Actor Novak's expert sense of comic timing is on full display in his first picture book, which, true to its title, only contains words on a white background. Different font types, sizes, and colors signal important changes in tone and voice to whomever is reading the story aloud (and the book's jokes rely on a readaloud setting). "It might seem like no fun to have someone read you a book with no pictures," Novak writes early in the book, his words set in a black serif font that all but demands a serious, James Earl Jones-style voice-over. Then the kicker: "Here is how books work. Everything the words say, the person reading the book has to say. No matter what." Cue sound effects ("BLUURF") and nonsense statements ("I am a monkey who taught myself to read") designed to make a laughingstock of the adult reader while keeping children howling, even as the reader's "voice" lodges its protests ("Wait a second-is this whole book a trick?"). A strong first showing for Novak that's sure to deliver big laughs. Ages 4-8. Agent: Richard Abate, 3 Arts Entertainment. (Aug.) (c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved.

K-Gr 2-The actor (and writer, producer, and director) has penned his first picture book, but can it be called a picture book when there are no pictures? Entering the field of unique interactive books begging to be opened, including Herve Tullet's Press Here (Chronicle, 2011) and Adam Lehrhaupt's Warning: Do Not Open This Book! (S. & S., 2013), this title will instantly intrigue children. Upon opening the book, readers are drawn in ("Here is how books work: everything the words say, the person reading the book has to say. No matter what."). What follows is an uproariously raucous time, with readers being forced to utter nonsense words ("blork," "bluurf") and phrases that will have young listeners in stitches ("And my head is made of blueberry pizza."). Admittedly, there are no illustrations, but Novak has employed the use of various sizes of black typeface with expansive white space and color to highlight some of the text. This book is sure to be a crowd-pleaser, and it's perfect for one-on-one sharing with a parent or caregiver. Expect requests for repeated readings.- Michele Shaw, Quail Run Elementary School, San Ramon, CA (c) Copyright 2014. Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

HAVE YOUR KIDS GONE META? Do they Call their neighborhood jungle gym a "play structure"? Do they mix and match their dress-up garb - a tiara here, firefighter's boots there - with a sense of mischief that might, unnervingly, be termed "ironic"? Have they spotted the clown at the neighbor's birthday party removing his wig and slinking out the side door? They're probably not ready for the labyrinthine tricksterism of David Foster Wallace or Spike Jonze. But on the evidence of a recent spate of highly self-conscious picture books, it would seem that the suspended-disbelief state of early childhood is adapting to the wink-wink, nudge-nudge sensibility of our moment. It's not surprising. There has long been a strain of subversion in picture books - think of Maurice Sendak and Tomi Ungerer, among others - alongside the dominant anodyne snuggliness of the form. Now, sophisticated cheekiness appears to have gone mainstream. These five specimens of reinvention deftly pop the bubbles of their own illusory worlds, drawing attention to the artifices of their norms and aiming to teach children to become not just book lovers but pint-size "consumers of text." The best of these books, luckily, manage to find fresh magic in demystification, and to delight kids while spinning the heads of their grown-up companions. The endpapers of "This Book Just Ate My Dog!" by the British writer and illustrator Richard Byrne, are covered with the repeated apology "I promise not to be a naughty book," written out in a simulation of an errant child's scrawl. In its opening spread we find elfin, round-faced, shabby-chic-dressed Bella prancing across the right-hand page, and leading a friendly cow-like dog, situated on the left-facing page, by a leash. "Bella was taking her dog for a stroll across the page when" (turn the page) "something very odd happened." Half the dog vanishes in the space between the two pages - the crease book designers call "the gutter." Odd things do indeed transpire when one reads books. On the next spread, as Bella yanks the leash, the dog disappears entirely. The two sides of the book are not continuous with each other, and Byrne has transformed the fold between them into a kind of portal, emptying to an imagined nether region. All who try to make the crossing - a concerned friend, emergency vehicles, even perplexed Bella - vanish through the book's exposed scaffolding. To set matters straight, the reader is enlisted to twist the irreverent book sideways and shake its characters out of oblivion, a moment of participatory theater that feels like its own bit of naughty fun. "A Perfectly Messed-Up Story," by Patrick McDonnell, also concerned with boundary-breeching, unfolds on classically metafictional terrain. An amorphously shaped, pajama-clad boy named Louie sets out to be a character in an ordinary picture book, "skipping merrily along" and singing "Tra la la," when his path is interrupted by gobs of food descending from an unseen reader. Louie is indignant. "Who would eat a jelly sandwich while reading my book?" As the abuse continues - dirty fingers, orange juice and crayon markers besmirch the page - Louie addresses his condition with world-weary tones of pathos. "I'm just in a messy old book that will end up in some garage sale," he says, in what might be considered a "Toy Story" moment, if not a Brechtian one. The pleasures of watching a book depart from its conventions and address its sticky-fingered reader will tickle even the littlest postmodernist. The peanut butter stains don't hurt. Kelly Bingham and the illustrator Paul O. Zelinsky are on a mission to raise awareness of genre to a level of madcap chicanery. Their first book together, "Z Is for Moose," imagined a collision between a poker-faced alphabet book and a goofy animal romp. This one, "Circle, Square, Moose," purports to be a benign primer in geometry - a "shapes" book - opening with a spot-on parody of a pablum-textured instructional voice. Before long, though, the rambunctious moose trespasses onto the text and tramples its decorum. The comedy is rather broad, but reaches a pitch of surreal delirium as a zebra and a crazed cat join the fray. Adults who have slogged like prisoners through the pieties of self-serious picture books will find the anarchy refreshing; kids will recognize the mash-up world they were born into. B.J. Novak's "The Book With No Pictures" is the most conceptually radical of these books, doing away altogether with the medium's defining element: There's not an illustration to be found here. Novak, a writer and actor best known for his role on "The Office," spoofs the reverent silence of visually lush, text-free books like Tao Nyeu's "Wonder Bear" and Jerry Pinkney's "The Lion and the Mouse," making the refreshing and contrarian case that words alone have sensory and imaginative vibrancy to spare. "It might seem like no fun to have someone read you a book with no pictures," admits a page of black type set against a blinding white background. What's fun, though, is to be let in on trade secrets. "Here is how books work," the confiding typeface continues. "Everything the words say, the person reading the book has to say." An aging semiotician might approve this recognition of the reader's complicity with a book's invisible agenda. For his part, Novak exploits the seeing-through device with abandon. The (presumably adult) reader is made to sing, issue nonsense sounds, extol the superiority of the child who is being read to, and say things like "I am a monkey who taught myself to read" (the favorite moment in my home). It's a raucous and illuminating gag, a formalist free-for-all, even if it wears a bit thin on repeated readings. The main character of "The Jacket," the first picture book by Kirsten Hall and the illustrator Dasha Tolstikova, is named Book. Book is a teal rectangle with soft, wide-apart eyes and a pencil stroke of a smile, uncannily resembling the cover of "The Jacket" itself when the jacket has been removed. This book is a revelation, seamlessly blending the cleverness of its conceit with the virtues of captivating storytelling. Book is lonely until he is discovered by a reader, "the girl," in whose hands he finds his place. Such bliss can't last, though. For "the truth was that there was someone else whom the girl really loved, too" - her dog, Egg Cream, represented as a shaggy blur. Book is nearly put out of commission by his rival, until the girl repairs him through a creative act that completes both Book's jacket and "The Jacket" (the book). It's as poignant as it is smart. The beauty of Tolstikova's pastel-tinged illustrations, whose manner changes from page to page and suggests both childlike simplicity and a quiet mastery of modernist color and design, shows there's more to a book than its concept. MARK LEVINE, a poet, teaches at the Iowa Writers' Workshop.

