The Barnes & Noble Review
A recipient of a 2003 Caldecott Honor, this shimmering black-and-white masterpiece retells Mary Howitt's "cautionary tale" in a 1920s silent-film style, coupled with Tony DiTerlizzi's wry twist. As the author's familiar rhyme ominously hovers overhead, an innocent Fly -- garbed in a flapper dress, with flowered parasol -- becomes charmed by a fiendishly dapper Spider, ultimately meeting her maker with a spin of his web. As if DiTerlizzi had fashioned an old-time thriller on paper, the book charms with its silvery "sets" and striking characters, from the title page glowing with the eerie "movie opener" to shadowy scenes that subtly reveal the Spider's true motives (such as a "Joy of Cooking Bugs" book on his side table and two ghostly flies who try to warn potential victims). With each page capturing Nosferatu-like chills that will have readers amazed and enthralled, this illustrator's rendition of The Spider and the Fly is a tale to be heeded for its moral and admired for its genius. Matt Warner
Kirkus Starred Review
"'Will you walk into my parlor?'/said the Spider to the Fly." Howitt's 1829 cautionary poem is realized here in full cinematic fashion. Delightfully ghoulish full-bleed black-and-white spreads are rendered in gouache and pencil, and reproduced in silver-and-black duotone, resulting in
images that recall the slightly fuzzy-edged figures from old black-and-white horror movies. The typeface and occasional framed text pages heighten this effect by evoking silent-movie titles. The setting is a dustily gothic attic in which DiTerlizzi's (Alien and Possum: Friends No Matter What, ) "camera" never rests, zooming in, out, up, and down in a dazzling series of perspectives as a top-hatted and bespatted spider romances a naïve flapper fly. Her protestations in the face of his overtures grow ever weaker, and despite the warnings of the ghostly figures of past victims (one
brandishes a knife and fork while another points urgently at The Joy of Cooking Bugs), she goes to her inevitable doom. The illustrations embrace the primness of the poem -- the wide-eyed fly is the very picture of a bygone innocence -- but introduce a wealth of detail that adds a thick layer of humor. Aside from the aforementioned ghosts, evidence of the spider's predilections abounds: in his parlor, he relaxes with his feet up on a very dead ladybug stool with X's for eyes. A tongue-in-cheek "letter" from the spider follows the poem, in which he exhorts readers to "be advised that spiders are not
the only hunters and bugs are not the only victims." This cautionary intrusion serves to explicate the metaphor for concretely minded readers, but the message is not likely to diminish their pleasure in the grisly
doings one bit. Copyright Kirkus 2002 Kirkus/BPI Communications.All rights reserved
Kirkus Reviews
" 'Will you walk into my parlor?' / said the Spider to the Fly." Howitt's 1829 cautionary poem is realized here in full cinematic fashion. Delightfully ghoulish full-bleed black-and-white spreads are rendered in gouache and pencil, and reproduced in silver-and-black duotone, resulting in images that recall the slightly fuzzy-edged figures from old black-and-white horror movies. The typeface and occasional framed text pages heighten this effect by evoking silent-movie titles. The setting is a dustily gothic attic in which DiTerlizzi's (Alien and Possum: Friends No Matter What, p. 494, etc.) "camera" never rests, zooming in, out, up, and down in a dazzling series of perspectives as a top-hatted and bespatted spider romances a naïve flapper fly. Her protestations in the face of his overtures grow ever weaker, and despite the warnings of the ghostly figures of past victims (one brandishes a knife and fork while another points urgently at The Joy of Cooking Bugs), she goes to her inevitable doom. The illustrations embrace the primness of the poem-the wide-eyed fly is the very picture of a bygone innocence-but introduce a wealth of detail that adds a thick layer of humor. Aside from the aforementioned ghosts, evidence of the spider's predilections abounds: in his parlor, he relaxes with his feet up on a very dead ladybug stool with X's for eyes. A tongue-in-cheek "letter" from the spider follows the poem, in which he exhorts readers to "be advised that spiders are not the only hunters and bugs are not the only victims." This cautionary intrusion serves to explicate the metaphor for concretely minded readers, but the message is not likely to diminish their pleasure in the grisly doings one bit.
From the Publisher
"The most charming spider you'll ever dine with!"—Henry Selick director of The Nightmare Before Christmas and James and the Giant Peach
"A gleefully sinister fable that spins its tale like a great old silent film. The kind one might only see in a haunted nickelodeon. I love the beautiful, dramatic, black-and-white illustrations."—Lane Smith illustrator of The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs and The Stinky Cheese Man and Other Fairly Stupid Tales
