Kelley. Pictures by Michael Slack. Harcourt. $16.

Only You. By Robin Cruise. Pictures by Margaret Chodos-Irvine. Harcourt. $16.

      These books are about as different as picture books can be, but both offer excellent melding of text and illustrations, stories that fit neatly into rhyme, and a great deal of reading satisfaction. Just pick your preference – something weird and hilarious, or something heartfelt and emotionally true – and make your choice. Or choose both books, since most families have quite a range of emotions themselves.

      My Life as a Chicken is the story of Pauline Poulet “as told to Ellen A. Kelley,” and Kelley certainly does tell it. Pauline hatches, grows to maturity (very quickly), and sets about her daily work of laying eggs. All is well for a while. Then: “But round my roost I hear suspicious/ words like ‘Chicken pie, delicious.’/ Has Farmer hatched a crafty plan/ to throw me in a frying pan?” With a loud “Bawwwk!” Pauline escapes, and then it’s “perils of Pauline” time (even if kids and many parents won’t realize that the phrase refers to an old-time series of adventures with a cliff-hanger at the end of every one). There’s the run through the woods, the encounter with the tornado, the soaking in the ocean, the capture by pirate cats, the escape in a hot-air balloon, and more – all to the tune of this resourceful hen’s repeated cry, “Pauline, Prevail!” And prevail she eventually does, finding a happy home at last in an ending as unbelievable (but satisfying) as everything else here. Highly satisfying, too, are the pictures by Michael Slack, without which My Life as a Chicken would not have nearly so much charm. The expressiveness of Pauline’s eyes is a wonder to behold, and the perils she faces are drawn with great style, from the huge-headed and toothy fox…to the evil-eyed octopus (apparently with only five arms, though, which would make it a pentapus)…to the one-eyed, peg-legged pirate cook.

      Margaret Chodos-Irvine brings an entirely different sense of style to the pictures in Only You, a simple and lovely book about the many ways a parent loves a child. Everything here is done in gentle curves – there’s not a hard edge in the book, and that makes perfect sense. Colors are gentle, too, attractive but not too bright. And the simple expressiveness of a child’s joy, sleepiness or loving cuddle is beautifully shown through stylized faces that brim with real emotion. Robin Cruise’s text goes well with the pictures, but it is almost as if the words illustrate the portrayals of characters rather than the other way around: “I love your laugh, your frown, your grin./ I love you from the outside in!” Chodos-Irvine’s pictures combine techniques from several forms of printmaking to create something that is new, striking, highly attractive, and a perfect fit for this gentle tale of the multifaceted love between parent and child.

(++++) THE DISTANT WORLDS NEARBY

The Faerie Path. By Frewin Jones. Eos. $16.99.

Wildwood Dancing. By Juliet Marillier. Knopf. $16.99.

      Tales of beauty and complexity, told with a sure hand and partaking of wonder without being much like old-fashioned “fairy tales,” these novels are enchanting examples of stories that use formulaic elements but rise above them through clever plotting, interesting characterization and a fine sense of style.

      Both books are about passages from our world to another, and both feature heroines who move, not always easily, between the “real” world and the “other” world, facing uncertainty and danger in both. Yet for all their similarities, the novels’ effects are very different: these authors are doing different things, and doing them very well indeed.

      The Faerie Path is the first book of what will be a series, and is so exciting and well-wrought that readers will be delighted to find out that there will be a sequel. Anita Palmer is the reason. The book’s 16-year-old heroine is on the verge of falling in love for the first time when she is suddenly transported elsewhere, and finds that she is no less than the seventh daughter of Oberon and Titania – to be specific, a fairy princess named Tania. The realm of Faerie is in dire straits, and has been since Tania disappeared into the mortal world five centuries earlier. Her return can, perhaps, set things right – except that it is all so complicated. Oberon is missing; Tania is told that her mother died at the same time Tania herself disappeared; the boy Tania was falling in love with in the mortal world appears in Faerie under a different name, and turns out to be a servant of the man Tania was supposed to marry five centuries earlier; that man may not be what he seems to be; and so on. Each of Tania’s sisters has a unique talent, and Tania’s is to move between worlds – but that creates perils that Tania herself only slowly discovers. And is she Tania, or Anita, or some combination of both? One of the wonderful aspects of Frewin Jones’ book is the contrast between the slangy speech Tania brings to Faerie and the comparatively highfalutin way in which the full-time inhabitants speak. Jones has clearly done her reading in Faerie lore: a gorgeous gown is made for Tania by “Mistress Mirrlees,” which sounds like a Faerie name but is in fact the name of author Hope Mirrlees, whose wonderful novel Lud-in-the-Mist is little known except to serious students of fairy tales and those who truly love the genre. The Faerie Path is filled with adventure and drama, but it also retains a sense of humor, resulting in a completely delightful read.

