Moonday

Rex’s story begins and ends in sleep, and—although it’s never stated explicitly—seems to describe a dream. The narrator, lifted from the backseat of a car and put to bed, awakens to see the moon, glowing and enormous, floating in her backyard. “I’m going to have a look around,” the girl announces. “Okay,” says her mother, showing little surprise. “Zip up your coat.” Rex’s beautifully drafted nighttime paintings, done with courtroomlike objectivity, are just right for the absentminded alienation of dreams. In a striking spread, the girl is shown at many points on the lunar surface, like the Little Prince on his planet. The moon’s presence (and the permanent night it brings) causes trouble for the rest of the town; her teacher can’t stay awake, and a punk band croons lullabies from a garage. Lonely images of a nighttime car trip evoke Edward Hopper paintings as the girl and her family lead the moon back into the sky. It’s a suggestive account of the movements of the dreaming mind, and a gentle departure from Rex’s more madcap work. Ages 3–7. Agent: Steven Malk, Writers House. (Sept.)