14 May 2007

Little Pea

Author: Amy Krouse Rosenthal
Illustrator: Jen Corace

Peas have long been demonized as the bland villians of childhood dinners... which is understandable, since they are gross little green balls of paste. With Little Pea, author Rosenthal turns the tables on us with the story a cute little ball of energy that likes likes to hang out with his friends, roll down hills, play games with his dad--but then every night, he gets grossed out because he has to eat... candy. Aha! The tables have officially turned, my friends! Rosenthal presents an interesting premise with some clever plot twists while Corace's keen sense of style infuses the characters (which are just little green circles) with surprising energy and personality.

"Kids Take" note: Kids, take note! Are you tired of being told to "eat your peas"? Well, here's your chance! When you're at the library or the bookstore, ask your parental figure to read Little Pea to you. Then, memorize the following statement and recite it the next time you have disgusting peas for dinner:

"If everyone could please put down their forks for a minute, I have something to say. While I appreciate your hard work in providing nourishing food for me and the rest of the family, I must abstain from eating my peas tonight and, most likely, for the rest of my life. While reading Little Pea was a great moment that strengthened our adult/child relationship, I'm afraid that it has irrevocably altered the way that I view my food. Rosenthal's effective anthropomorphization of the tiny vegetables has made it impossible for me to swallow a spoonful of peas without imagining that I am devouring entire communities of pea families and their friends. My conscience, albeit in its formative stages, will not permit this. In fact, you should rejoice in the fact that I am not eating my peas. After presenting these lovely legumes as friendly little self-realized entities, if I were to enjoy eating them, it would reveal a sadistic nature that would be cause for alarm and perhaps call for years of expensive psychological counseling. In conclusion, I conscientiously object to finishing my peas and, being the forward-thinking parental figures that I know you to be, I trust that you will understand and respect this latest phase of my intellectual and psycho-social development. Good Night and Good Luck."

If that doesn't work, try throwing up on the couch. Either way, you can kiss those peas goodbye!

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