      Wildwood Dancing is more serious and more exotic. Juliet Marillier’s first fantasy novel for young readers is every bit as complex and wonder-filled as her award-winning historical fantasies for adults. There are elements of historical fantasy here, too, but they serve mostly as background: the tale is set in Transylvania, that part of Romania now firmly associated with Dracula but in fact having a much longer history than most readers of Bram Stoker’s famed 1897 novel know. In this book too there are sisters (five), and an absent head of household (their father), and a caretaker household leader (cousin Cezar) who may not have the sisters’ best interests at heart. The focus here is not on the youngest sister, however, but on the second-oldest, Jena, and on the mysterious frog with which she likes to roam the forests near Piscul Dracului (Devil’s Peak), where the family lives. There is a gateway in this novel, too: a hidden portal through which the sisters can pass at every full moon, to dance with the magical creatures of a realm they call the Other Kingdom. When Cezar starts to show his true colors, when one sister falls in love with a creature of the Other Kingdom, it is left to Jena to try to save her world – and the Other Kingdom as well. Jena’s quest for peace takes her through hardship and tests of trust and strength. But the frog holds the key to her success – one of the keys, anyway. Wildwood Dancing is wonderfully atmospheric, its Romanian setting as fascinatingly depicted as anything in the Other World. And this book, like The Faerie Path, has someone leaving our world and becoming a fairy princess – but that someone is not Jena. Both these book open readers’ eyes to what Marillier calls “a wondrous world of magic beyond” – a world that both authors make seem remarkably close to our own.

(++++) ENDINGS

The End. By David LaRochelle. Illustrated by Richard Egielski. Arthur A. Levine/Scholastic. $16.99.

The Midnight Library: The Cat Lady. By Damien Graves. Scholastic. $5.99.

      Telling a tale backwards has rarely been as much fun as it is in The End. It’s a fairy tale in which what happens after “happily ever after” is really what happens before “happily ever after.” David LaRochelle’s clever text starts with a sentence and then goes to “because,” taking the tale back one step. In the middle of the story, for instance, “the knight’s curly red beard was on fire. His curly red beard was on fire because…” This is the knight who will eventually marry the princess and live happily ever after – or rather who has already married the princess, since that occurs some pages earlier. Want to know why the knight’s beard was blazing? Turn the page and you find out that “he had been tickling a great green dragon. He had been tickling a great green dragon because…” Every solution brings another problem as the tale wends its way merrily back to the beginning, which turns out to tie back (forward?) very neatly to the start (end?) of the book. The whole thing is about as likely as a flying pig – and, lo and behold, one of Richard Egielski’s wonderfully rendered characters is indeed a flying pig. To find out the pig’s role in all this, you have to go to the very last page, after the copyright notice, and then go even beyond that, to the inside back cover, to discover how the whole story really ends. Or begins. Either way, kids (and parents) will find The End laugh-out-loud funny.

