Matt de la Peña

Milo is on a long subway ride with his older sister. To pass the time, he studies the faces around him and makes pictures of their lives. There's the whiskered man with the crossword puzzle; Milo imagines him playing solitaire in a cluttered apartment full of pets. There's the wedding-dressed woman with a little dog peeking out of her handbag; Milo imagines her in a grand cathedral ceremony. And then there's the boy in the suit with the bright white sneakers; Milo imagines him arriving home show more to a castle with a drawbridge and a butler. But when the boy in the suit gets off on the same stop as Milo--walking the same path, going to the exact same place--Milo realizes that you can't really know anyone just by looking at them. show less

From the moment prose and art appear in the opening spread, de la Peña and Long usher readers into a patient, pensive meditation on love.

Love is the sound of the first voices we ever hear; it is the color of the night sky over a happy home; it is the echo of summer laughter. Love is under the stars during a fire alarm, behind a family’s worry over a troubled world, and in the reassuring embrace after a bad dream. Love is at the core of family and at the back of sorrow and in the very show more bones of this book. If it’s possible to shout quietly, then de la Peña has mastered the technique. His lyrical prose roars with gentle (and deceptive) simplicity to uncover the everyday and unexpected places where love and sometimes pain reside, giving rise to resilience. Not to be outmatched, Long’s illustrations roar right back, crafting mirrors within a gorgeous spectrum of brown skin and glimpses of different lives, shaping reflections within visual perspectives that immerse readers in emotive power. And in a book brimful with potent images, readers are sure to pause at the stunning double-page spread filled with the placid face of a young person of color along with this assertion: “And the face staring back in the bathroom mirror—this, too, is love.”

Timely, timeless, and utterly necessary. (Picture book. 4-8)

-Kirkus Review show less

So much to love about this. Carmela has the usual kinds of wishes to wish on her dandelion, like a vending machine full of candy in her bedroom or a new bike, but also thinks about having her dad's papers in order so he can be returned to her. The illustrations bring to life her trip around the neighborhood with her older brother (who isn't thrilled about having her along). We never learn what Carmela ultimately decides to wish, but this is a beautiful story that reflects a perspective that show more some kids will know well and others not at all. show less

On her birthday, a young girl accompanies her brother on his errands for the first time and makes a wish, but not exactly in the way she was expecting.

When readers meet 7-year-old Carmela, she is scootering past workers in fields, excited to tag along with her older brother on her birthday. It’s fun for her, but it’s also necessary: Their mother works in housekeeping for a fancy hotel, and their father was a day laborer who is no longer home. As they run errands, Carmela plays the show more annoying little sister, but when she falls off her scooter and loses a dandelion wish she was counting on, her brother takes her to a place where her wish is carried further than she could have imagined. This second de la Peña–Robinson collaboration after Last Stop on Market Street is no less powerful and beautiful. It touches on immigration, class, and loss without belaboring each. And it’s full of rich details, sharp and restrained writing, and acrylic paintings that look textured enough to rise off the page. In one brilliant sequence, Mexican papel picado depicts what Carmela imagines, ending with “her dad getting his papers fixed so he could finally be home” and a cutout of a kneeling father embracing his daughter. It’s a bracing page, the best in the book, and just as sublime as the text.

It’s another near-perfect slice of life from a duo that has found a way to spotlight underrepresented children without forgetting that they are children first. (Picture book. 3-8)

-Kirkus Review show less