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14 Valentine’s Day Children’s Books

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14 Valentine’s Day Children’s Books

If you asked me to make a list of children’s book topics that have the potential to go horribly wrong, love would be right at the top. It’s such a universal concept that it often falls prey to didacticism, banality, hyperbole and sentimentality — a.k.a. the Four Horsemen of the kids’ book apocalypse. Given the potential pitfalls, it’s refreshing to find books about love that take a different approach. Here are some of my favorites.

When it comes to expressing love, many fall prey to the lure of the Impersonal Grand Gesture. But really, it’s the small stuff that matters. When Kevin receives a valentine from a classmate, he spends the rest of the day paying back the favor with untraditional gifts like a vending machine ring, a construction paper portrait and even a frog. Childlike mixed media artwork adds to the handmade feel. (Ages 5-8)

“Me & Mama” captures the cherished feeling of being with a loved one by focusing on one ordinary day, full of incident, as a girl and her mother brush their teeth and hair, eat bowls of oatmeal and head outside to splash in puddles. The intimate, poetic text makes each moment feel authentic, and the painterly artwork balances poignancy and playfulness. (Ages 4-8)

In this rollicking read-aloud, a boy is on a hugging mission, hilariously embracing not just people but a balloon, a fire hydrant and a porcupine — and that’s just for starters. But humans (thankfully) aren’t machines, and when the exhausted boy finally shows his humanity, his mom is there to give the hug machine a welcome taste of his own medicine. (Ages 2-4)

It’s telling that the title of this deceptively simple book by Harris, a Caldecott Medal honoree, doesn’t try to cram in the word “pretend.” The father and son in this book aren’t pretending: They are embodying. During imaginative play, the pair fully transform — becoming bees, yes, but also trees, weather and a whole host of animals. Sometimes love is best expressed in shared silliness. Bright crayon illustrations add softness and humor. (Ages 4-8)

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“First comes love; then comes marriage,” begins the classic schoolyard rhyme. But while there are lots of children’s books that focus on the first part, far fewer center the second. Jameson is thrilled to be the ring bearer for his cousin’s wedding. But he only ever wears green pants, and the wedding party is supposed to be in black. Will he abandon his trusty trousers for a traditional tuxedo? As ever, love wins (and the green pants make a triumphant return on the reception dance floor). (Ages 3-7)

Marvin loves Valentine’s Day. His best friend Milton does not. After Marvin explains that you have to give valentines if you want to receive them, the pair join forces to deliver handcrafted, heart-adorned notes to everyone in town. This charming book is sadly out of print, but you can find it at used bookstores or your local library. (Ages 3-8)

Few relationships ride the line between love and frustration quite like the one between siblings. In this year’s Caldecott Medal winner, 2-year-old Chooch’s family teaches him some of their Cherokee traditions, like sewing moccasins and making grape dumplings. But the toddler makes a mess of each one. His older sister’s frustration builds and, when Chooch ruins her clay pot, she’s had enough: Her scream sends her brother running to his room, and her into a fit of tearful remorse. After an act of reconciliation, the pair start working on a new pot, together. (Ages 4-8)

The world may be divided into “cat people” and “dog people,” but one thing I think both sides can agree on is that, if they could talk, cats would be vehemently anti-Valentine’s Day and dogs would probably love it. This dichotomy leads to laughs as the narrator tries to help Cat see that the dog next door might not be so bad after all. (Ages 3-5)

When a boy asks his grandma the titular question, she sends him out into the world to find the answer. He quickly discovers that love means something different to everyone he encounters. Confusion and frustration lead to understanding in Barnett’s funny and philosophical book, with beautiful gouache illustrations by Ellis. (Ages 3-5)

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After bonding over blocks in preschool, two boys forge a beautiful friendship building together. With every project, they up the stakes, eventually leading to a massive craft-tastrophe. Luckily they realize that, even if a build fails, it doesn’t mean the friendship has to go with it. Santat’s cinematic illustrations shift between real-life creations made with humble supplies and epic, imaginary visions. (Ages 3-7)

The team behind the beloved Ivy + Bean books are back with this refreshingly authentic early chapter book series. We follow 7-year-old Stella and her 4-year-old sister, Marigold, as they experience all the excitement and frustration of childhood, from a trip to the zoo gone awry to a night recuperating under the “sick blanket.” Blackall’s full-color illustrations appear on every spread, occasionally taking over storytelling duties when the sisters embark on wordless flights of fancy. (Ages 6-9)

In the animal world, does sparing your sworn enemy’s life count as love? Eddy the goldfish is thrilled when a couple of new friends appear outside his bowl. But when he decides to leap from captivity to meet them, he discovers that what he thought were friendly yellow fish are actually the watchful eyes of a black cat. An unexpected act of compassion means this friendship isn’t over yet. (Ages 4-8)

Joy is a girl who really wants a dog. Jump is a dog who really wants a girl. As the seasons change, Jump and Joy both create stand-ins for their longed-for mates, using snow, sand and mud — but none can match the sense of kismet when the pair finally find each other. Vintage illustrations are collaged with loose character drawings to create a unique visual representation of friendship. (Ages 3-7)

Rather than fumbling for the right words to explain love to little ones, why not just show them? Each spread in this board book completes the refrain “Love is …” by highlighting a way people show affection, from a grandfather baking a special cake for his grandson to a mother helping her child find a missing sock. Bright illustrations echo the text and depict a diverse mix of family structures. (Ages 0-3)

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I Think This Poem Is Kind of Into You

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I Think This Poem Is Kind of Into You

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A famous poet once observed that it is difficult to get the news from poems. The weather is a different story. April showers, summer sunshine and — maybe especially — the chill of winter provide an endless supply of moods and metaphors. Poets like to practice a double meteorology, looking out at the water and up at the sky for evidence of interior conditions of feeling.