      There’s nothing funny about The Midnight Library, in which characters inevitably come to bad ends. The Cat Lady, the fourth book of the series, written by Allan Frewin Jones (one of the authors gathered under the “Damien Graves” pseudonym), includes the title story plus “Who Dares Wins” and “Don’t Wake the Baby.” As in the earlier books of this series – and presumably the later ones, with two more being planned – the stories put basically good kids into situations of peril and then, more often than not, have terrible things happen to them. It’s a strictly formulaic approach, worth a (+++) rating for those who like such things. Just don’t expect a high level of creativity in the tales. In “The Cat Lady,” a nice girl named Chloe gets taunted into throwing rocks at the home of an old woman; hits a cat instead; tries to apologize and make amends; and finds out that “making amends” is a bad thing to do in this case. “Who Dares Wins” features videogames, real-world games, and a boy-vs.-girl competition that turns decidedly deadly. “Don’t Wake the Baby” is about a babysitting job that goes horribly wrong. None of the tales rises above formula, although each offers chills of a sort. But many readers will figure out what bad things will happen to which character almost as soon as the stories start – leaving little that is surprising as the tales end.

(+++) BOXED AND HEARTLESS

Heart-Shaped Box. By Joe Hill. Morrow. $24.95.

      This is a great grim roller-coaster of a horror novel, full of cinematic touches (movie rights have already been sold) and rife with clever updates of the typical ghost story (imagine buying a vengeance-bent ghost on the Internet).

      It is, however, dead at the center – and despite the context, that is not a compliment. It has all the makings of a best-seller and, with a good screenplay and slam-bang direction, a successful movie. And it’s a fast and furious read. If that’s enough for you, it’s a buy. But if you believe there can be more to a book than grimness and gore, you’ll find Heart-Shaped Box lacking.

      What’s in the box of the title is the soul of the stepfather of a deeply depressed woman who was made even more depressed by her relationship with a heavy-metal rock star named Judas Coyne (that’s Judas as in “betrayer of Jesus” and Coyne as in “30 pieces of silver” – there’s nothing subtle here). Anna May McDermott became so depressed, in fact, that she committed suicide. So her older sister, Jessica Price, arranges an online auction of a man’s suit containing the soul of their stepfather, and arranges for Coyne to buy it to add to his collection of various perversities (snuff film, hangman’s noose, witch’s confession, cookbook for cannibals, that sort of thing).

      Okay, okay, this doesn’t hang together, but it’s no worse than the framework for many other horror novels, and Joe Hill writes with a lot more pizzazz than do many other genre writers (this is his first novel, but he has written a number of well-received short stories). So right after Judas makes his sure-to-be-ill-fated purchase, he gets a call from Jessica telling him just how she put one over on him, and why, and what’s going to happen now. “What” is something extremely unpleasant, since the stepfather’s ghost is one nasty piece of work, and comes complete with a silver razor on a gold chain that he used to use as a hypnotist. In short order, the ghost is causing a wide variety of expected and unexpected events: the smell of death all over the place, Judas’ dog barking, and manifestations everywhere from Judas’ car to his TV set.

      This is one of those books in which every single character is unpleasant, has a seamy past, or both. Judas’ assistant, Danny, for example: “Danny’s sister had OD’d on heroin. …His mother hanged herself six months later, and Danny had been the one who discovered her. Her body dangled from the single rafter in the pantry, her toes pointed downward, turning in small circles above a kicked-over footstool.” This is what passes for character development in Heart-Shaped Box.

      And that’s the problem. Characters don’t develop, even when Hill gets more deeply into the book and put Judas into the “confront your past” mode. This antihero is a miserable piece of work, and if even he does not deserve quite as much unpleasantness as Hill has in store for him, it’s hard to escape the feeling that he deserves some of it. There’s no depth to him and nothing particularly likable about him, despite Hill’s attempts to insert some redeeming qualities. In fact, there is almost no one in the book worth caring about – except, perhaps, the dead. By the end of the book, it’s hard not to wonder if Judas would have been better off as one of them.

(+++) POE-ETIC JUSTICE?

Evermore. Edited by James Robert Smith & Stephen Mark Rainey. Arkham House. $34.95.

