It's always an interesting exercise to look closely at a book that isn't a top favorite. Don't get me wrong: I love this book; I just wasn't thinking of it as a Caldecott contender. But Julie Danielson named it (here) as a book she'd like to see considered. And, in fact, the actual Caldecott committee will be looking at many books suggested by another committee member, books that aren't necessarily favorites of every committee member, or indeed even on some of their radars.

Unlike both Robin and Lolly, I've never served on the Caldecott committee, but I have served on the Newbery, and the process is similar: before committee members submit their limited number of official nominations (beginning around this time of year), they've suggested tens and perhaps hundreds of titles to one another, ALL of which need to be taken seriously by the others.

That's the position I find myself in with Barbara McClintock's latest picture book: taking it seriously because another person has suggested we all take a look.

The first thing I noticed is how effectively and cleverly McClintock uses color to focus our attention on the two main characters, and to link them visually. Check it out: we never see either dancer without some touch of yellow, pink, or purple—a yellow leotard, a purple hoodie, a pink ballet costume. McClintock introduces readers to her palette on the first spread, in which we see Emma waking up in her pink bedroom with yellow ballet poster and lamp, and Julia waking up in her yellow bedroom with purple mirror and sheets and pink slippers and pointe shoes. From here on (until the final page on which Emma and Julia's parallel tracks finally meet), we see both characters solely in small vignettes and spot art, participating in their parallel activities throughout the day—and those pinks, purples, and yellows absolutely help readers locate Emma and Julia in each illustration.

I noticed the intentional lack of ballet-associated grandeur in the art. As I said, we get mostly small, homey views, meant to keep our attention on the people and the process, not on ballet as performance. The two sweeping double-page spreads in the book are of the spaces associated with the performance, not the performance itself: the grand concert hall; the stage. In other words, this is a book for readers who already love ballet. It's not inspirational; it's conspiratorial.

There's a nice tension between art and text. Although the book is propelled by the similarities in Emma and Julia's days, there are of course points of departure. Sometimes it's the text that carries those points ("Emma's mother drives her to her [ballet] lesson. Julia takes the bus by herself"), and sometimes it's the art. On the spread where the text says, "Emma's teacher begins class. Emma loves her teacher. Julia's teacher begins class, too. Julia is devoted to her teacher," both classes are lined up at the barre, but Emma and her classmates, wearing ballet slippers, vary in ability and toe-pointing prowess, whereas everyone in Julia's class is wearing toe shoes and executing a perfect tendu.

One more thing: I know there has been an uptick in picture books featuring "casual diversity," but I feel like it's more than that here: that having Emma aspire to be just like Julia (as well as showing several other adult dancers of color) is more intentional than casual. It counts as subtext, not just window dressing.

Well, I'm really glad I spent time looking closely at this book. Thanks for suggesting it, Jules!