In the latest offering from modern picture-book master Henkes (Waiting, rev. 9/15), we are introduced to four different eggs, each a different pastel color and each occupying its own separate quadrant of the page: "egg / egg / egg / egg." The drama begins on the facing page--"crack / crack / crack / egg"-- when three little chicks hatch, and the fourth eggwaits. The three hatchlings, concerned, gather 'round the egg and instigate a furious pecking campaign. Finally: "crack," then "surprise!" What hatches from the fourth egg is not another chick. Will the other three reject the foundling ("alone / sad / lonely / miserable"), or embrace it? Henkes once again taps into the deepest emotions of preschoolers with the simplest of stories. This one contains a surfeit of humor despite the scarcity of text (there are just fifteen distinct words, though some repeat). Henkes manages to imbue his characters with heaps of personality and expression using just the slant of an eyebrow or the curve of a mouth (I particularly love team-leader pink chick assessing the unhatched egg, wings akimbo in concentration). Pacing is, as ever, perfect, taking full advantage of the switch from the early, snappy paneled pages to a series of wordless spreads that tell the story of the budding four-way friendship. And the ending is as trippy and open-ended as that of any in our established post-modernist picture books--it's just preschool-sized. martha v. parravano (c) Copyright 2017. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

With characteristic understatement, Henkes explores tenderness, acceptance, and love in this deceptively simple story. The cover depicts three birds gathered around a green egg, expressions of devotion on their faces. The first illustration shows four eggs, pastel-colored to match the birds on the front, looking as sweet as a handful of Jordan almonds. Three of the eggs soon hatch, the birds pop out, and then they leave to test their wings. The birds return, concerned about the green egg, and then help to peck it open. They are surprised and frightened when an alligator emerges! When the birds depart, the alligator is lonely, but the birds eventually overcome their fear and return. Rendered in brown ink and a soft, limited palette of watercolors, Henkes' illustrations provide depth and a meaningful sense of the passage of time, thanks to clever page layouts and visual hints. In the end, a new color is introduced, perhaps signaling another potential friend on the horizon. The open-ended conclusion invites readers to continue the story themselves. HIGH-DEMAND BACKSTORY: Henkes' many fans will be eagerly waiting for this one, so stock up.--Whitehurst, Lucinda Copyright 2016 Booklist

Four eggs: pink, yellow, blue, and green. Three hatch, and out come pink, yellow, and blue chicks who promptly depart. Why isn't the green egg hatching? The birds return, and after some persistent pecking, an alligator pops out. It isn't what the birds were expecting, but a friendship quickly blossoms. Henkes's (Waiting) gentle story isn't just about appreciating difference-it's also about the craft of storytelling. Throughout, he divides the action into square panels that offer a visceral sense of how an author wields mood, rhythm, and pacing, as well as sets up a joke: in the opening pages, four-panel sequences showcase each individual, unhatched egg ("egg/ egg/ egg/ egg"), leading to surprises and smiles when things start to happen ("crack/ crack/ crack/ egg"). Thickly outlined in brown, Henkes's animals exude sweetness and innocence, and a quietly surreal ending, which sees the setting sun morph into an egg and then an orange bird, subtly emphasizes the anything-is-possible potential of storytelling. In many ways, it's a story with a writer's workshop folded into it-and it offers terrific encouragement for readers to embark on their own narrative experiments. Ages 4-8. (Jan.) © Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

In Henkes latest book, the illustrator returns to one of his favorite recent themeswaiting. Four eggs. Three crack and then hatch, and the chicks wait for the fourth, sometimes helping with a peck-peck-peck. When it does hatch, what a surprise! The chicks are so surprised they scatter and leave the new, crocodilian addition to their flock alone to become sad, lonely, and miserable. But in an act of burgeoning friendship, they return, line up on its back, and float off to enjoy the water and sun. As in Henkes Caldecott- and Geisel Honorwinning Waiting (2015), the theme is waiting, beautifully rendered in brown ink and watercolor paint. In Waiting, he used white space to great effect to give the figurines space as their attention was directed outward, to the moon, the stars, the wind. Here, pages are framed, and some are divided into four or 16 squares, which then open to full-page spreads depicting surprise, wonder, and newfound companionship. The frames and boxes complement the idea of containment in eggs, especially of the something enclosed in that fourth egg. When the four friends float off into the sunset, the sun itself morphs into an egg shape, with a hint of a new surprise in their lives. Another stunner from Henkes, who is able to evoke so much with few words and such seemingly simple illustrations. Gorgeous and thought-provoking. (Picture book. 4-8) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

