In the first half of his story about a feral cave-girl and her canine companion, Wormell (George and the Dragon
) eloquently articulates the warring emotions that come with self-reliance: yearnings for mastery and fears of abandonment. He describes the cavegirl's existence in brisk, almost clinical terms: "The little girl had no one to brush her hair, or wash her face, or tie her shoelaces like you do. So her hair was a terrible mess and her face quite grubby." Expansively rendered full-spread paintings underscore her vulnerability, placing her in an indifferent, lunar-like wilderness. But in spot illustrations akin to sketches from an anthropologist's notebook, Wormell beautifully showcases her competence. The confident girl sports an animal skin, expertly wields a handmade spear and eats bugs without blanching. This powerful immersion in an abandoned child's life goes awry, however, when Wormell attempts to steepen its dramatic arc. The heroine discovers that a mother bear has left a tiny cub inside her cave, and that the girl has come between them. Is it possible that being alone is not the girl's fate after all? The answer to that question, though framed by a visually dramatic snowstorm and intended to reassure, abruptly shifts the narrative from a realistic survival story into a fairytale with a happy ending (in which bear, cub, girl and canine curl up together). Ages 4-up. (Sept.)
