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Summary
Summary
A classic tale with a timeless message gets a hugely hilarious twist.
He's big. He's funny. He's not real. Or IS he?
This clever twist on "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" is told from the point of view of an unexpected narrator and, through snappy text and lighthearted illustrations, demonstrates the value of telling the truth, the importance of establishing trust, and (of course!) the possibility that a beast you created to get attention can become a real-life friend.
Reviews (6)
School Library Journal Review
K-Gr 1-Adam Verner voices Bigfoot as he narrates the story of how he met his friend Ben. Ben, a young boy who loves to tell stories, has concocted one about meeting Bigfoot. Not surprisingly, nobody believes Ben, and it comes as a shock to Bigfoot himself when the story makes it's way to him, since he doesn't recall ever meeting Ben. This is an entertaining twist on the classic "The Boy Who Cried Wolf." Verner's voice lends itself nicely to the role of Bigfoot, but this audio version would be best listened to while following the picture book (S. & S., 2013) as the descriptions are not enough for listeners to conjure up their own images. Still, the story is creative and teaches the time-tested lesson of telling the truth.-Betsy Davison, Cortland Free Library, NY (c) Copyright 2015. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Publisher's Weekly Review
Magoon retells "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" in a book whose suspenseful, funny pictures and surprise narrator trump its familiar plot. "This is the story of my friend Ben and how we first met," says an offstage speaker, referring to a brown-haired boy. Ben "liked to tell stories," and readers see him at a forest's edge, alleging Bigfoot sightings to his weary parents, unbelieving sister, and neighborhood friends. Ben's small dog acts as a barometer for Ben's fibs, its expression going from tetchy to angry and then jolted by the "crick!" of a twig in the woods. "I didn't normally talk to a Littlefoot," explains the now-visible narrator, a towering Sasquatch. Ben looks on in shock while his dog merrily joins the creature for a spin on Ben's bike. Magoon (Big Mean Mike) sets events some decades in the past, giving Ben an antique bike, vintage clothing, and old-fashioned camera and video equipment. While there's still an emphasis on the importance of being honest, it's clear that Magoon also sees value in Ben's perseverance and sense of showmanship. Ages 4-8. Agent: Rebecca Sherman, Writers House. (Feb.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.
Horn Book Review
This adaptation of "The Boy Who Cried Wolf" replaces the canid with Bigfoot, who narrates the tale ("I didn't normally talk to a Littlefoot. But there was something about this Ben I liked"). Magoon mostly embellishes rather than expands on the story, but his digital illustrations are quite funny (to corroborate his lie, Ben stamps the ground with cutouts of giant footprints). (c) Copyright 2013. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Kirkus Review
Some boys cry wolf, but to the admiration of one individual, Ben cries Bigfoot. The opening line by an unseen narrator introduces the young tale-teller: "This is the story of my friend Ben and how we first met." Events unfold over the course of a day, with cartoon-style art providing definitive clues as to the passage of time. In the morning, Ben rides his bicycle to the top of a hill, where he calls out: "LOOK, EVERYONE! IT'S BIGFOOT!" With the narrator providing commentary, the hilltop becomes a stage onto which other characters enter and exit. Ben is the constant, always trying to provoke response. Readers will quickly note that the indulgent narrator's voice is at odds with Ben's increasingly frantic antics, and they will begin to wonder just who is telling the story. Could it be Bigfoot? Indeed! He likes Ben's determination--and Ben's bike, which he takes for a little spin that night, leaving a scared Ben behind. Youngsters may at first feel glad that Ben gets his comeuppance when no one rushes to his aid but will soon relent when they see how forlorn Ben looks alone in the dark. Once home, it seems Ben has learned his lesson, although how he determines to tell the truth in the future is bound to leave readers giggling. Entertaining and clever--and that's no lie. (Picture book. 4-8)]] Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Booklist Review
At first glance Ben seems to be a nice little boy with a bike and a dog, but his flaw is that he likes to tell stories. Soon his insistence that he sees Bigfoot begins to wear on his family and friends. He is not above bolstering the stories either for instance, digging footprints on the edge of the forest. Even his dog gets mad. Then (not unexpectedly, since he is also on the cover) Bigfoot appears. Bigfoot likes Ben and likes Ben's bike, which prompts Ben to scream, Bigfoot is stealing my bike! Alas, like his predecessor who cried wolf, no one comes to help and no one believes him. But the last page finds Ben (with camera in tow) heading into the forest, determined to get proof. The decision to let Bigfoot narrate adds a unique perspective, but it detracts from any surprise. What's good fun are the full-color Edward Gorey-like illustrations, with all the action happening in the foreground in front of a changing sky except when Bigfoot comes to fill the page. A neat twist on an old tale.--Cooper, Ilene Copyright 2010 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
