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Eric Carle's bright, elemental The Grouchy Ladybug (Crowell; $6.95) is about a mite spoiling for a fight. But every opponent has a stinger, a scent or a size that is superior. Carle has designed the book to fit the tale: as the heroine meets larger animals, the pages grow in size. None of the confrontations manage to sweeten the insect's disposition. That transformation is accomplished by powers that neither ladybug nor reader can resist: hunger and exhaustion.
The Second Whole Kids Catalog (Bantam; $7.50), by Peter Cardozo, belongs on any whole kid's bookshelf. No matter what his or her interest—or obsession—this fat paperback has an entry to satisfy it. Like the first Whole Kids Catalog (1975), its encore lists scores of free items that children can send away for—posters, coloring books, even games. Is the child a budding conjuror? Self-Working Card Tricks are only a postage stamp (plus $1.50) away, as well as membership in the Young Magicians Club. Kids into cartoons and photography can study film animation, make paper movie machines and paint with the sun. From Kite Flying to the less earthbound joys of Star Trekking and Rocketry, the Whole Kids Catalog consistently amuses and informs. It could use one visual aid: the book has no index. Still, its 250 pages are so entrancing that the searcher for any particular item will find that getting there is more than half the fun.
Richard Scarry should get an award for everything but his titles. His Best Make-It Book Ever! (Random House; $4.95) is nothing of the kind; it is merely the best of the year. Like his other amuse-yourself books, this fine, inventive paperback shows young readers hundreds of ways to brighten a rainy day or beguile the hours between Sesame Street and supper. This is a cut-and-paste book for all seasons: there are valentines to make, Halloween masks to wear, even Christmas decorations to festoon the tree—including a Santa Claus bird and a mouse on ice skates. Bakers are invited to try an easy-to-make—and easier-to-eat—orange cake frosting; puppeteers are shown patterns for a cast of characters; TV fans are even given a plan for constructing a paper set with moving characters and a nonviolent script. As always, Scarry's freehand drawings and merry text provide the best arrangement since the dish ran away with the spoon.
This year two books need no color to make them models of superlative craftsmanship and originality. In My Village, Sturbridge (Farrar, Straus & Giroux; $6.95), Gary Bowen invents a character, True Mason, and walks him through a 19th century New England village. Bowen's style is lean and precise. But it is his and Randy Miller's brilliantly detailed wood engravings that grant My Village the aura of a rare antique rescued from some forgotten attic. David Macaulay has won an international reputation without being able to draw believable people. What he can draw—churches, cities, pyramids—he does better than any other pen-and-ink illustrator in the world. His previous books have examined the construction and administration of those structures; Castle (Houghton Mifflin; $8.95) once again goes through a brick-by-brick assembly, employing crosshatches and thin black lines to evoke a medieval place and period.