SPROUT BRANCHES OUT

A little plant flourishes in her own time.

A bunch of plants living on a stately red porch are cheerful...except for Sprout, the adorably grumpy potted hydrangea. Two small leaves poke out of the dirt on her head, and she’s convinced that if she only lived somewhere else, she’d be able to grow more, even on her chest. After complaining about the deficiencies of the porch to her friends, she gets a travel brochure for the forest and goes exploring. Of course, none of her predicted solutions—spending time in the wild woods, surrounding herself with wise older trees, soaking up rain—spur the desired foliage, and Sprout learns that growing at home, in her own time, is best. The illustrations of anthropomorphic elements of nature—friendly mushrooms, mustachioed tree trunks, a winking rock—are a delightful focus point. The story is pleasant if old-fashioned, implying that it’s OK to have adventures out in the scary, confusing, dangerous world but that one’s provincial home is best. Unfortunately, the text becomes progressively bogged down by plant-based puns like “This forest was way past elemen-tree for Sprout,” and “I’m an unbe-leaf-able listener.” These make for an awkward and confusing read-aloud given that young audiences will not be able to readily infer that the jokes hinge upon italics or tweaks in spelling. (This book was reviewed digitally.)

Solid yet unfruitful.