Mr. Popper’s Penguins
By Richard and Florence Atwater
Illustrated by Michael Emberley (cover) and Robert Lawson (interior)
Little, Brown & Company, 1992 (originally published 1938)
Age Range: 9-12, reads aloud well to any age
When my siblings and I pestered our parents to take us to see Star Wars when we were children, my mother took us to the library and checked out the books for us instead. As a result, when the original Star Wars trilogy was rereleased in the late 90’s, I was pretty much the only person I knew who was seeing them for the first time.
I don’t think I was scarred too badly by that, although my husband, brother, and brother-in-law might disagree. Still, reading the books instead of (or at least before) watching the movies is a tradition that I’m carrying on with The Four-Year-Old.
So when Mr. Popper’s Penguins hit the theaters this summer, instead of buying the family tickets, I hunted down a copy of the book. And it was only with great difficulty that I wrested that book away from The Four-Year-Old long enough to write this review. (Before you accuse me of stealing books from small children, you should know that we have read this 138-page book cover to cover three times over the past three weeks. My daughter has had plenty of time with the Poppers.)
For those of you who haven’t read the book, the basic premise is that a house painter who spends his off-hours reading about (and writing to) explorers in the South Pole receives a penguin in the mail from one of those explorers. Since his work is over for the winter, he becomes very involved in the comfort and care of said penguin (and the eleven other penguins that quickly follow). In the end, he transforms his basement into an ice rink (an idea my daughter wholeheartedly supports, by the way), and spends more than his wife ever thought possible on fish and canned shrimp.
I won’t tell you how an out-of-work house painter manages to pay for all that (wouldn’t want to spoil the ending), but I will say that the process is highly entertaining for all involved. I found myself looking forward to each night’s installment of Mr. Popper nearly as much as The Four-Year-Old.
Although I personally found the ending to be highly improbable, The Four-Year-Old saw nothing at all the matter with it–except for that little bit of unpleasantness with the policemen and firemen–and has spent many a happy evening reenacting the finale in the bathtub.
And now, if you will excuse me, I need to go read Mr. Popper’s Penguins to The Four-Year-Old again. I promised her I would as soon as I finished writing the review. Which means it’s your turn. What are you reading this week?