BUT FOR THE fact that it has corners, it would be easy to mistake a well-built picture book for an egg. How so much life lives in such small quarters is a wonder that never grows old. So, what a joy to find these sturdy morsels in my nest: four picture books that remind us anew that inspiration is a fledgling of process. If Neal Layton were a bird, he'd be part of that genus that includes John Burningham and Quentin Blake, because it is with similar delight and abandon that he warbles and flits about his own branches. It's blue dawn as we glide toward the cozy conifer at the center of Layton's lovely new book, "The Tree." You likely don't yet hear the rumble of the pickup winding down the road, or the distant echo of Robert Burns's "The best-laid schemes o' mice an' men" bouncing off a purple yawn of mountains. And we still can't read the tilted sign next to the tree . . . until the sun has risen. "land for sale." Layton arranges two squinty clouds and a frowning fence around his giant nose of a tree to let us know how to feel about this. But the sadness is fleeting, because we soon discover the lovable families who call this tree home. It's filled with googly-eyed rabbits, sheepish owls, eager squirrels and birdsong. And then the pickup pulls up with its rumpled passengers, and their wooden crates, and their giant saw and their "wonderful plan" for a dream home of their own. When their sawing causes a bird's nest to fall, the newcomers stare thoughtfully at the chicks singing at their feet, much as Burns must have stared at that mouse's nest he turned up with his plow two centuries earlier, and which inspired his poem. But what follows aren't simply words of regret (or sympathy) about nature's vulnerability in the face of progress. "The Tree" turns out to be Layton's unapologetically hopeful plan for how mice and men (and bunnies and owls and squirrels and birds) might live happily together going forward. The tree at the center of Deborah Freedman's dreamy "This House, once" is "a colossal oak tree about three hugs around and as high as the blue." It is now the small wooden door of a pointy little house. Freedman (who was once an architect) is not offering us a plan for some future home, however. Instead the book is a blueprint for mindfulness and gratitude for the homes in which we already live. With the wooziness that comes from sitting close to a fire, and in a whisper of colors that have the hypnotic allure of bruises, Freedman deconstructs and rebuilds her toasty house. "These stones," she says, laying the foundation, "were once . . . deep asleep, tucked beneath a blanket of leaves." "These bricks," she adds, framing the door, "were once mud that oozed around roots." We turn the page to find a small cat we've been tailing from the title spread playing in the mud with a giddy frog, a shy turtle and a bird. The cat ends up back at its home, where a tiny person holds the door open. I started to feel lightheaded when the house began dreaming about its own deconstructed past, but so long as the embers of Freedman's incantation continue to glow, I'm in no rush. Which is a good thing, because if there's anything Kevin Henkes loves to do, it's make you wait. Following in the wake of his award-winning "Waiting," Henkes's latest confection, "Egg," is the story of four henless pastel eggs, laid safely inside a big brown border, which houses the warm white of each spread. Three eggs adorably hatch on cue into adorable chicks. one remains a green mystery. Peck. What's inside? Peck peck. Even the chicks want to know. It is only through patience . . . peck . . . and persistence . . . peck . . . that the fourth egg finally reveals its secret: a smiling baby alligator! Without visible teeth! Who needs teeth in a world seemingly made of marzipan? still, the minty interloper looks like it could bite, so the chicks fly off and the alligator finds itself adorably alone and miserable. It's only after the chicks realize the alligator poses no threat that they decide they could maybe be friends. Which is exactly what happens. In the hands of someone less generous and wise, "Egg" might taste like a pack of Easter Peeps with a Cracker Jack surprise and a paper fortune, but Henkes makes it a candy-colored koan, equal parts kaiseki and comic strip. Though its appearance may seem as familiar as the setting sun, this book's full flavor is as toothsome and elusive as tomorrow. On its effortless surface - a white page peppered lightly with wildflowers and weeds - the exuberant "A Greyhound, a Groundhog" is about exactly what its title suggests: a delectable groundhog and a lithe greyhound. But what Emily Jenkins and Chris Appelhans's lyrical collaboration is really about is the intoxicating thrill of friendship, and the boundless joy of play: play between improbable friends; play between color and empty space; play between language and meaning; and play between author and illustrator. In her dedication Jenkins, who wrote the words, credits Ruth Krauss and her "A Very Special House" as being the seed from which her own text took root. What Jenkins surely knows but doesn't say is that Krauss had a very game dance partner in some guy named Sendak, and that it is in the drunken waltz between Krauss's words and Sendak's pictures that their book's real magic resides. Which is equally true of the fetching footwork Appelhans and Jenkins have cobbled together . . . together. Four cheeps and cheers for life's green mysteries! ROWBOAT WATKINS is the author and illustrator of "Rude Cakes." His next picture book, "Pete With No Pants," comes out in May.

PreS-Gr 1-Four eggs: pink, yellow, blue, and green. Three eggs crack: pink; yellow, blue, but not green. Three surprises: a pink chick, a yellow chick, and a blue chick hatch. Three fly away: pink, yellow, blue chicks; green egg stays put, waiting and waiting and waiting. Three friends return to listen to the green egg. They peck (and peck peck peck and peck some more) until the crack reveals a surprise: a green crocodile. Frightened fledglings fly away, leaving the small green reptile "alone," "sad," "lonely," and "miserable." That is, until the birds return and they all become "friends," and together the four go off into the sun to start a new egg-venture. Geometric patterns repeat, multiply, retreat, reappear. Each cream-colored page is framed with a brown border. Thinner lines sometimes create smaller frames within the larger ones, suggesting the passage of time, movement, and changing emotions. In the final sequence, the sun toward which the birds and croc are heading morphs into another egg: "The end...maybe." Fans of Henkes will delight in his use of line, simple forms, and a gentle palette, all of which clearly portray feelings, depict action, and suggest character. The concise text and straightforward illustrations, however, belie a more complicated tale. Is it simply a story of waiting-perhaps one of friendship? Or does it suggest the cyclical nature of young choosing their actions and flying out into the world? VERDICT This is a book that readers will want to pore over and talk about and read again and again.-Maria B. Salvadore, formerly at District of Columbia Public Library © Copyright 2016. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.