The inner and outer forecasts don’t always match up. This short poem by Louise Glück starts out cold and stays that way for most of its 11 lines.

And then it bursts into flame.

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“Early December in Croton-on-Hudson” comes from Glück’s debut collection, “Firstborn,” which was published in 1968. She wrote the poems in it between the ages of 18 and 23, but they bear many of the hallmarks of her mature style, including an approach to personal matters — sex, love, illness, family life — that is at once uncompromising and elusive. She doesn’t flinch. She also doesn’t explain.

Here, for example, Glück assembles fragments of experience that imply — but also obscure — a larger narrative. It’s almost as if a short story, or even a novel, had been smashed like a glass Christmas ornament, leaving the reader to infer the sphere from the shards.

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We know there was a couple with a flat tire, and that a year later at least one of them still has feelings for the other. It’s hard not to wonder if they’re still together, or where they were going with those Christmas presents.

To some extent, those questions can be addressed with the help of biographical clues. The version of “Early December in Croton-on-Hudson” that appeared in The Atlantic in 1967 was dedicated to Charles Hertz, a Columbia University graduate student who was Glück’s first husband. They divorced a few years later. Glück, who died in 2023, was never shy about putting her life into her work.

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Louise Glück in 1975.

Gerard Malanga

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But the poem we are reading now is not just the record of a passion that has long since cooled. More than 50 years after “Firstborn,” on the occasion of receiving the Nobel Prize for literature, Glück celebrated the “intimate, seductive, often furtive or clandestine” relations between poets and their readers. Recalling her childhood discovery of William Blake and Emily Dickinson, she declared her lifelong ardor for “poems to which the listener or reader makes an essential contribution, as recipient of a confidence or an outcry, sometimes as co-conspirator.”

That’s the kind of poem she wrote.

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“Confidence” can have two meanings, both of which apply to “Early December in Croton-on-Hudson.” Reading it, you are privy to a secret, something meant for your ears only. You are also in the presence of an assertive, self-possessed voice.

Where there is power, there’s also risk. To give voice to desire — to whisper or cry “I want you” — is to issue a challenge and admit vulnerability. It’s a declaration of conquest and a promise of surrender.

What happens next? That’s up to you.

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Can You Identify Where the Winter Scenes in These Novels Took Place?

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Can You Identify Where the Winter Scenes in These Novels Took Place?

Cold weather can serve as a plot point or emphasize the mood of a scene, and this week’s literary geography quiz highlights the locations of recent novels that work winter conditions right into the story. Even if you aren’t familiar with the book, the questions offer an additional hint about the setting. To play, just make your selection in the multiple-choice list and the correct answer will be revealed. At the end of the quiz, you’ll find links to the books if you’d like to do further reading.

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From NYT’s 10 Best Books of 2025: A.O. Scott on Kiran Desai’s New Novel

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From NYT’s 10 Best Books of 2025: A.O. Scott on Kiran Desai’s New Novel

Inge Morath/Magnum Photos

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When a writer is praised for having a sense of place, it usually means one specific place — a postage stamp of familiar ground rendered in loving, knowing detail. But Kiran Desai, in her latest novel, “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny,” has a sense of places.

This 670-page book, about the star-crossed lovers of the title and several dozen of their friends, relatives, exes and servants (there’s a chart in the front to help you keep track), does anything but stay put. If “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny” were an old-fashioned steamer trunk, it would be papered with shipping labels: from Allahabad (now known as Prayagraj), Goa and Delhi; from Queens, Kansas and Vermont; from Mexico City and, perhaps most delightfully, from Venice.

There, in Marco Polo’s hometown, the titular travelers alight for two chapters, enduring one of several crises in their passionate, complicated, on-again, off-again relationship. One of Venice’s nicknames is La Serenissima — “the most serene” — but in Desai’s hands it’s the opposite: a gloriously hectic backdrop for Sonia and Sunny’s romantic confusion.

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Their first impressions fill a nearly page-long paragraph. Here’s how it begins.

Sonia is a (struggling) fiction writer. Sunny is a (struggling) journalist. It’s notable that, of the two of them, it is she who is better able to perceive the immediate reality of things, while he tends to read facts through screens of theory and ideology, finding sociological meaning in everyday occurrences. He isn’t exactly wrong, and Desai is hardly oblivious to the larger narratives that shape the fates of Sunny, Sonia and their families — including the economic and political changes affecting young Indians of their generation.

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But “The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny” is about more than that. It’s a defense of the very idea of more, and thus a rebuke to the austerity that defines so much recent literary fiction. Many of Desai’s peers favor careful, restricted third-person narration, or else a measured, low-affect “I.” The bookstores are full of skinny novels about the emotional and psychological thinness of contemporary life. This book is an antidote: thick, sloppy, fleshy, all over the place.

It also takes exception to the postmodern dogma that we only know reality through representations of it, through pre-existing concepts of the kind to which intellectuals like Sunny are attached. The point of fiction is to assert that the world is true, and to remind us that it is vast, strange and astonishing.

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See the full list of the 10 Best Books of 2025 here.

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