THE DAY I LOST MY SUPERPOWERS

In an import that is high on zest, a child and her blithe conviction that she has superpowers both take an abrupt tumble.

Sporting a black mask throughout in the simple crayon drawings, the self-confident young narrator describes how she learned to fly by launching herself from the bed. She can also make things (well, cupcakes at least) disappear and breathe under water—in a tub scene featuring a rib-tickling bit of mooning—as well as like special “powers.” But despite previous spills aplenty, she declares with a childlike sense of permanence that her abilities are “Gone! Finished!” after some swooping on the end of a rope in the yard one day ends with a SPLAT! They don’t vanish for long though, as when Mom rushes out with a “magic kiss” that makes most of the hurt go away, the child concludes that she “has superpowers too!” The illustrations will clue young readers in immediately that any powers here (aside, of course, from Mom’s) are strictly in her head, creating a tension between text and subtext that, oddly, both celebrates and undercuts this kind of imaginary play. Executed on spacious expanses of white or rich tan, they depict the ebullient child engaged in all sorts of delicious mayhem.

The narrator’s buoyancy and quick recovery save this from turning into a dreary life lesson.