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Summary
Summary
From the award-winning author of Oliver comes a book that glows from the inside out, a book that will move you to be yourself -- and get dancing.
Frances Dean loves to dance. She feels the wind and she dances. She hears singing birds and she dances. In her every waking moment, she is inspired to move. But as soon as anyone is around, Frances Dean's knees begin to tremble, butterflies start to flutter in her tummy, and she forgets how to dance. Will she ever find the courage to share her talent with others and feel free?
Author Notes
Birgitta Sif studied art and design in the United States and worked as a children's book designer before moving to England to study illustration. Her debut picture book, Oliver, won Iceland's Dimmalimm Award and was endorsed by Amnesty International U.K., which stated: "It reminds us that we are all born free and equal, and we all have our own thoughts and opinions." Born in Reykjavik, Iceland, Birgitta Sif lives with her family in Sweden.
Reviews (5)
School Library Journal Review
K-Gr 2-Frances Dean adores dancing so much that she even makes her fingers "dance" on her desktop at school. It's only when she's alone, though, that she indulges herself in her joy for leaping and twirling. When she's around others, she loses her self-assurance. However, when the birds show her a little girl who is singing a lovely song all to herself, Frances Dean is struck by the beauty of the girl's voice. Inspired by how much she enjoyed the experience, she decides that maybe she, too, can bring a little extra something into others' lives by sharing her love of dance. The text is so spare that it's more poetry than prose, and its understated presence allows the artwork to shine. The pages are filled with warm, earth-toned illustrations of adorable woodland creatures, inviting outdoor settings, and the endearing expressions of Frances Dean as she contemplates revealing what makes her so very happy. This sweet, simple book is an utterly charming reminder that giving the best parts of ourselves enriches the world around us.-Alyson Low, Fayetteville Public Library, AR (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Horn Book Review
Pigtailed Frances Dean loves to dance. "But when people were around, all she could feel were their eyes on her..." so she practices with birds, pets, and an old woman, all of which prepare her to finally share her moves in public. Sprightly pencil illustrations, digitally colored in a tawny, fall palette, pleasingly depict the transformation of a solitary child into a social one. (c) Copyright 2015. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Kirkus Review
Similar to Oliver, the protagonist of Sif's eponymous debut picture book (2012), the titular character of this story, Frances Dean, feels herself to be different from others and must find a way to express her desire to dance in the light of potential disapproval from other people.When she is alone, or in the company of only the wind and the birds, her creativity knows no bounds. As soon as there are people around, she feels inhibited and loses her impulse to dance. Her constant companions, the birds, lead her to another, younger girl, who sings beautifully in public without inhibition. Inspired by this example, Frances gains the courage to dance interactively with othersfirst with her cat, then with the neighbor's dog, then with the old lady in the square. The singing girl asks Frances to teach her to dance. Finally she is dancing happily in the park, surrounded by her newfound audience. Sif's illustrative style places whimsical, cartoonlike figures in dreamy bucolic backgrounds painted in a muted palette of ochre and olive, peopled with figures and animals in a landscape inspired by Scandinavian folk tales.The story of Frances Dean's artistic journey from shrinking violet to exuberant dancer is sensitively told in a way that will give courage to other children who have felt shy about expressing themselves artistically. (Picture book. 2-5) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Booklist Review
Frances Dean is compelled to caper; a gentle breeze or singing birds are reasons enough to dance. And so she does, with abandon and exuberance, but only when she is sure no one else is around. If people are nearby, she feels they're watching her, loses confidence, and stops dancing. Her feathered friends, who miss seeing the child frolic, take her to hear a younger girl blissfully singing her heart out. Frances Dean admires the way the girl had shared her beautiful song. Awakening the next day, Frances feels emboldened and decides to resume her dancing. Charming pencil illustrations, colored digitally, in a variety of double-page spreads and small vignettes, are filled with lively action. There are two slips in logic: Frances Dean is shown in the first spread dancing in the park near eight people who could potentially watch her. And the singing girl, whom Frances idolizes, is vocalizing to a flock of birds with no people around at all. Quibbles aside, children will applaud the girl's hopeful decision to act on what brings her joy.--Owen, Maryann Copyright 2014 Booklist
New York Review of Books Review
