Books like I Don't Like Koala — picked by fans

I love this book’s unique approach to sharing a story about fear – it lists all the wild ruminations that can run through our minds. In this case, it’s a dog Sukie who is not enjoying a trip to the beach because, among other worries, there might be lobsters! Sukie’s list of fears grows and grows as the story goes on, and she is paralyzed in the sand – until her precious toy Chunka Munka is swept into the water. Sukie lets love overpower her fear and jumps into the water without a worry to save her precious friend. It’s a wonderful story about what we are willing to do to overcome our fear for the sake of others.

When our heroine and her little dog spy a spectacular cake just sitting alone on the kitchen table, it's on! The note attached from Mom says "You must not eat the cake." But what's a kid to do? She tries lots of activities to help her forget about cake but will temptation win out? This book is fun, funny, and well written. I love the drama of the situation and the art (by Lucia Gaggioti) is spot on. Fun to read dramatically aloud to both kids and adults. (Pair it with a reading of Green Eggs and Ham!)

Old Rock's friends think that he has a boring life. Yes, he's been sitting in the same spot for many, many years. But Old Rock tells them about the time he flew (out of a volcano!) and the dinosaurs he met and the time he lived inside a glacier. Seems Old Rock's life has not only been long, but very exciting! With the various characters in the book, there's fun dialogue begging to be read aloud. Your budding geologist, paleontologists, and historians will love to hear you read this book aloud.

The first page reads: Everyone loves Bacon. Including Bacon. How can you not love it? As I read this aloud, I love to use a smarmy playboy-type voice. The reader witnesses how Bacon becomes so full of himself and his celebrity status, that he forgets about those he left behind. (The makings of a BLT with avocado, minus the bacon are shown sitting alone in the fridge, missing their pal.) This book is just an all-around good time!

I just don’t know why this book isn’t talked about more. It’s so brooding and brilliant and horrifying. Heavily influenced by Philip Pullman’s masterful Clockwork (there’s sinister automata, and creepy clockmakers, and a snow-bound Germanic feel), it contains one of the most awful and terrifying antagonists in all of children’s literature. Nasty and enchanting — the very darkest and grimmest of tales.

Shepard’s roughly-hatched illustrations are a symbiotic match for the scruffy charm and humour of Milne’s stories.

Only a couple of chapters feature snow, but they loom so large in my imagination—Pooh and Piglet following their own footsteps in search of the legendary Heffalump; and building Eeyore’s new house at Pooh Corner to shelter him from the snowstorm (unwittingly using Eeyore’s existing house as their source of wood).

As Eeyore gets buried in the snow, I can feel the cold wind with each economical scratch of Shepherd’s pen nib.

Like millions of others, I grieved when the magnificent Calvin & Hobbes cartoon strip came to an end. So, this last published collection was one to savour.

I loved how Bill Watterson would draw snowy scenes, bringing them to life with a few ragged strokes of India ink, and there are few better examples than the last strip he ever created, which closes this book.

“Everything familiar has disappeared! The world looks brand new!… It’s like having a big sheet of white paper to draw on!” declares Hobbes (that connection with an un-started picture’s potential is one reason I find snow so visually compelling).

“A day full of possibilities!” replies Calvin. “It’s a magical world, Hobbes, ol’ buddy…”

The final huge panel sees them launch into the expanse of white on their sled, whose tracks trace the topography with glorious minimalism: “… Let’s go exploring!”

What an end to ten… show more.

Toys! Dolls! Amusement Parks! They aren’t just playthings and play places; they are part of our national character and our consumer culture, as well as our private objects and experiences. Childhood is manufactured—created in our homes, communities, schools, and yes, by play. This book has a lot to say about our history but it is also a fun reminder of the things many of us grew up with or wish we had. It just might have you rooting through your attic or old photo books.

Pooh Bear and his friends have been favorites since I was old enough to hold a book. A. A. Milne’s poetry is wonderful, but when Pooh and Piglet come on the scene, there’s a special magic. Clinically depressed Eeyore and bossy Rabbit and motherly Kanga entertained me long after I was technically the right age for reading their stories.

I love this collection because it includes so many favorites and really takes you on a journey through the charming world of the Hundred Acre Wood. 

Neither Dogger nor Shirley Hughes will need much introduction to lovers of children’s picture books… it’s a well-established classic by one of the world’s best-known author/illustrators. Dogger isn’t specifically about bereavement, it’s about the broader subject of ‘loss’ – in this case, of a toy – which can be a great place to start a conversation with a child and explore the wider concept of loss in a less direct or traumatic way.