You know those books you picked up as a kid for the sole purpose of looking at the beautiful art, and your parents always told you it was too long for a bedtime story.

That perfectly describes this book for me; I found myself staring awestruck at the art while my eyes skimmed over the text. Even in my 3rd or 4th attempt, I struggled to pull myself away from Frédéric Pillot's gorgeous art truly, and eventually, I had to settle that this was going to be the case. And I can't be upset with that.

Because I can't say, I've come across a children's book in a long time that inspired the same level of awe that I remember having the first time I got to look at Jan Brett's The Mitten up close and personal.

And honestly, it's the type of book that I would buy a young one in my life because these were the types of books that I remember spending so much time looking at the pages and then being so proud when I could come back and read it for myself.