THE WORST BOOK EVER

It’s not every book that can be
trite, dull, sexist, gross, kissy, violent, nondiverse, and replete with
misspellings.

Of course Gravel does it all
deliberately and to such comical effect that “I’m wondering if anyone is still
reading this book!” from one of the motley blobs providing reactions to each
successive literary malfeasance will definitely be a rhetorical question. The
storyline features a “brave prinse” named Putrick, the “beautiful prinsess”
Barbarotte, a monster roaring “POOPIE PEEPEE FART BOOGER!” and a closing
revelation that it was all a dream. It is played out by anthropomorphic sausages
as the trio of critics (a red spider, black inkblot, and lump of what could be
silly putty or perhaps a pink turd) offer individual, often conflicting takes
and observations: The inkblot celebrates the potty humor, for instance, even as
the silly putty (or turd) decries it, for instance. Even they don’t catch
everything, though, as in the simply drawn cartoon scenes such details as the
number of legs beneath Barbarotte’s gown or the message on Putrick’s shirt are
subject to abrupt shifts that go unnoted, as do the decidedly gender-stereotypical
decorative motifs on the final scene’s twin beds. Once they pick up what’s
going on, young readers should have no trouble picking up the slack and
pondering the many implications.

A clever, ingenious author’s “wurst”
work yet. (Picture book. 6-8)