ROXABOXEN

The author recalls a rocky Arizona hilltop where her mother and the neighborhood friends of her childhood fashioned a town from old crates, rocks, and an endless supply of imagination. Streets and houses were added, offices held ("Marian was mayor of course; that was just the way she was. Nobody minded"), businesses thrived, and found objects were put to artful use. There were sticks as swift horses to ride, a jail with cactus on the floor, wars (the fort was always safe), a cemetery (just one dead lizard, and flowers)—a microcosmic world of happy improvisation. Turning her palette to dusty blues and the other rich hues of the desert, Cooney captures the setting and the joy with her usual lucid design, gentle wit, and grasp of what is beguiling and significant. Many books memorialize imaginative play in the hope of inspiring a new generation, but rarely with so much creative and evocative power. (Picture book. 4-8)