TECHNICALLY, IT'S NOT MY FAULT: Concrete Poems

This graphically inventive sequence of concrete poems, printed in red and black on white, mimes an 11-year-old's sarcastic perspective. The protagonist, Robert, opens with a poem in black type that traces the diameter of a clock; six words in red ink, roundabout the number seven, indicate the start and conclusion ("I wake up in the morning...") of a school-to-homework-to-bed cycle. The narrator's wry attitude becomes more apparent in a footnoted letter that dutifully thanks an aunt for a hated gift. "I'm already planning when to wear my new sweater," Robert writes, and only readers catch his footnoted subtext ("the next time you come to visit. I just hope nobody sees me"). The interrelated statements evolve from ridiculous daydreams and everyday pastimes alike. In one spread, Robert imagines a typographical wrestling match between the words "octopus" and "boa constrictor"; in a skateboarding story, his angled and twisting words leap invisible curbs on the bare white page, while red letters shout, "Hey kid!... Get outta here!" Knowing audience members will appreciate the scatological wit of poems like "Bloodcurdling Screams," where spiraling bright-red text ("...Ow Ow Ow Hoo Hoo...") suggests what happens when a brother flushes a toilet during his sister's shower. Grandits (Pictures Tell Stories ) weaves Robert's portrait in distorted letterforms, language mazes and comic first-person narration. A technically (and imaginatively) inspired typeface experiment. Ages 9-13. (Oct.)