Penguin

From the moment that Ben opens his present and discovers Penguin, we can see how delighted he is with his new friend. Yet Penguin himself is unmoved. Ben tickles Penguin, he pulls faces, he sings songs and dances, but Penguin looks solemnly, never moving a muscle, never blinking an eye. Ben is determined that Penguin will speak to him and, if kindness and playfulness won’t serve, then perhaps prodding and making fun will do the trick, or even, in frustration, firing Penguin into outer space or feeding him to a passing lion. If all else fails, then why not a tantrum and shouting. Ah, but careful with the shouting; not for nothing does that lion look as though he has strolled off the pages of Belloc’s Cautionary Tales for Children. Dunbar daringly choreographs her story in white space, like a silent movie, drawing our eye to exactly where it should be on the page and expertly portraying busy Ben and placid Penguin, their fraught relationship, and the decisive intervention of the lion. This is done so well that the spare text acts only to confirm what we can already see; and the way in which Penguin and Ben finally get together provides a surprising, funny and satisfying ending to a distinctive picture book.