SOME PEOPLE ARE natural performers. Give them a wedding D.J. or a karaoke mike and brace yourself, bystanders: It's "Love Shack" to the max. Other people, even if they're secretly talented, need coaxing. The bathroom-shower soprano clams up in public. The dude who rocks the funky chicken behind closed doors folds up his wings and refuses to boogie. The risk of humiliation is simply too great: People may judge. People may laugh. And how do we know that? Because at some point along the way, perhaps when we were very young, someone did judge, or did laugh - and the reflexive urge we felt to shake, rattle and roll? Poof! Extinguished. Self-awareness is such a buzzkill. Which is so sad. Because obviously, we're born to dance. Turn up the music and the youngest child, barely able to walk, will sway and bop to the point of collapse. Plug "toddler dancing wedding" into YouTube and you'll find tens of thousands of videos of tots at the center of attention, gettin' down. Thankfully, the later slide toward paralyzing wallflowerdom can be halted if caught and treated early. Three new picture books show how with a little inspiration, a little cajoling and a little practice, would-be dancers who have lost faith in their skills or developed a case of early-onset butterflies can conquer the fluttering in their tummies. "Frances Dean Who Loved to Dance and Dance," by Birgitta Sif, introduces a girl who, left to her own devices, would dance the day away. There's Frances, prancing in the park. There she is, balancing in arabesque atop a bench. "At school sometimes, when no one was watching, she danced with her fingers on her desk," Sif writes. "Or she gently tapped her toes to the beat of her teacher's voice." As long as only birds and bunnies are watching, Frances feels buoyant and free. But then she senses it: the human gaze. "And she forgot how to dance." Sif - whose previous book, "Oliver," told the story of an imaginative, introverted boy who learns to come out of his shell - here illustrates what happens when self-consciousness stifles the fun. Whereas Frances once smiled and tipped her head cheerily to the sky, now she sits slump-shouldered, gloomy and timid, the arc of her smile reduced to a diffident dot. Even her braids droop. This distresses the birds, "who always loved her dancing," so one day they lead her through the park to show her something: another girl, even smaller and younger than Frances, clutching a radio and, without a care in the world, "singing the most beautiful song." The scene moves Frances, reminding her of her old, irrepressible self, and step by step, inspired by the fearlessness of the younger child, she not only jigs again, but acts as ambassador of dance to other denizens of the park - young, old, fuzzy and feathered. Sif's story, sweet but not saccharine, is written in tuneful prose, but I was even more charmed by her cleverly detailed pencil drawings. Colored digitally in rich greens, reds, browns and blues, they're simultaneously handsome and adorable. "Rupert Can Dance," by the estimable cartoonist Jules Feiffer, stars another dancer who, caught in the act, wants to crawl away and hide - although in this case, the dancer is a cat. Rupert lives with a young human named Mandy who bounces off the walls day and night. During the few hours she's actually at rest, Rupert slips into her closet, borrows her shoes and gets his groove on. "Dancing was Rupert's secret!" Feiffer writes. "Cats love secrets and ... his secret was one of the best ever." Inevitably, however, Mandy wakes one night to startle Rupert midleap. "Rupert!" she screeches. "You're dancing!" The story next takes a witty twist that dance and cat lovers will appreciate. Rupert, abashed, goes skittering under the bed. But not because he's shy. Oh, no. It's because of his wounded pride. For one, his "best ever" secret is a secret no more. Worse, an excited Mandy now wants to teach him steps. "Rupert was mortified," Feiffer writes. "Dogs might qualify for lessons, but Rupert was a cat. Cats are not meant for lessons. Cats are free spirits." Only when an astute Mandy figures out how to stroke Rupert's ego does he emerge to dance another day, this time by her side. Feiffer's jazzy lines exude such joy that you shouldn't be surprised if at the end of the story your little one jumps up to mimic Mandy's and Rupert's magnificent moves. On the more earnest end of the spectrum is "Deer Dancer," written by Mary Lyn Ray and illustrated by Lauren Stringer. The book's narrator is a pretty, nature-loving ballet student - gauzy pink skirt, Earth-print shirt, twigs tucked into a headband to form antlers - who struggles in the dance studio and so retreats to the woods, to practice in "a place I thought that no one knew - until the day a deer came." Dancer and deer engage in a pas de deux of sorts: "He lowers his antlers in greeting. I lower mine. He starts to graze. And I begin to feel a song inside." Stringer's forest settings, painted in vibrant yellow and green, are fit for a corps of swans or Wilis, those spectral maidens from "Giselle," and young dancers will identify with her depiction of the protagonist, fawnlike and wobbly, falling out of her pirouettes. Ray's prose at times suffers from awkward pacing, but she captures well the odd commands of ballet teachers: "Listen with your cheekbones." "Look with the eyes in your shoulders." "Hold your head as if you're wearing antlers." Their story emphasizes the bliss of leaping with abandon through woods and across meadows, the pleasure of practicing in solitude, "when no one's there to see." Children who live for ballet will probably love "Deer Dancer" the way they love everything to do with ballet; I include my 6-year-old self in this group. But my adult self found the book sedate. To withstand repeated reading, picture books ought to possess an infectious quality, like that gregarious guy at the party who, through sheer exuberance, can inspire everyone to join his conga line. Of the three books here, only Sif's and Feiffer's made me want to dance and dance - and then sit down to read and read and read. JENNIFER B. MCDONALD is a former editor at the Book Review.