JITTERBUG

Can a bug with rock in her heart ever find understanding in these intolerant woods?

One’s initial thoughts of ladybugs may conjure up images of sweet, cute, flimsy creatures. Lady B. Marie defies those stereotypes. In spite of the disapproval of her father and the neighbors, she’s into punk rock and loud guitars. And when all the other critters have been driven away by her solos, she refuses to feel down about it, happy to tear it up alone. Happily, a passing band hears her chords and is compelled to play along. Rauers’ artwork adeptly suits the mood of the piece, her Jitterbug a jean jacket–wearing rocker shredding the forest floor with the power of her jam. The visual gag of the bass guitarist stag beetle, horns emanating from his head like a death metal god, is glorious in and of itself. Unfortunately, while the overall story and artwork soar, the text, translated from German, is much weaker. Awkward phrasing, rhymes, and scansion plague this cheery tale. Putting aside the question of why a rocking insect would go by a moniker reminiscent of a 1930s dance craze, the rhyming text is too often repetitive and herky-jerky. “And ever since then no one ever cries foul / Whenever the band starts to rock and howl.” (This book was reviewed digitally.)

Peppy pictures will rock you but cannot save this metal beetle from lackluster writing.