Oh! You opened the book.
I assume that was an accident?
No problem, accidents happen.
I’m not even angry.
Just PLEASE don’t turn the page.
A zany long-legged egg-shaped blue monster is the star of this book, pleading with the reader first not to open the book then, with increasing desperation, not to turn the pages. he tries threats, pleas and even ignoring the reader, until, on the second last spread, he reveals that a witch has threatened to turn him into a frog if any one reads all the way to the book.
Young readers and listeners are invited into the story. to participate either by turning the page or by telling the adult reader whether to or not to do so. I read this book to my three year old grandson who, after one page, was urging me to ‘turn the page’, and demanded repeated rereadings of the book.
Illustrations, by Heath McKenzie, focus on the narrator, with big eyes, long limbs an an expressive mouth. Text features including bold, caps and shaped text to emphasise emotion, as well as a mix of white space and backgrounds including red when he is particularly angry, as dark grey when he is desperate help to build tension as well as humour.
Great for toddlers and early readers.
Do Not Open This Book, by Andy Lee, illustrated by Heath McKenzie
Lake press, 2016
ISBN 9781760451486

From the appointment of the Controller, Colonel Sybil Irving, on 29 September 1941, until the cessation of hostilities in August 1945, over 24,000 girls and women enlisted as volunteers in the Australian Women’s Army Service (AWAS).
Here in the foothills, tadpoles practise to be grown-up frogs in crystal-clear ponds, surrounded by wiry grasses and tough little plants that have spent the winter sleeping under the snow….These are the headwaters of the Murray River, where the story begins.
‘I can’t believe the holidays are almost here, Bernie.’
I discovered three things today:
This is this girl.
Soon Subhi, the people out there will remember us. Soon they’ll see that living in here isn’t living at all. We just need to show them who we are, that we’re people, and then they’ll remember. This time, they won’t forget.
I am the last of my kind.
She darted along the shadowy trail, adrenalin sparking through her limbs. Her eyes scanned for the snatches of white shirt flickering through the trees of the forest ahead; her nostrils twitched for shifting scents; her ears strained for every snap, every cry, every rustle, every …