      We just can’t let Edgar Allan Poe rest. Even now, nearly 158 years after his death in abject poverty in Baltimore at the age of 40, his ghost haunts the writers of supernatural fiction, including the 16 (no, not the obvious 13) who created the 15 stories in this anthology. Poe was just so good, so far ahead of his time in an understanding of psychology and unconscious motivation (which Freud was not to start analyzing until half a century later), that modern readers and writers still look on his short stories in awe. Or, to be more precise, they look that way on some of his short stories – the tales of terror and those of what Poe called “ratiocination,” but not at the far greater number of tales of attempted humor. And they look at some of Poe’s poems as well – “The Raven” most of all, and also “The Conqueror Worm,” “The Bells,” “Annabel Lee” and a few others – but not at his more complex and less accessible poetic works. As for Poe’s forays into metaphysics, such as “Eureka,” they tend to be simply ignored as if they are ravings…which they are not.

      The writers in Evermore keep their focus on Poe’s works by and large as narrow as other writers do, but the orientation of this anthology is different – which makes it conceptually quite interesting. These are stories about Poe, not (in most cases) in imitation of his writing. The authors imagine things that could have happened during Poe’s life, or in his life in an alternative universe, or after his death (but still to him), or in his last hours. From a few facts, such as Poe’s undeniable love for his child-bride, Virginia, and his being quite disgustingly drunk when found a few days before his death in 1849 (which is not to say that he died of drink; that remains very much in dispute), these authors weave tales of what-might-have-been and what-might-have-happened.

      The stories themselves are, not surprisingly, a mixed bag; also not surprisingly, none has even a whiff of Poe’s own astonishing style (although Joel Lane’s “All Beauty Sleeps,” wherein death is the ultimate lover, comes surprisingly close). Only a single story – “They Call Me Eddie,” by Rick Hautala & Thomas F. Monteleone – attempts anything approaching Poe’s odd and largely unsuccessful attempts at humor, casting Poe as a detective; but there are too many loose ends and plot roads not taken in this tale for it to be fully successful. There are vampire and vampire-ghost stories here (“Poe 103” by Ken Goldman, which is also a tale of possession, and “When It Was Moonlight,” written in 1940 by Manly Wade Wellman). There is a grotesque extension of Poe’s “The Imp of the Perverse” in Gary Fry’s “The Impelled,” but the tale doesn’t quite hang together; nor does John Morressy’s “The Resurrections of Fortunato,” which purports to continue “The Cask of Amontillado.” The story that draws on more of Poe’s oeuvre than any other in the collection is Charlee Jacob’s “Night Writing,” but it bites off far more than Jacob can chew, combining an insane asylum with an imagined raven-like something in Poe’s brain with time travel with the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001.

      The style of the earliest tale here, “An Author and His Character” by Vincent Starrett (1928), is chronologically closest to Poe’s but not noticeably closer to his work’s effect than the style of such later stories as Trey R. Barker’s “In Articulo Mortis,” which extends (or, rather, overextends) “The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar.” All the remaining stories have some points of interest: “The Clockwork Horror” by F. Gwynplaine MacIntyre, “Cloud by Night” by Melanie Tem, “From the Wall, a Whisper” (a title more of Lovecraft than of Poe) by Kealan Patrick Burke, “Of Persephone, Poe, and the Whisperer” by Tom Piccirilli, “The Masque of Edgar Allan Poe” (which should really be “mask”) by Steve Rasnic Tem, and “The White Cat” by Fred Chappell. But none of the tales really does justice to the poe-sy of E.A.P., although “Night Writing” does have the distinction of coming up with the word “poe-seurs.” It would be unfair to use that word to describe the authors here, but it is fair to note that, a century and a half after Poe’s death, his style remains unmatched and uniquely his own – so a book like this, which will likely be of interest only to dedicated Poe fans, is foredoomed to a degree of failure through the inevitable comparison of what it is with what Poe’s work was.

(++++) CARNIVAL AND CORONATION

Johann Strauss I Edition, Volume 10. Slovak Sinfonietta Žilina conducted by Ernst Märzendorfer. Marco Polo. $9.99.

The neglect of the works of Johann Strauss Sr. after his death at age 45 in 1849 is understandable only because two of his sons, Johann Jr. and Josef, were able to replace and expand upon their father’s dance music with nary a missed beat. The third son, Eduard, added occasional pieces as well. It was Josef who was in some ways the best composer, but it was Johann Jr. who truly eclipsed his namesake by melding symphonic structure to dance and providing even more joy than his father had. Still, even if the sons’ work tended to surpass their father’s, Johann Sr.’s compositions do not deserve the near-total neglect they suffered for many years, as is becoming clearer with every release in the excellent Marco Polo series devoted to the elder Strauss.

