LEIF AND THE FALL

A leaf fearful of falling experiments with safety ideas.

Leif, an oak leaf, knows leaves fall in the fall, as the other leaves tell him over and over. But still, he is afraid he’ll be hurt when it happens. An understanding laurel leaf friend that seems also to be growing on Leif’s tree commiserates, and the two of them try out ideas to make the fall easier or even prevent it altogether. They make a net with twigs and a kite out of moss, among other ideas, but nothing works, and Leif tosses each attempt away, “feel[ing] as if he has failed.” He hasn’t of course, as the ending-with-a-twist reveals. The narrative is written in present tense—a clever choice to underscore the immediacy of Leif’s anxiety—and is crisp and taut, moving the plot along just enough to build a satisfying bit of tension. The illustrations, which leave plenty of white space to accentuate the idea of the space Leif will be falling through, are done in a palette of soft greens and browns and use basic leaf shapes with simple facial expressions drawn on them. In a few of the illustrations, an image of real moss is photo-collaged in, and not to advantage, since the too-realistic look of the sharp moss photo clashes with the soft simplicity of the rest. (This book was reviewed digitally with 11-by-16-inch double-page spreads viewed at 23% of actual size.)

A polished, clever take on the falling-leaf narrative.