A BED OF STARS

Under the desert night sky, Dad helps his child find cosmic comfort.

The vast universe has made a child feel too small despite their close family. Until, the young narrator tells us, they and their father pack their old pickup, driving through the “rubber and french fries” smell of the city and the “sweet and smoky” mountain scent to camp off-road in a remote arroyo. Together they see tiny beetle prints, jump in sand dunes, name birds, build a fire, watch the sunset, and stretch out in the truck bed. A thoughtful, small human, the child admits to being scared of “how big the universe is and how it goes on and on forever.” But equally thoughtful Dad explains that stars, beetles, birds, and even people are made of energy. Angst is not easily tamed, but snuggling and giving the constellations idiosyncratic names help, as does Mom’s back-at-home surprise: glowing stars covering the narrator’s room. In this bed under the stars, this budding philosopher finally feels “at home here in the universe.” It’s a quiet, contemplative tale that might not strike a chord with all readers but will reassure those who share the protagonist’s worries. Delicate, realistic art plays warm orange and brown hues against blues from pale to indigo, balancing (living) warmth and (interstellar) distance. The child and family are light-skinned and redheaded. (This book was reviewed digitally.)

A lovely vision for small, sensitive existentialists.