WHEN it comes to picking children's books, I am a lot like those old ladies you see in Upper West Side supermarkets, tapping, squeezing and smelling the melons on display: "Is it ripe, dear?" Bringing a children's book into your home is not something to take lightly. An obliging parent may be asked to read it a hundred times. Nay, a thousand times. The big-eyed sheep that seemed so cute while you were flipping through pages in the store soon begins to vex. Over time, reading the book becomes like ripping off a Band-Aid. Even small defects - an irritating drawing, the misuse of the word "presently," a character who speaks in rhyme - can form blisters on the parental soul. No, darling, not again. Let's pick another book, please. I've seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by the 38 th reading of "Knuffle Bunny Too." It is fitting, then, that the theme of these four books under review is the difficulty of making new friends - at least ones you would want to stick around - and the way they can materialize in unexpected places. The pick of the litter has to be Dan Yaccarino's "Doug Unplugged." I was already acquainted with the author from his excellent work in "Every Friday," a charming tale of a father and son who journey to the local diner for their regular breakfast. His illustration style can roughly be described as Art Deco meets "Mad Men": fedoras, solid shapes, bold lines. But Yaccarino isn't trendy or simplistic. He's especially good at slipping in the small, nourishing details that are savored upon repeated readings (thank Heaven for those). In "Doug Unplugged," a robot boy is left for the day by his robot parents. Rather than let him go to school, his parents plug him into a database where he can download all the information he needs. "They love their little robot and want him to be the smartest robot ever," we learn. The plug, of course, goes directly into his bellybutton. But one day, Doug decides to unplug. Powered by jetpack, he roams the city, where he learns firsthand about scaring pigeons, smelly trash cans and the darkness of manholes. He also meets a human boy at the playground. ("Then Doug came across something that wasn't in any of his downloads") It's a sweet tale, and true to the anti-technology, analog strain that runs through much of Yaccarino's work. Apparently, all the world cannot be comprehended in a Google search. And, as Doug learns, "there were all sorts of different ways to play." I should probably disclose at this point that I am the father of two boys, and this book is about a boy robot I suspect parents of girls will find much to cherish in You Byun's "Dream Friends." It reminded me of the classic "Goodnight Moon," with its haunting, twilight-inflected color scheme. A girl named Melody plays with a giant cat in her dreams, which gives her the confidence to approach girls in real life. That plot description sounds straightforward, but this book could easily be billed as My First Acid Trip. In a good way! The drawings in this picture book debut enchant and enthrall and linger in the mind. Did you catch my mistake? Yes, it's the classic one of applying adult logic to a children's book. I imagine most kids won't give the fantasia of "Dream Friends" a second thought. Why wouldn't a girl romp with an enormous cat in the night? Why wouldn't fish fly in formation through a moonlit sky? Remember, we are dealing with people who believe in Santa Claus. This brings me to an aspect of children's literature that, despite my wariness, always wins my affection: books that recall some truth about childhood we are apt to have forgotten. "The Black Rabbit," by Philippa Leathers, another first-time author and illustrator, builds upon the indisputable fact that - remember? - children are obsessed with their shadows. A rabbit is followed everywhere by a mysterious black creature, even into the deep, dark wood. It is there (spoiler alert!) the shadow saves the bunny from a vicious, hungry wolf who is also kind of cute. How this pertains to making new friends, I have no idea (eliminating enemies?), but it is a truth universally acknowledged that shadows are awesome. Equally awesome is Bigfoot, though presenting an adorable Bigfoot smacks of overkill, like deep-fried Snickers bars. Scott Magoon' s "Boy Who Cried Bigfoot!" can be forgiven this transgression, however. True, his Bigfoot is hairy and irresistible. I also found his overall style to be strongly, appealingly Brooklyn-antiquarian - perhaps because the boy in the book rides a classic roadster bicycle that 20-somethings would love to be seen pedaling to their C.S.A. pickup. The pleasing optics, however, play second fiddle to the book's midpoint Shyamalan-esque twist: The story is actually told from the perspective of Bigfoot. At this revelation, a pleasing pop of delight emerged from my 4-year-old test audience. Again and again. I was O.K. with that. With the right book in your hands, rereading is a pleasure. Until you pass out. Michael Agger is the culture editor of The New Yorker online.