This 10^th volume showcases the unremittingly youthful pep and bounce of 10 works written when the composer was in his 30s, as conducted by the excellent Ernst Märzendorfer, who is now in his 80s – which you would never know from the verve of the performances here. The best pieces on this CD are the longer ones, primarily the waltzes. Best of all is Die Nachtwandler (“The Sleepwalkers”), which starts with a sleepy horn opening, offers several unexpected turns of phrase, dips into the minor at surprising points, and ends quietly – as if everyone has returned to peaceful slumber. Strauss’ contemporaries thought this work had something to do with Bellini’s opera, La Sonnambula, but Strauss said no; and the work stands very well on its own.

Other top-notch waltzes here are the light, lilting and lovely Künstler-Ball-Tänze (“Artists’ Ball Dances”); Erinnerung an Deutschland (“Reminiscence of Germany”), which features a trumpet call and some interesting horn colorations; the expansive and broad-themed Heimath-Klänge (“Home Country Sounds”); and the impressive Krönungs-Walzer (“Coronation Waltz”), whose brass fanfares and booming timpani contrast pleasantly with a succession of delicate string themes.

      Also highly effective is the final work on the CD, Wiener Carnevals-Quadrille (“Vienna Carnival Quadrille”), which is as long as a waltz and consists entirely of original themes – most quadrilles at this time, including those by Strauss, were pastiches of popular tunes. The rousing opening and striking instrumentation of this rarely heard work make it a real treat.

      The other quadrille here, Jubel-Quadrille (“Anniversary Quadrille”), is bright and flashy, with lots of percussion – appropriate for a celebration of the name-day of Empress Maria Anna. The tunes are not especially distinguished, except at the end, which neatly foreshadows Strauss’ later and far more famous Radetzky March.

      The three remaining works on this CD are Cotillons nach Motiven der Oper “Die Hugenotten” (“Cotillons on Motifs from the Opera The Huguenots”), which gives Meyerbeer’s themes their due but is not especially interesting in itself; Beliebte Sperl-Polka (“Popular Sperl Polka”), which is easy to dance to but otherwise undistinguished; and Original Parade-Marsch (“Original Parade March”), which is appropriately brassy and martial – and has a second theme with the tang of Sousa.

      The biggest flaw of this disk is actually a flaw of the entire series: there is no rhyme or reason to the arrangement of the pieces on the CDs, or the inclusion of them in one volume rather than another. Nothing is chronological or linked by theme, except once in a while by apparent accident. The result is a disorganized feeling to this compendium of Strauss works – which, however, does nothing to diminish their substantial charm.

(++++) THE PICTURE’S THE THING

Mrs. Spitzer’s Garden. By Edith Pattou. Illustrated by Tricia Tusa. Harcourt. $9.95.

Pirates Don’t Change Diapers. By Melinda Long. Illustrated by David Shannon. Harcourt. $16.

      No matter how charming their words and stories, some books stay with you not because of the tales they tell but because of the way those tales are illustrated. Mrs. Spitzer’s Garden takes a well-worn simile – a classroom is like a garden – and makes it fresh and attractive…because Edith Pattou never actually discusses the parallel between children and flowers. Instead, she narrates a tale in which the principal gives the teacher, Mrs. Spitzer, a packet of seeds – and Mrs. Spitzer works on planting them, tending them, providing the nourishment they need, and helping them grow in their own individual ways. “Some of the plants grow quickly, pushing upward, eager, impatient,” writes Pattou. “Some grow more slowly, unfolding themselves bit by bit.” But the key to the enjoyment this book provides is less in the clever way Pattou writes it than in the wonderful way Tricia Tusa illustrates it. Everything here has faces: the birds and insects that fly above Mrs. Spitzer, the butterflies that watch her garden start to sprout, the “weeds and pests” that threaten its growth, and of course Mrs. Spitzer’s flowers and plants themselves. Tusa creates a wide variety of wonderful expressions with just a few lines here and there. A hat-wearing caterpillar rears up (on its rear) and smiles. Flowers look around quizzically, or smile just a bit, or bear huge grins. As the plants grow, Tusa shows some of them with legs, walking about and discovering things – and showing off for Mrs. Spitzer, who sits perched on a mushroom, watching the bright chaos happily. There are delights on every page: a top-hatted turtle, a set of striding pumpkins, a snail carrying a purse in its mouth, and many more. The story here is a simple and lovely one; the pictures make Mrs. Spitzer’s Garden even more special.

