Marla Frazee (All the World) begins her wordless masterpiece at sunrise, as a farmer sets out to work. The furrow on his brow echoes the furrows of his field; his long white beard comes to a triangular point. The muted palette plays up the brown of the earth, the gold of the hay, the stark-white clouds. He stands, pitchfork in hand, and sees a circus train, trailing a spray of colors on the nearby tracks. Something falls from the train, and Frazee charts the farmer's approach, zeroing in on the clown-child left behind.
The farmer takes him by the hand--the child's red upward-pointing clown hat the perfect yin to the yang of the man's downward-pointing beard. He gives up his bed, and makes funny faces to cheer the little fellow. The next day, as they set out for a picnic, the train returns, and readers know they must part. But what a moving farewell: the child showers the farmer with unfettered affection. As the train pulls away, readers see that the farmer has given the child a memento. And the farmer has gained something, too. Frazee takes us on an emotional journey that neither farmer, nor clown--nor reader--will ever forget. --Jennifer M. Brown, children's editor, Shelf Awareness