This gracefully written poem conveys the extensive amount of suffering that war brings.A girl with brown skin and black hair who lives in a city enjoys her day, spending the morning with her family, then learning about volcanoes and drawing a bird at school. Then war suddenly erupts: "I can't say the words that tell you / about the blackened hole / that had been my home. / All I can say is this: / War took everything. / War took everyone." The child runs, walks in the cold, rides on packed trucks and in a boat that nearly sinks, but the war follows her: "It was underneath my skin…. / It was in the way that people didn't smile, and turned away." She finds a school where children are learning about volcanoes and drawing birds, but when she goes inside, the teacher says there is no chair for her. In an unexpected turn of events, the children of the school redraw the smile on the girl's face and push back the war, one step at a time. Cobb's muted, deceptively childlike illustrations match the poem's understatement. An early spread of the gray, smoky chaos that destroys the girl's world is echoed in a late spread as she huddles alone in an unwelcoming place. Both an afterword by the author and the illustrations suggest that the protagonist may be from Syria or Iraq and sought refuge in the U.K., but the story is, alas, more broadly universal. An absolutely beautiful story that penetrates the heart and seeds hope when there is little of it. (Picture book. 6-12)

After the war comes, the young orphan narrator journeys with other refugees until she reaches a town where she attempts to go to school; a teacher turns her away, telling her, "There is no chair for you to sit on." Based on a real event, this timely eye-opener, supported by mood-attuned pencil and watercolor art, concludes with a lionhearted boy's act of kindness.

This gracefully written poem conveys the extensive amount of suffering that war brings.A girl with brown skin and black hair who lives in a city enjoys her day, spending the morning with her family, then learning about volcanoes and drawing a bird at school. Then war suddenly erupts: "I can't say the words that tell you / about the blackened hole / that had been my home. / All I can say is this: / War took everything. / War took everyone." The child runs, walks in the cold, rides on packed trucks and in a boat that nearly sinks, but the war follows her: "It was underneath my skin…. / It was in the way that people didn't smile, and turned away." She finds a school where children are learning about volcanoes and drawing birds, but when she goes inside, the teacher says there is no chair for her. In an unexpected turn of events, the children of the school redraw the smile on the girl's face and push back the war, one step at a time. Cobb's muted, deceptively childlike illustrations match the poem's understatement. An early spread of the gray, smoky chaos that destroys the girl's world is echoed in a late spread as she huddles alone in an unwelcoming place. Both an afterword by the author and the illustrations suggest that the protagonist may be from Syria or Iraq and sought refuge in the U.K., but the story is, alas, more broadly universal. An absolutely beautiful story that penetrates the heart and seeds hope when there is little of it. (Picture book. 6-12)

Gentle, childlike drawings by Cobb (There-s an Owl in My Town) help soften the blows in this story by Davies (King of the Sky), published in association with Help Refugees, about a girl in a country at war. War comes one day when she-s at school-not in the morning, she explains, when her class is learning about volcanoes and tadpoles, but in the afternoon, -just after lunch.- The juxtaposition of the girl-s routine and the catastrophic events heightens the tragedy. The war, portrayed as a big ashy cloud, destroys her home and family: -War took everything./ War took everyone.- When she finds her way to another country in a stream of refugees, a schoolteacher refuses her a place in class, and she realizes that -war had gotten here, too.- She is slumped in a dark corner when a boy opens the door and offers her a chair: -My friends have brought theirs, too, so all the children here can come to school.- Though Davies suggests that everyone has to lend a hand to push hate away, sensitive readers may be too distressed by all that has occurred to take in the children-s generous impulse. Ages 6-9. (Sept.)