      Pirates Don’t Change Diapers is a very different kind of book, with very different illustrations that are, in their own way, equally effective. This is a sequel to Melinda Long and David Shannon’s How I Became a Pirate, featuring the return of Braid Beard and his crew to find the treasure they buried in Jeremy Jacob’s backyard. They need the treasure to fix their pirate ship, which has run aground – but they face an unexpected obstacle in the form of Jeremy’s baby sister, Bonney Anne. The pirates’ noisiness wakes the baby up, and there will never be enough peace and quiet to find the loot unless the pirates manage to baby-sit. This is a deliciously silly plot, with a sort of “framing story” about Jeremy’s search for a birthday gift thrown in for good measure, and Long tells the tale with great verve. But Shannon’s pictures steal the show. There is Braid Beard’s beard, seen through the peephole in Jeremy’s front door. There is a full-page picture of Bonney Anne screaming – she and the picture are almost all mouth. On the next page is Braid Beard’s full-page reaction, with his popped eyes and six tilted teeth perfectly portrayed. The book is full of visual delights: wide-eyed Bonney Anne leading the pirate captain by his beard, three pirates covered with the strained spinach that Bonney Anne spits up, a hook-handed pirate trying to change a diaper, Jeremy and eight pirates staring in horror when Bonney Anne is temporarily missing (in a picture drawn with the nine characters circling around three sides of the page), and more. A happy ending is inevitable here, and most welcome – and the final picture of Jeremy and his baby sister, both wide-eyed, is a delightful conclusion.

(++++) EXTREMITIES

Extreme Pets! By Jane Harrington. Scholastic. $12.99.

Guinness World Records to the Extreme. Compiled by Lisa L. Ryan-Herndon. Scholastic. $14.99.

      The extremes to which publishers will go to draw attention to a book – including overuse of the word “extreme” – are nothing new. Once in a while, though, the word shows up on a book that is…well…extremely fascinating, such as Extreme Pets! This is the most interesting child-oriented pet book in a dog’s age (sorry about that). Spiral bound so it lies flat and can be used for easy reference, tabbed so families can quickly locate sections called “Cold-Blooded!” and “Pocket Pets!” and “Insects!” and “Slimy Pets!” – yup, all with exclamation points – the book gives some really neat information on a wide variety of animals, plus well-thought-out, practical tips on taking care of them. Each animal gets a “Report Card” in five categories: coolness, aroma, neatness, ease of care and cost factor; and there are occasional additions – for instance, a ferret gets a C for “aroma (if you’re clean)” and a D for “aroma (if you’re not).”

      The presentation aspects of Extreme Pets! are what make it so attractive. A rather unfortunately titled but very useful “Ask the Pet Whiz” column for each animal gets into details of habits and care, while introductory information on each critter places a decided emphasis on the coolness/ickiness factor: “The MADAGASCAN HISSING COCKROACH is, without a doubt, the COOLEST COCKROACH on the planet. It’s BIG and SLOW, and it CRAWLS ALL OVER YOU! Life doesn’t get much better than this, does it?” Many parents won’t approve – they’re not necessarily supposed to, according to the text, although kids do have to get permission (and money) if they’re going to keep any of these animals at home – but the bright writing, excellent photography and well-done care hints make this book top-notch in almost every way. It even has occasional recipes for animal treats – “happy rat munchies,” for example. But be slightly cautious about accepting the book’s science at face value. In discussing the African pygmy hedgehog, for example, Jane Harrington writes, “Unlike the porcupine [sic], the hedgehog’s quills are not barbed weapons that can be shot out of its body when it’s mad.” The big problem here is not the grammar (it should be “porcupine’s”) but the science: porcupines do not shoot their quills – the quills are very lightly attached, and come off easily if the animal comes under attack. So there are imperfections in Extreme Pets! – but if you want to consider keeping a bearded dragon, sugar glider, giant African millipede, red-eyed tree frog or another of the unusual animals profiled here, this book is an excellent place to learn what you’ll need to do after you get the animal home.