This book may not have pictures, but it's sure to inspire lots of conversationsand laughs. Television writer, actor and comedian Novak delivers a rare find, indeed: a very good celebrity picture book. It doesn't even seem fair to call it such, since it has nothing to do with his Emmy Award-winning writing for The Office or the fame his broader career has afforded him. The jacket flap even eschews a glossy photo, instead saying "B.J. has brown hair and blue eyes," in order to keep with the book's central conceit. What this book does have is text, and it's presented through artful typography that visually conveys its changing tone to guide oral readings. Furthermore, the text implies (or rather, demands) a shared reading transaction, in which an adult is compelled to read the text aloud, no matter how "COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS" it is. Employing direct address, it pleads with the implied child listener to allow him or her to stop reading. Nonsense words, silly words to be sung and even a smattering of potty talk for good measure all coalesce in riotous read-aloud fare. Although the closing pages beg the implied child reader to "please please please please / please / choose a book with pictures" for subsequent reading, it's likely that this request will be ignored. A riotously fresh take on breaking the fourth wall. (Picture book. 3-8) Copyright Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.

Novak (from television's The Office) goes meta in this very funny text-only picture book. On crisp white pages, in a large black font, readers and listeners get clued in: "Here is how books work: Everything the words say, the person reading the book has to say." Chaos ensues. Listeners will be tickled by hearing adults say ridiculous things -- "I am a monkey who taught myself to read" -- and then whine about it, as directed by the text: "Hey! I'm not a monkey!" They'll be rolling on the floor by the time the whole thing devolves into shouting about a hippo named "BooBoo BUTT," then puffed up with pride as their talents are praised: "The kid I am reading this book to is THE BEST KID EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD." The comic pacing and foolproof theatrics ensure a wild and silly trip through the pages for everyone. While there are no illustrations, there are plenty of visual cues to keep the pages lively. Dynamic design, judicious use of color, and varied typeface and font size all work together to bring personality and expression to the story. We've seen a lot of excellent wordless picture books recently; here's a good one that reverses that trend. julie roach (c) Copyright 2014. The Horn Book, Inc., a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.

Best known for his work on TV's The Office, Novak follows his adult short-story collection (One More Thing, 2014) with a picture book well, sort of. There's, like, no pictures. That's the whole idea. But Novak has isolated a curious truth about picture books: the person reading the book aloud is obligated to say what's on the page. No exceptions. Thus commences what is basically a one-character stand-up routine in which the one reading aloud must struggle against increasingly silly demands. I am a monkey who taught myself to read, insists the simple black-on-white text. Then, in smaller text, Hey! I'm not a monkey! Color and font changes are introduced as the demands upon the speaker become more infuriating: And my head is made of blueberry pizza. You see where this is going: humiliating songs, declarations that the kid listening is the best kid ever, and a two-page spread of rude noises. Sure, it's one joke, but it's a great one, and kids will adore adults who commit to the ridiculous performance.--Kraus, Daniel Copyright 2014 Booklist