      Animals appear in Guinness World Records to the Extreme as well, but as objects of curiosity and amazement – certainly not as potential pets. This entry in the multifaceted Guinness World Records series explains that the largest mammal jaw belongs to the sperm whale; the polar bear has the most sensitive nose of any land mammal; a tropical cockroach holds the record as fastest-moving insect; and the most expensive painting by an elephant sold for $39,000. There are also plenty of record-setting feats by human animals, from loudest burp to longest ear hair (several of these human records may make you prefer non-human animals). Filled with “Trivia Tidbits” and “Did You Know?” items, this book is laid out to seem as dramatic as possible, but in fact, some of its contents are fairly mundane: the Venus flytrap and related bladderwort hold the record for fastest entrapment by a plant; the “golden age” of comics “introduced a new art form that blended colorful images and short stories about fictional superheroes”; the great white shark can grow to more than 15 feet. There’s enough of interest here to earn the book a (+++) rating, but even though it’s an interesting set of records, it falls short of being extremely interesting.

(+++) FROM START TO FINISH

Anatomy of a Boyfriend. By Daria Snadowsky. Delacorte Press. $16.99.

      First love hurts. Oh yes, it is wonderful – the discovery of depths of feeling you never knew you possessed, the sharing of hopes and dreams and secrets, and the sharing of bodies, too. But when first love ends, as it inevitably does, it hurts, with a pain in direct proportion to the joys it had in full flower.

      Daria Snadowsky’s first novel gets the pain right, and manages to get many of the joys right, too. Snadowsky’s heroine, Dominique, is a worthwhile protagonist: smart (she plans to be a doctor), self-assured and knowledgeable (in book learning, anyway). Unlike far too many heroines in books aimed at teenagers, Dominique does not have a broken family adding to her troubles. In fact, it is the happiness of her parents together that makes her own eventual broken-heartedness feel all the more acute to her – until a surprising revelation by her father helps her put that so-important first love in perspective.

      But that is how things end. They begin less well: Snadowsky is not quite sure how to get the book going, and falls back on a few too many clichés. For instance, Dom first meets her soon-to-be-first-love, Wes, when he helps rescue her after she falls in the mud. Also, Wes and Dom are of the opposites-attract type, with Wes being a track star and Dom decidedly bookish (she competes in and wins academic quiz shows). And both of them are physical and emotional virgins, with Wes specifically saying that all the action sports stars supposedly get is just so much talk – not much reality there.

      But if the first third of Anatomy of a Boyfriend reads like something often seen before, the remaining two-thirds fairly crackles with intensity. As the emotional and – especially – sexual feelings between Dom and Wes develop, Snadowsky shows the couple’s mounting passion and increasing connectedness with a great sense of style and a palpable feeling of realism. This book is targeted at ages 14 and above, no doubt because of the sex scenes, but that is also the right age range for the emotional intensity that develops as Dom and Wes scale the heights before the relationship crumbles in pain and misunderstanding.

      It is Wes – never as fully formed a character as Dom – who brings everything down, and he does so rather callously (another dip into cliché – in this case, of the boy as cad). But Snadowsky keeps the focus on Dom and her reactions, so the book’s conclusion has considerable power. Even Dom’s “fast girl” friend, Amy – another typical element in books like this – has more resonance and believability than many similar characters, and has troubles of her own that help Dom keep hers in perspective. Anatomy of a Boyfriend is not a happy book and certainly not an unflawed one, but it feels so true emotionally, and has such an uplifting-but-not-sappy ending, that teen readers – especially girls who identify with Dom – will look forward eagerly to Snadowsky’s second novel.